I survived last week. Took my mother to the doctor. Got a new list of her prescriptions, since we'll be switching pharmacies to one located nearer to the retirement residence. Had various conversations with the management at the residence, setting up a date to move her furniture, etc.
One prescription was wrong, so I had to sort that out with the doctor and her staff, over the phone. The new prescription is in the mail. Once I get them all, I'll have to sit down with staff at the residence to review, since they will be doling out the meds from now on.
I still need to get the prescription for the elastic stockings to the medical supply company, so I can pick up my mother's elastic stockings, and deliver them to her. That reminds me...she needs new rubber gloves with which to apply said stockings (each pair of these puppies cost about $350. So she wears gloves to avoid putting a finger through them).
In the meantime, John has been calling here, harassing Anthony. He NEEDS to get back into their mother's house, don't cha know? He NEEDS to clear out more of his stuff (I guess a year's notice wasn't enough). He NEEDS to do his laundry! Wahhhh!!!! Poor wittle boy.
So Anthony duly made a date to allow John entry into the house, ONLY to get the last of his belongings, but not to do laundry. They mutually picked a day and time.
By now, you can probably guess what happened. Anthony drove across town to Doris's falling-down house at the appointed time. John never showed. He was probably hung over and over slept, the wittle darling.
A day later, he called and left a message to the effect that he STILL NEEDS to get his belongings. Really?
No apology. Just "I need my stuff, man."
He actually expects Anthony to drop everything and drive across town AGAIN to give him access. What a f#*$ing creep. Loser.
Anyway. You can see how these piles of details and chores continue to rule our lives. I can only pray that once my mother gets settled into the residence, and once John finally figures out that his ties with his mommy's house are CUT, that Anthony and I will begin to see light at the end of the tunnel.
We have forgotten what it's like to have a single spare moment for ourselves.
One more thing: Anthony picked up piles of mail at his mother's house. Apparently, there were several of John's dead-beat friends either living there with him, or using the address as theirs. Anthony arrived home with a mittful of overdue fines, summonses and tickets of various sorts, and notices of pending court appearances for this delightful bunch of users.
As I said: Creep. Loser.