I’ve been in one mode since Monday of last week: GO. On Monday I had a dentist appointment, ran to look at a potential spot for my mom’s mobile home, then went to meet with my surgeon’s assistant regarding my continued abdominal/bowel issues/pain. Tuesday… I don’t even remember what happened on Tuesday. Wednesday I scrambled to get as much done as I could in the morning and early afternoon, because come evening it was time for Awana Club for the kids, which meant early dinner, then off to church, then home and all of us in bed because I had to get up super-early on Thursday.
Thursday kicked off the real insanity. I was up and out the door by 6:15am, at my mom’s with a car load of boxes by 6:30 (which I dropped off on her front porch), then at the hospital where I had my gastric bypass surgery at for an upper GI with small bowel follow-through by 8:00am.
From Thursday afternoon onwards, until Monday afternoon, I was at my mom’s house every single day for a minimum of six hours. Dan was with me every single day except for Saturday (he had to work). Jason also came over every single day after work to pitch in; he even took off on Monday because he had a feeling we would be scrambling last minute — which we were. My mom may have “only” had a three bedroom mobile home, but she had not only a lot of furniture packed into it (including a grandfather clock that Dan and I managed to slide all the way into the back of my car — yay for hatchbacks; and an upright freezer which is now ours, bwahaha), but tons of stuff. If you’ve seen the show Hoarders, then you’ve seen my mom’s house. Hers is just on a smaller scale, since she doesn’t have the large number of rooms and attics and basements and storage sheds that a lot of the people featured on the show have. But otherwise the condition of her house and all of the shit in it fits what is depicted on that show to a T. We’re talking everything from unopened mail from three years ago, random receipts from five years ago, old food, photos, stuff with tags, empty boxes, at least three dozen diabetic blood testing meters (I found one whole cabinet devoted to them!), and all sorts of toys and clothes from when my brothers were younger. I found a solid gold Mother’s ring I gave my mom back in 2005 that she lost over a year ago; an old picture of her ex in the closet; and even a pacifier of Alyssa’s behind her bed. What the hell? It was a dirty, disgusting and baffling treasure hunt. Over those five days, Dan, Jason and I put in a good 35 hours worth of work — EACH. That’s not counting drive time back and forth, over to the storage unit, to the truck rental place, etc.
I wish I had taken pictures… dear god, the amount of STUFF that woman has. Even after Dan, Jason and I frantically sorted and packed over the course of five days, and left behind a good third or more of what she originally had, all of it plus a washer, a dryer, a refrigerator and a bicycle completely filled up a 10′ x 20′ storage unit, floor to ceiling. It was one insane game of Tetris to get it all packed in there, and of course the very last bag started a bit of an avalanche. All I can say is that whoever it is that opens up that storage unit when it’s time to move everything out of it better take care, because once that door is lifted everything will come crashing down.
The good news is that everything is out, so the mobile home can become the possession of the park’s or the lender’s — it’s a toss-up, and they can fight over it. All of my mom’s furniture is in a portable storage unit, and her boxed/bagged stuff, as I already said, is in a local storage unit. And she and my brothers are living with us. Yes, it is as inconvenient and annoying and stressful as that sounds. My mom and I sometimes get along like oil and water, my fifteen year old brother is an annoying, obnoxious and loud pain in the ass, and my thirteen year old brother isn’t much better. All three have become very accustomed to living like total fucking slobs, whereas I am on the complete opposite end of the spectrum — not one day goes by that I don’t sweep, mop, vacuum and make sure that everything is straightened up and in its place before I go to bed. Whether my mom and brothers think I’m “extreme” doesn’t matter — my house, my rules. They don’t like it or refuse to live up to my standards and clean up after themselves? Then they can get out. And yes, I have told them that, and in those very words.
As far as sleeping arrangements go, my mom and brothers are in Alyssa’s bedroom, since it’s the bigger of the two; and Alyssa and Ryan are together in Ryan’s bedroom. Thank god they’re so young — otherwise they’d probably balk at sharing a bed, let alone a bedroom. They’re handling the sudden upheaval and addition of three members to our household fairly well, though the afternoons when my brothers get home from school kind of suck — it’s just loud chaos for the next three hours after that. 
