Member-only story
Pack Mule
Ongoing mind farts of a cranky old woman:
“Mitzi’s a big girl. She can handle it.” I heard that my whole life.
As an RN working on the oldest (and most difficult) floor in a 1960s hospital — six-bed wards with no sink or bathrooms in them — and low staffing. “Mitzi can do it.” There were weekends as the charge nurse for a 40+ bed unit when I was also the med nurse and the aide. I would push around the med cart while pulling a cart with loaded with water pitchers of fresh water (that I had filled).
Yep. Those were the days.
Not much has changed in my life.
In my first marriage, I did everything but mow the small yard. I was the major breadwinner. I made all the child care decisions, including caring for her. I cleaned, made meals, paid the bills; I was responsible for it all.
Pack mule. That’s when I started to consider myself that.
Nurse, not just for strangers. I took care of my mother-in-law when she was ill. I took care of my mother before she died and was with my father when he passed. I took care of a fiancé before he died.
And now I’m retired and nothing has changed. I’m caring for my second husband. He’s basically an intelligent retired teacher with a couple of degrees (which I do not have). This week he passed out in the bathroom and spent…
