And goddammit, that's the case here. My Mother is getting surgery Thanksgiving Week. And as I feared, there is going to be a minimum of eight fucking weeks before she can fly out of here. Moreover, there is an entire schedule of visits -- a couple before the surgery, many rehab and physical therapy sessions after it -- that have to be assembled around the surgery date. I totally get that, but the fusillade of post-op sessions, not to mention the date of the surgery itself, means that ... goddammit, they're going to be here through January. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck.
Everything is ruined, man, everything. This obviously means I won't get to hang out with my wang out during the holiday season. Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's -- I'm going to have to holster my pee-pee, continue to hide my porn, and worry about how they fucking feel. (I know that at some point I'll be bursting to go to a stripper party and get turned out by a stripper. It's just so weird to do it while My Fucking Parents are in town.) I can't make cocktails for myself for four months. I won't have the mental space to figure out the storage situation, which is still up in the air, and since they probably will leave in late January, it doesn't give me much time to figure out a drastic plan if my current situation is no longer tenable. I have a lease through the end of March, and I might have to haul shit out of a 5' x 5' stall, and that will take a lot of time.
And yeah, sure, what really matters is how My Mother feels. I need to know her schedule because, shit, I have to help out when I can. Problem is is that with work, I don't know how much I can be of help. I don't think I can drive her to every single rehab visit she'll have. And this is wintertime -- what happens if there is a huge snowstorm on a day she's supposed to go in for physical therapy? Fuckin' A, I really didn't want her to do this here in Minnesota. I mean, I think the health system here is much better than most other places, but she needs to walk around after getting her knee fixed, and she can't do it in the snowy and icy roads of a Minnesota winter.
Worse than that is my sister. I honestly thought that she would be the one helping Mother rehab. She's not doing anything now, so she has the time to assist her with her exercises and taking her to physical therapy. But, and I need to talk to her about this, now that we have a surgery date, it looks as though she is making plans to leave. Dammit, man, I hate that all of this planning might fall on me. I'm too much of a dick to be of any use. And knowing My Mother will be in pain means that she will become a huge pain-in-the-ass the first week or so after surgery, where I'm told the pain will be at its worst. I will have to deal with a bitch for the next four goddamn months, yet I don't know how to handle a bitch who is in physical pain.
The only solace I have is that My Mother is on a waitlist. If there is a cancellation, this surgery can be moved up. And My Mother wants this surgery done, like, yesterday. If by some miracle this can be done next week (and I wonder if that's even possible given that there are two pre-op visits; doesn't there have to be some time between these visits and the surgery?), we all would jump at the chance. But it probably won't happen, which means I'm fucking stuck with these two reasons I want to kill myself.
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