Oh, and then there’s Molly, my mom’s untrained three year old Yorkshire Terrier. She’s had a sum total of two accidents since her arrival last Thursday evening — a welcome change from her ’round-the-clock accidents at my mom’s house. I guess being in a very CLEAN environment with two well-defined areas for going potty (outside on a tether; or on a pad in front of the back door if it’s raining) and having a mistress who is definitely the Alpha around here (that would be yours truly) makes all the difference in the world. She isn’t allowed to run free — I had a fence up between the kitchen and living room until yesterday morning. She’s crated at night and at random times during the day to reinforce crating. She goes out with Leah every 2-3 hours (and always first thing in the morning and last thing at night). And as of yesterday morning, she was switched to a shock collar. It took just one zap for her to know how close she can get to the end of the kitchen/beginning of the living room. And since I often talk to her, praise her and pet her in between, just as I do Leah, she knows that she’s a good girl just as Leah is. Dan even let both dogs sleep in bed with us last night, and I let them stay with me this morning.
I really, REALLY hope this is as short-term as possible. There’s no way my sanity can stand more than 2-3 weeks of them living with us. But I’m trying to focus on the few positives — such as the built-in babysitting which I will be taking shameless advantage of. It’s the least my mom can do, considering that I gave up five days of work (which I’m still struggling to catch up with), Dan gave up all of his free time, and our best friend Jason gave up all of his free time and a day of work to clean up my mom’s mess — literally — and save all of her shit from being ransacked and then dumped by the park managers/mortgage company. She, meanwhile, packed a measly five or six boxes and bagged up the clothes in her closet. Don’t even get me started on how little she contributed to packing. We, meanwhile, not only packed and moved all of her shit (with the help of five very nice men from our church, who came on Saturday to move out the appliances and all of the boxes that had been packed thus far; and to take all of her outdoor stuff and the upright freezer to our house), but acquired the boxes for it all, too. She whined about chipped nail polish; Dan and Jason and I no doubt strained a variety of muscles. I managed to yank one in my GROIN — and it still hurts!
With all of the craziness going on, I managed to get to the hospital on Friday night for the upper GI scan my surgeon’s assistant told me to go in for during one of my painful episodes in the hopes of getting a better look at whatever it is that’s pinching off/ballooning out/spasming. Jason took me up to the hospital after we had a quick dinner with my mom and brothers (Dan was at work). It turned out to be a wasted trip. Instead of doing the upper GI scan, despite me name-dropping my surgeon’s name and surgeon’s assistant’s name several times, along with their instructions to come to the hospital during a painful episode in order to get the scan, the hospital staff didn’t do it. Instead, they did a quick listen to my abdomen, took my blood pressure and temp, checked the results of my upper GI with small bowel follow-through from Thursday morning (normal — but not uncommon, since an obstruction/adhesion can be like the Loch Ness Monster to catch on “film”), doped me up on Bentyl and sent me home.
Easter was a bit of a rush job. While Alyssa and Ryan had a great time, I didn’t get the chance to take them to see the Easter Bunny, and we didn’t do our annual Easter egg hunt at the local park. 
But I did get their baskets prepared last minute on Saturday night, and on Sunday we went to Dan’s aunt’s house for dinner, and they organized a small Easter egg hunt for the kids there, which was nice. 
I’m still trying to get back into my normal routine. That should have happened today, but I got hit with a super painful attack last night, and wound up taking a half of a Morphine, then another full pill about an hour after that. Silly me… they were extended release pills, meant to be taken 12 hours apart. I can handle a half of a Morphine without any anti-nausea/anti-vomiting pills, but I can’t handle a dose and a half. I felt really woozy and out of it all night, and had wicked, totally debilitating nausea and dizziness from 6:00am onwards today. I didn’t really get out of bed until this afternoon, except to make sure Alyssa got out the door to school on time, and then again a half hour later to take Ryan to school. I was so sick and weak that I drove him in and took him to his class in nothing but a sports bra, t-shirt, PJ shorts, a hoodie, and flip-flops. Even when I’ve been sick in the past I’ve made the effort to get dressed. The fact that I didn’t, that I couldn’t, this morning, tells you just how sick I was!
This evening I wasn’t feeling much better, but since it’s Dan’s birthday today (Happy 29th Birthday, sweetie! *mwah*), I dragged myself out and met him and Jason. We piled into Jason’s car and headed to a local gun shop, where Dan picked out his birthday present — a handgun. Then we went to dinner. Then we came back and I came home (where I was pleasantly surprised with a dish rack full of clean dishes — looks like my mom isn’t going to fuck around heh), took a shower, and climbed into bed, where I’ve been for the past half hour.
Here’s to a good night’s sleep. I really need it!
I hope your mom and brothers can get into a new place shortly, and that they finally get to the bottom of your GI issues.