Living with pain isn't easy.
And kidney stones involve whole great big gobs of pain.
But since he had experienced relatively little pain on Monday (flat on his back, with serious pain opiates running through his system every six hours), my husband (foolishly) decides he should go back to work on Tuesday.
Fast forward about five hours.
My dear husband, who by then, on a scale of 1 to 10 (1 being light and breezy and 10 being total and complete agony), was at work with a 9.98.
But he had also promised to drop off the check for our daughter's rent on the way home, regardless of his health, pain and welfare issues (at least in his own mind).
So he did.
But at the apartment complex office: "Sorry, sir, we can't accept this check. It's late, so it's $70 more."
Now, this is to a man who is experiencing serious physical pain - doubled over - sweat dripping from his ashen face. I also should mention he is 6'4", and about 340 lbs.
Not someone to mess with normally.
"Why is it late? My daughter said the office told her she could pay today!"
"The payment wasn't here when we opened this morning - so it's late."
So Bill loudly shared some well-phrased, er, 'colorful metaphors' regarding the office personnel's possible ancestry.
And began to write a new check for the rent plus the $70 late fee.
Then these same officer personnel, who
clearly seem to have some sort of death wish, pipe up: "Oh, no sir, we can't take a check, you'll have to pay in
cash."
The options at that moment appeared to be pass out onto the office floor, kill several people, and/or storm out.
He storms out.
Then my daughter calls; "Mom, why did the office just have me sign a paper about being evicted?"
And I get into my fairly-regular 'let's-clean-up-this-mess' mode, drive into town, go to the bank, cash a check for the $600+, and take it to the apartment office to pay the rent.
To be greeted by "Oh, no, we can't take cash."
I began crying.
It was a combination of too many days and not enough sleep, trying to be humane about dolling out pain medications when your husband seems to never be out of pain, and the fact that yes, they
may evict my perfectly innocent disable daughter for no rent payment.
I got myself under control, dried my tears, and tried very calmly to get them to clarify exactly what the (#&@)!) they
did want.
"A certified money order."
"Or a cashier's check."
"Or a debit card payment."
My husband had HAD his ATM/Visa card right in his wallet the entire time, and could have easily paid with that if they had mentioned that as an option.
So with myself then having the choice of 1) following through on my husband's thoughts and kill a few people here, 2) rushing to get a money order and miss the urology appointment where (hopefully) the surgery was going to be scheduled to relieve my husband's agony and 3) bursting into tears again, I choose 3, and left.
And pray that today, between surgery for Bill, I can get their *#&$$) money order.
And NOT walk into that same *#&% office only to hear, "Oh, sorry, we can't accept money orders that are printed on green (or blue or orange) paper.
I WILL be walking in with a wad of tissues, however, just in case.
And all these photos? I just found some pretty cool back photos searching on the net.
Is this old lady porn?
It's amazing how we let something which we choose to do (or rather, NOT do) affect our stress level. With me, at least, it getS to the point where if the task had simply been done when originally presented, I would have avoided tension headaches, worried stomach AND the constant concern wearing me down.
