Okay, first things first.

Before heading to the garage, I backed the truck up to check the oil levels. They were fine, but there was fresh oil drops in the dirt floor under where it was parked for the night. During the drive in, it was the same as yesterday. The pressure gauge started off in the normal range, then slowly dropped during the drive in.

I dropped the truck off at the garage, then walked over to the hospital to visit with my mother. She was doing better today, thankfully. She was able to move around without the screaming and yelling in pain.

The irony of this is that she complained about the noise the other patients and staff were making. Hospitals should be quiet, because sick people need quiet.

I talked to her about making sure to accept painkillers regularly, BEFORE the pain gets bad. She can ask for more and, if it’s an issue, they might schedule her for painkillers more often or something.

I think she would prefer to yell and scream, to be honest. I don’t want to make light of her pain. Lord knows, I can empathize with it a great deal. It’s more about her behaviour over it, and refusal to actually do what she should be doing for it, while expecting some doctor (not a black one) to fix what can’t be fixed.

I got there just as her lunch tray was about to be delivered. My mother was in her favourite corner chair, with the bedside table already in front of her, ready and waiting. As the woman dropped off the tray, she asked conversationally, your daughter is visiting? My mother, however, was just staring up at her, and didn’t seem to hear. I acknowledged that I was her daughter, but said I didn’t think my mother heard her. She went on to put a tea bag in the hot water for my mother, then asked if she needed help with the sugar packet. My mother was still just staring at her. Glaring, really.

The woman looked to be Vietnamese, which would be why my mother was staring and not answering.

I told her I would help if my mother needed it, and made sure to thank her as she left.

Once she was gone, my mother started behaving normally.

*sigh*

The lunch looked delicious. She had a slice of mushroom and pepperoni pizza, Caesar salad, vegetable soup with a packet of crackers and a bowl of canned fruit salad for desert, along with her tea. My mom said it was the first time she got pizza. It smelled awesome, and my mother polished it all off. The quality of the food is one thing my mother does not quite complain about, though she did say something about how they never give her bread (pizza crust doesn’t count). To my mother, bread should be part of every meal! 😁 She is happy with the food, though.

We had a pretty good talk. No really weird stuff. I got some messages from my sister, who was still at my mother’s place, it turned out. Then I got a message from my brother saying that my sister should keep the keys she has and lock up the apartment, rather than leaving them there, so I passed that message on.

That turned out to be a really good thing.

One of the things I’d left in case my sister wanted them was a set of dishes she had bought for my mother, but she said I could take them, as she won’t use them. We have so many dishes of our own, but they can join the other items we now have stored in a shelf in the root cellar, until we can figure out what to do with them.

I told my mother I planned to go to her apartment after I got the truck back, and she asked, to finish taking everything? I just had to laugh. I told her, you have no idea how much you have! I certainly can’t move her furniture by myself.

Some of the conversation was typically odd with my mother. She was wondering why I was back to visit, two days in a row, and I explained about the truck, and how our mechanic was going to get it done in between other appointments. Somehow, that got around to her talking about how garages take advantage of women (because, apparently, only women take their vehicles to a garage, and men all fix their vehicles themselves. She truly believes men are born knowing how to fix cares. She literally has said that to me!), and how it’s all moneymoneymoney.

I told her, people do need to be paid for their work! She seems to think everyone should be doing things for free – except her, of course. She wants to be paid back $10 for the extra keys she had copied, before turning them over to public housing when her rental agreement is done.

When I told her I wasn’t going to be charged for the work being done today, because it’s under warranty, she changed the subject.

I refilled the thermos travel cup I’d brought for her, and she said she was very happy to have that hot water. She isn’t even doing her half water, half milk thing. She just prefers to drink warm water, and adds it to the water from the pitcher they leave with her. As I was setting up the cup, plus a few other things for her, like refilling her crackers bowl, she started saying how I couldn’t understand the troubles she’s having, with her mobility. When I’m 90, I’ll understand!

I told her, I do understand. I have many of the same problems. She said this as I was reaching to set her bowl of crackers back on the window sill within her reach, and could barely do it because my elbow was giving out. I ended up telling her about falling and hurting myself, twice, last year, and how I still can’t put weight on my right knee, because that’s the one that landed on concrete. She asked what happened, and I told her about coming in from shoveling and my glasses frosting over while I hung the snow shovel up in the sun room, so I couldn’t see and tripped over something.

Her immediate response?

Why was I the one shoveling snow?

…

So… It’s my fault I got hurt, because the girls should have been shoveling snow, not me.

Got it.

I told her, I LIKE shoveling snow, but the girls do it, too, if I can’t. I just happened to be the one doing it that day.

