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On the rare occasion when someone asks me why I don’t have children – and most people don’t ask, maybe assuming there is some tragic story behind my lack of offspring – I usually just shrug and say, “Never really wanted kids.” It closes the subject and it happens to be mostly true. Win win.

As with most things, though, ‘mostly true’ hides a whole lot of issues. The real truth is:  I was able to recognize at a very young age that I am inept at best and incompetent at worst, so I wisely decided not to pollute the gene pool. You’re welcome.

MoC has an oxygen concentrator big-ass machine thingie that she uses at home. It has a plastic container that holds about 8-12 ounces of distilled water. The container has a cap with a tube that runs into the water and the other end goes into the machine, where it magically makes oxygen and delivers it to MoC.

On Sunday I decided to make myself useful. That was probably my first mistake. That container has to be cleaned and refilled about once a week and I wasn’t sure who had done it last (as it turned out, it was done on Wednesday, but I digress). So I put MoC on a portable tank, cleaned the canister and refilled it.

On Monday, MoC seemed a little confused and tired, but that happens to her a lot, so I didn’t think anything about it. The same thing happened on Tuesday.

Also on Monday, MoC decided it was time to fuck with the speech therapist. That was her first mistake. I wasn’t there, so I’m not sure what happened, but it involved playing dumb. Never a good idea, MoC. He was convinced she was having memory problems, so he called the nurse. In the meantime, the home health aid who helps MoC with bathing arrived – two hours late. MoC doesn’t like her. She isn’t pleasant, leaves a mess and is never on time. But on Monday, Saint Mary (the caregiver MoC has every day) asked her how MoC did with the shower (wanting to know about strength or balance issues, things she needs to know) and the “bath lady” wouldn’t tell her, but said she would just tell the nurse. That was her last mistake.

When I heard about it, I called the company and told the manager that we were having issues, then I told her about her refusal to give Saint Mary the details. So the manager called MoC and now we get a new person. Yay.  When I got to MoC’s yesterday, I told her I had talked to them. MoC’s response was, “Well, if you keep talking to people, we’re not going to have anybody left!” At least I didn’t set anyone’s head on fire. So that’s a plus.

This afternoon MoC called to tell me she was going to the ER. What??? Her oxygen level was fluctuating drastically all day, so Saint Mary decided to take her to the hospital.

The ER doc suggested that maybe there was a problem with the concentrator at home, since she did okay on the portable tank. Also, they couldn’t find anything else wrong with her. So David called that company, met them at MoC’s place and found out … that the cap to the water container wasn’t connected properly and so basically MoC wasn’t getting enough oxygen.

YAY ME!

When he came back to the hospital and told me, I kind of hung my head.

David: I can’t believe I did that. I just cleaned it Wednesday.

Me: Icleaneditsunday

David: What?

Me: I cleaneditsunday

David: It was YOU!

Me:  . . .

And now you know the reason I didn’t breed. If I had, there would be more people just like me running around.

MoC is alive and well and back at home, with a properly sealed cap on the container to her magic oxygen machine.

If I’m gonna get rid of her, I’m gonna need a new plan.*

*Dear FBI: Just kidding. Mostly.

 

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