It's been a rough road this week.
The 68 year old man who longs for being on a boat in the Gulf spends his time smoking cigarettes while searching Yachtworld for boats; goes to the pulmonologist & lies about his daily routine; is prescribed yet another medication then comes home, opens the yet another medical bill and bitches that "nothing's helping him."
To soothe his nerves he smokes yet three more cigs; calls two boat yards in on the northeast coast and asked how much it would cost to repair a 57' wood hull yacht.
WHAT? Where did this come from? I ask.
He's "found a good deal" on a "very attractive" boat that needs twenty feet of the bottom side repaired. As far as he's concerned, once that's done WE will motor down to Florida's Gulf coast and live happily ONBOARD the remainder of our lives.
When I ask about the cost of repair, he says: about "$40,000. When I ask where the money will come from, he doesn't know. When I point out that it will cost more to dock a boat that size he says we won't. When I say there will be times we'll need to (like when he has medical appointments/tests, boat repair, grocery shopping) he says I'm "worrying too much."
About the time I'm ready to scream tears come instead.
I want more than anything for him to live healthy enough & long enough to return to his beloved Florida but his ideas are becoming more unreasonable each week.
He alternates between being happy & depressed; thoughtful and irrational and complacent and angry.
He had an appointment in Lansing today. I had to help him dress & drive 60 miles round trip. He came out of the appointment with some med samples and an appointment in April. I asked how things went. He said "just fine; everything's fine."
So fine that he slept all the way home & I had to help him in the house.