The other odd thing was something I later called the nursing station back to warn them about.

My mother needed to go to the washroom, and was able to get herself there on her own, using the walker – I offered to help her with the hospital’s wheelchair, and she said no. Then she asked me to get a second garbage can set up with a bag. I was setting it under the bathroom sink, when I found out what she wanted to for.

To pee in.

There’s a commode, but it’s being stored in the washroom right now. She said, they want her to get up and walk around to use the toilet (I explained about the necessity of movement to help with her OA, which got a glare), but she didn’t want to use the commode. It had been beside her bed, but she claimed they forget about it and didn’t change it after it gets used. So instead, if she needs to go during the night, she planned to use the garbage can.

Well… at least it isn’t an ice cream pail, like she had been doing at home, until we got a commode for her!

I told her, don’t do that! Her response was, do you want me to pee on the floor?

*sigh*

Even with the odd stuff, it was a good and fairly quiet visit. When someone came for her food tray – a white person, so my mother was willing to talk to her – my mother started complaining about the noise. The nurse was good at deflecting!

My mother was soon ready to lie down for a nap – rejecting my offer to help her get into bed – and I headed out. After the wonderful smells of my mother’s lunch, I was really hungry! My husband had messaged me that he needed more needles at the pharmacy, so I headed in that direction and ended up stopping at the Dairy Queen for lunch this time. I had a store to stop in as well, but that was directly across the street from the pharmacy, which was handy. Once done at the pharmacy, I headed back to the garage, figuring they might be done by then.

When I got to the parking lot, I saw the truck in the lot, with the engine running. They had just finished it, and was running it to check on things. Outdoors, rather than the closed garage!

When the mechanic was free, he told me it was looking good. The leak was fixed with the highest quality seal available – he still doesn’t understand why it started leaking again. I got instructions to keep an eye on the gauge, check for fresh leaks under the truck, and check the oil levels. The oil level right now is fine, and everything seems to be running smoothly.

When I got in the truck, though, the needle on the gauge was even lower than before.

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It obviously wasn’t something he felt was a concern, but I don’t like it!

My next stop was my mother’s apartment, but I needed to get gas, first. So I drove to a gas station that was on my usual route towards home. I figured, if I shut the engine off for a while, the gauge might reset itself.

It didn’t.

On the plus side, it wasn’t dropping, either. It was really steady. The only time the needle almost reached that first line above zero was when I decided to test things and gunned it to 110kph. As soon as I returned to the speed limit, down it dropped to the same level and stayed there.

With the route I was taking, I could drive to the highway closer to us, then decide if I’d be turning towards my mother’s apartment, or heading home.

Thanks to knowing my mother’s apartment would be safely locked up, I headed home.

As soon as I was stopped, I got the picture to send to our mechanic. I then went into the garage to brush aside the oil stains in the dirt floor, so we could tell if there were any new drips, before parking. Once inside, I sent the picture to our mechanic, describing what I was seeing (and what was different), though I don’t expect to hear from him necessarily today. He was so swamped, even with two other mechanics in today.

I also updated my siblings.

Now, I’ve driven with that oil gauge at zero for quite some time. When we were having MAF issues, the oil sensor also got replaced. So this is still a new sensor. It shouldn’t be misreading. Yet, he could find no other problem that might cause the sensor to be reading low oil pressure. For all I know, the sensor is reading “normal”, but the needle is simply stuck at the wrong spot.

My brother will be out here tomorrow to dig out his own truck, so I will follow them with my truck to my mother’s place, and help bring things here. The truck should be fine. My brain knows that – but I am so bloody paranoid about it, I don’t want to make the drive on my own in case something happens along the way. We depend on it so much!

This is where I remember my mother was promising to buy us a car back in the summer, but apparently my sister talked her out of it. Granted, my mother thought she had enough money to buy a new car, with zero understanding of how expensive new cars are right now. With my mother’s habit of promising things, then backing out at the last minute, none of us expected her to actually do it. Still, it does… frustrate.

Hopefully, all will work out with the truck tomorrow. I’ll be a lot more comfortable driving it with my brother nearby.

The thing is, with all this stuff going on, we still need to go our stock up shopping trips to the city, a trip to the dump, a trip to the feed store, etc. Thankfully, we have enough kibble to last another week, for both indoor and outdoor cats, but we’re almost out of wet cat food for the indoor cats. Even without having to get my mother’s apartment emptied, this is the time of the month when we do most of our driving.

This truck is certainly not the first vehicle we’ve own that’s been like this, but for having it for only 2 years, there has been a lot!

I am so tired of weird vehicle issues.

The Re-Farmer