So there I was, looking forward to going to John’s on Friday. I was already feeling kind of tired and blech, due to an unfortunate blowout with one friend and worries over another one who has been very ill, so I just wanted to hang out on this rainy, cloudy weekend with my sweetie and relax. Ha!
When I got to his house, despite the fact that it was rainy and cold out and I was all bundled up, I noticed when I entered that his place was as cold as a morgue, the windows were all open and fans were blowing. WTF? John was ironing some shirts and thrust a Yellow Pages at me. “Please look up refrigerator repair and start making some calls. My refrigerator is broken.” He said he’d come home that afternoon after having been gone all week (he stays in Orange County during the week, in a motel that is walking distance from his work, rather than make a huge commute every day), and everything in his freezer had melted into a big mess and all the food in the fridge was rotting. He’d spent the last few hours cleaning and now he was trying to catch up with his laundry.
This was bad enough, but what would normally be an aggravation and inconvenience was an emergency. John has IV medicines that must be kept refrigerated. Getting this thing fixed pronto was crucial.
So I got on the phone and started calling repair companies. The best I could find was one who said they’d come the following morning between 9:00 and noon. We took his meds and drove them over to his mother’s house, then went to dinner — it was after 9:00 and we were both starved, but figured OK, the fridge will get fixed in the morning.
We waited for three hours next morning… no show from the repair people. John called around 11:30 and was told the guy was on his way, and would be here by noon. Noon came and went. At 12:15, I called, and they said the tech was stuck in traffic and would be here within an hour. We were stuck there, couldn’t go anywhere, couldn’t get lunch, and we were getting on each other’s nerves. The place was freezing, since turning on the heat made John’s itching worse. I got back into his bed with all my clothes on and piled on the comforters, and read.
When 1:30 came, I got on the phone yet again, and when they told me the tech would be there within a half-hour, I lost it. “Don’t tell me that; you keep saying that and he doesn’t show up. I’m telling you this is an emergency — my boyfriend has medications that MUST be kept cold and we need to get this fixed. You promised us between 9:00 and noon, then 1:00, and now it’s 1:30. We could have gone with someone else, but now it’s too late; we’re depending on you.” He said he’d have the tech himself give us a call from the road. I asked him if I had his word on that and he said yes. (Not that his word meant that much, really. But I think I sounded convincingly urgent and he realized I wasn’t going to stop haranguing him until he made good with his promises.)
Long story short, the tech finally got there at 2:45. Traffic, he said. Rain. Accidents. The operators overbook and promise people the moon. Whatever! He then told John that his compressor was broken and he could either replace it ($700) or put an “accelator” on it that would get it working again, but there was no guarantee on how long that would last — could be five years, could be two weeks. Swell! John figured $700 plus a few hundred more could buy him a new fridge, so he went with the accelator (for $200). Beggars can’t be choosers.
We ate for the first time around 3:30, then had to run a bunch of errands, buying food, going back to John’s mom’s to get his meds, etc. Would have been nice to have a peaceful evening at home after all that, right? Nahhhh. His next-door neighbor had a party. No peace and quiet for us.
Sleep would have been elusive, anyway. Poor John is still going nuts with night-time itching from his meds. When he had his dressing changed on Friday, the doctor gave him some Zyrtec (allergy medication) and told him to try that, and if that didn’t work, try Benadryl. So John tried the Zyrtec that night; didn’t help. He was tossing and turning and I finally had to leave to go sleep on the couch. The next day we bought him Benadryl; guess what? That didn’t work either. So I slept on the couch Saturday night too.
By today, we were a pair of exposed nerves. Fortunately, before I left, we talked it out, agreed to write off all the sniping and arguing as an incredibly bad weekend and we’d be OK next time. But folks, this is why I’ve never married. I was so, so glad to come home to my own quiet little place. I need space where I can withdraw and regroup. I would lose my mind if I didn’t have my own place to come back to. (Yes, I know I’m ending a sentence with a preposition. I don’t care.)
After I settled back in, I checked email and found a proclamation from you-know-who that I should enjoy sitting while I can, because I wasn’t going to do so for a week after he was done with me. Really? Be still, my heart. 🙂 Finally. It’s been two weeks and it feels like two months.
Onward. Ahead is lots and lots of sleep and some very special attention. Just what this girl needs.
Hope everyone had a much more peaceful and fun weekend!