Hoarding Woes: One Step Forward…Two Steps……

Walking in fat, dumb and happy. Yes, I had earlier thought about the possibility of some degree of psychological regression. I almost anticipated it. Almost……  “Oh, thank God you are here. I am so thankful you are here.”

“Something is going on here. There were these men. They had a trailer and they were taking me to this place to burn me up. I saw the light grow and I knew they were going to burn me up and no one here would save me.”

I respond, “Auntie maybe it was a bad dream?” She is certain it was not a bad dream. Hmmm? “I think it probably was a dream” I say. I squeeze her hand. I look her in the eye. I use the power of my scattered gaze to gain her attention. “Auntie, it was a bad dream. No one here would let anyone take you away in a trailer to burn you up. No one!”

Hesitantly, she responds…”maybe it was a dream. It sure seemed real.” 

On another level…an Occupational Therapist came by today, I am told by care givers and my aunt. I did not hear about this. Disconnect Alert! Disconnect Alert! I have not heard about this. I have not heard before or after they are coming out. No contact after. I am suppose to chase this? F… that!

I am getting a bit fed up with a disconnect here between care givers, these visiting Medicare Fund Sucking leeches and me! WTF! A cavalcade of therapist sticking their siphoning toe in the water. Driving away from a messed up 94 y/o woman with what? An assessment that she is messed up?  I am pissed off!

If you can’t offer anything of substance or have the damn courtesy to call the MPOA to advise what the hell is going on, then stay the hell away. Tomorrow, dark and early I am going to ruin someone’s damn day! I either know what the hell is going on or stay the hell away. What a god damn racket! Occupational therapist my ass! She is 94 years old!!! Social worker? Physical Therapist? Speech Pathologist? Nurse Practitioner? Occupational Therapist? It smells…….

Shit! (A mild expletive deletive right now). Ok. She regressed. Big, damn surprise. On a lighter note, she does not have a clue how damn pissed off I am. She won’t.

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