Wednesday, October 30, 2013

FML, or Rosie is now optional

Do you know what FML means? It means FUCK MY LIFE.
I've previously written about problems with my husband's family and how badly they treat me  (here,  and here) and now it's come to a head.
In case you don't want to go back and read those two old posts (I did, and I wanted to SCREAM at how right I've been for 2 years), here's a quick recap.
Two years ago my mother in law fainted at work.  She was rushed to Yale New Haven hospital where they said it was high blood pressure and sent her home with medicine.  Somehow she got it in her head that she couldn't have stress or drive so she decided to take some time off from work.  FOUR MONTHS OFF, then return to work for 3 months and retire.  Surprisingly, her workplace didn't think that was a fabulous plan and they fired her.
MIL is a hoarder, full of self-pity, who acts at all times like a greedy spoiled child, complete with whining.  Her life is "my husband died and left me pregnant with two toddlers!"  yes, 40+ years ago, get over it.
Shortly after the fainting incident, the vomiting started.  Whenever she ate, she'd start to hiccup, and then she'd puke everywhere.  And then sit in the puke and make no attempt to clean herself up, allowing people to scurry around her like vomit-roombas scooping it up.  Even in a restaurant she'd do this.
She doesn't bathe or brush her teeth or change her clothes very often.  Enough said about that--you all know my sensitive nose.
She started having temper tantrums in which she would smash her cell phone, house phone, computer because they "don't work."  This meant no one could reach her, setting off the 4-alarm alert for ME to rush over there, but because it was me she wouldn't answer the door (she doesn't like me and never has) meaning someone else has to go anyway to see if she's dead or just having a tantrum.  Always the latter.
The next spring, she lost her glasses and made my husband buy her a bunch of drugstore "cheaters" but they didn't work so she went to the eye doctor for new prescription ones.  The eye doc gave her a full exam and said she had cataracts that needed removal.  She literally went into the eye doctor saying "hey, I lost my glasses, I need new ones" and left saying "I'm blind, help me."  The surgery, according to the eye docs, was perfect and so was her vision after but she was still "blind" and continued to be so for the next year and a half, also smashing phones and vomiting, as well as not bathing, living in a hoarded house, etc and needing her family (ie, my husband) to wait on her hand and foot.  She refused to see a better doctor who might actually diagnose any of this and her family refused to force her to see one because that's "mean" and they didn't want to be "mean to their mother like Rosie was to her father" (you know, taking my dad who had dementia to the doctor even when he didn't want to go).
Every time I tried to put forth an opinion about her condition, I was shot down by my husband and his sister, that my opinion wasn't wanted or needed, basically STFU and GTFO.   (you can look those up another time)
A little over a month ago, his mom had a stroke.  She was brought first to an emergency clinic and the clinic sent her via ambulance to the hospital (not Yale this time).  And lo and behold, her brain scan showed that she had multiple old stroke-related damage.  Going back two years perhaps?  Hmm.  Oh, her visual cortex, where I said I thought she might have a tumor? Stroke damage.  Vomiting?  Stroke damage.
She was sent into a rehab facility and the family told she had up to 100 days of therapy allowed by Medicare.  Apparently they thought that meant they could do nothing for 100 days.  Again, Rosie spoke up and said "up to 100 days could mean 10 days."  "Oh no, that's not true."  Family (not me) also decided that the various therapists said she would make a "full recovery" even from the 2-year old damage.  When I said I didn't agree, I was reprimanded. 
The one thing the family did agree to do was to clean out the hoard (I shudder) and sell the house as-is once empty (which is going on currently).  I was not allowed to help clean (yay--one ray of light in this clusterfuck, to mix a metaphor badly).
So my husband's brother is living at our house (he's from California now).  Somehow this translates to my husband paying for all his meals.  Plus he does laundry here, showers, watches our Netflix account far into the night, etc.  Did I mention that he married that girl who treated me so badly a couple of years ago and then wanted me to care for her cats? Yeah.
Our house, in the middle of our street, is a very small house.  It's 900 SF.  (fine for 2 people and assorted critters)  No dining room.  One decent bedroom where we sleep, one tiny one where we have all our books and store things, one bathroom.  BIL is living on the couch downstairs (bedrooms are both upstairs) and also downstairs is our office, which we share, and which is also the pets' space.  The basement is gross, not usable for living space. Three people is really cramped even though BIL isn't here all day, he's at the hoard cleaning it up--his bags are in the living room and kitchen and he's camped out on the couch so no one else can sit there during the day without having to move all his stuff.
Last week, there was a meeting at the nursing home and they told the family that she was being sent home that week and they freaked out because there was no where for her to go.  House being sold, no alternate place available. I did some research on senior housing (although she really needs assisted living) but it was ignored because it was from me, after all.  My husband's sister lives 15 miles away in a large ranch house with 3 or 4 bedrooms and a full walk-out basement that is partitioned into rooms.  She said she was willing to turn the basement into an in-law apartment with space for a caregiver if needed.  I thought that was a good idea and even put forth that she should take all the money to do so out of the sale of the house, only fair.  Even if she does hate me.
They were able to get a stay of leaving on the mom going home (until this Friday--tomorrow night she is officially done, kicked out Friday a.m.).  Of course they have found zero housing for her and honestly don't seem to be trying.  SIL has made no effort to look into the remodeling.  She said her husband was willing to host the mother for a limited time (such as, if she had a definite place to go on a certain date) in one of their many bedrooms.  So I felt safe.
Stupid Rosie.
The other night I was upstairs reading.  Husband and BIL were on speaker phone with sister about where MIL is going on Friday.  I was shocked, horrified, aghast to hear my husband not only say he was taking over the house cleaning 100% once his brother left next week, but that he was moving the mother here.  On Friday.  "We'll get rid of Rosie's crap," he said.  
I screamed from upstairs, NO!!!!  but the conversation continued unabated.  I sat in the bed crying into my book, in utter disbelief that everything had gone so wrong so quickly.
Did he really just agree to move his invalid mother into the house for me to care for (he works 14-16 hours a day, remember, including his hour+ commute each way)?  His vomiting, blind, unable to walk without a walker, barely able to talk, not able to operate a phone or microwave oven or remote control, in her diapers and filthy clothes and unwashed body and black teeth mother WITHOUT EVEN ASKING ME?  
That did not just happen.
It did.
The therapists said she can't get any better, the damage is too severe.  She cannot live alone.  She needs a caregiver.  Which is not going to be me, fuck no, I JUST did 10 years with my dad and my grandma and before that as a teenager with my great-grandma, I've done my share for now.
Therefore, on Friday, in this 900 SF house with effectively 1.5 bedrooms there will be me, husband, brother, invalid mother and presumably whoever they hire to care for her.  Plus, you know, all the pets.  My belongings are optional in the house, and I'm guessing I am too.
My house, that I bought before I got married, in my own name (now in both names, but still.  Mine first.)
I was ready to just take the portable animals (fish tanks I'd have to leave behind) and move back in with my mom.  She was less than thrilled, as you can imagine.  And then she talked to a lawyer friend, who said if I did that, my husband could say I abandoned him and divorce me and keep my house and give me no money for alimony.  If I sleep there once in while, I guess that can't happen.
I'm guessing his family is putting me saying a resounding NO THAT FILTHY WOMAN CANNOT LIVE IN MY  HOUSE down in the "horrible selfish things Rosie has done" column.
Fine by me.


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