Monday, December 22, 2008
I'm Bugnbuddysmom on twitter. I don't tweet much, that is SuperG's time sink. But I did get tweeted by Ohio's former Secretary of State Ken Blackwell who is now running to be the RNC chairman. Woot! Brush with greatness, ping!
At any rate, I'd like to introduce you to our newest addition:
Say "Hi" to Blobby, who has grown so much since the initial ultrasound told me I had a blob with a heartbeat lo these many weeks ago.
I'm almost 13 weeks along, am starting to feel a bit better, I go whole days without puking now, which is great. I crave Thai food all the time, but haven't been able to get any lately.
We are almost ready for Christmas, I feel so blessed that this year we are able to give our children gifts and food for the table, when so many people, including those that I know, are feeling the economic pinch and having to choose between the two.
I'm sure I won't get online to post again, so have a merry Christmas and count your blessings this year, we certainly are!
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Having worked for a subsidiary of one of the Big Three, Ford Credit, in the 90's, I saw first hand the waste, and the largess that a powerful union has on a company. I didn't pay anything for my monthly benefits, actually got some money back. Had 5 weeks paid vacation each year, 3 weeks of 100% paid sick days. I had a $550 yearly out of pocket maximum on my medical insurance, which was the type where you could go anywhere, to any Dr without any referrals or participating providers, anything.
I paid $5 each month for fertility drug prescriptions that ran $5000 to $7000 for those who had to pay out of pocket for them.
No wonder Fords were so expensive to buy. Oh wait, no they weren't, not for me and the majority of my family members.
And we wonder now why they're going broke. Or they've gone broke. When the union strangles your company and requires that you give that kind of a benefit package to your NON-UNION employees, it just can't be sustained forever. The rumors of the wages for the autoworkers were probably inflated, but not by much.
So, on one hand, maybe Detroit needs to tough it out and if one or two or three of them go belly up, so be it.
But on the other hand, I've got two aging yet paid for GM vehicles in my driveway. I fear the scarcity of parts will force us to one day buy a Honda, which is made about 30 miles away from my home. Hmmm, would I still be buying American at that point?
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Twice in as many days the dogs have been literally throttled by me. I just see red and then I'm off the hook. The hormones suck.
Been so absolutely dead tired and sick lately, today I stayed in bed until nearly 4pm. My son was sweet enough to hang out with me and force me to endure hours of the darkest days of animation in the 20th century.
Yes, my friends, I am talking about the Chuck Jones era. Due to my son's current obsession with Tom and Jerry, I am subjected to this abomination almost daily. I don't know who this talentless hack thought he was, but he could have just committed this thoughtless acts of terrorism on a smaller scale, like poisoning a municipal water supply, or killing all the infant boys in the land, you know, something that we could easily get over. But no, he puts out the crappy animation for a generation to endure. He's probably dead by now, but if not, he should kick off soon, in a most painful way.
Think I'll go steal candy from orphans and kick some old ladies. Then scuttle back to bed.
How does that nutjob in Arkansas survive all those pregnancies? She's got to have some brain stem missing or something, 17 kids and counting, what a nutjob. But perhaps since she's been lactating and/or gestating for 25 years or so, the hormonal flux must pretty much not happen anymore. Freak.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
This time around, however, is different.
I'd have liked to regained my health to a greater degree. And gotten down to my goal weight, although I was close. But those weren't the cards I was dealt.
So far, the baby seems fine. We have an ultrasound on the 18th to go along with bloodwork I had drawn recently which will give us an idea if the baby is at risk for any genetic abnormalities. As if I didn't have enough to obsess over.
The baby has a fine heartbeat, arms and legs and all that jazz. It also is pumping out the hormones from hell. I'm mean as a snake most days now, anyone who irritates me may just end up getting a rather nasty earful of whut-fer.
Then there is the whole Passion of the Christ thing. Whenever I think about Judas betraying Jesus with a kiss, I get all verklempt. Well, that is putting it lightly. On Friday, driving to pick up DH for our date at the Larry the Cable Guy show, I heard U2's "Pride" and when they got to the part "one man betrayed with a kiss" I broke down in hysterical sobs, so intense that I had to pull off the road. When I started crying as I related this to my loving partner, he laughed at me.
I sincerely hope that I can overcome this emotional overload before Easter gets here.
The Christmas cards have started rolling in. Many of them include the standard shlocky Christmas letter telling how wonderful their lives are, how wonderful their kids are, and how much they love their wonderful, super acheiving perfect children and spouses and oh everything is just so great that when you're done reading the letter butterflies will come flocking out of your ass.
So, I feel it is my duty this year to send out a realistic and totally honest Christmas letter. First I'm going to try to put the kids to bed on time, to get me in the proper mood. And then I'm going to make an outline, but not actually write the letter until after I have one of my molars pulled tomorrow morning. Yup, I'll be in the perfect frame of mind to write a letter about the last year of our lives........
Monday, November 10, 2008
Honestly, I owe my life to Hightower, because if I had gotten one of the monikers SHE wanted, I'd have been a grease spot in the schoolyard by third grade.
Some of the names were okay, but most of them had me wondering what she was smoking. She asked not to read about my opinions of her names on my blog....heh heh heh, which is just begging for it to appear here. You can age me, but you can't take the teenager outta me.
At any rate, to ward off further suggestions from family and former friends, we are announcing the names right now:
For a girl:
For a boy:
Cool Moe Dee
There. I hope that we can all move past this and let me get through the first trimester before we start planning the little blob's feeding schedule.
Thursday, November 6, 2008
Really. No shit. Now, this is pregnancy number 14 for me. Yes, number 14. I know that at this early stage, one day can make a difference between seeing and not seeing. I also know that an ultrasound done by a regular old ultrasound tech is not the best of the best of the best.
Thankfully, I spent the next three days in pain, so I had other things to worry about. Namely the "solid-appearing" "psuedotumor" seen within the renal cortex in what remains of my left kidney. It has grown since my CT in September. My urologist ordered another ultrasound scheduled for this coming Monday. But since I now have little Blobby on board, nothing can be done with this except monitoring and pain control, until the baby gets here.
And this baby is huge. Within a span of about three days, my belly exploded like a Jiffy Pop container. At 5 weeks' gestation, I was completely in maternity clothes. It's going to be a LONG 8 months.
And because of my 11 hours spent in the hospital on Monday, and sleeping the next day, all day (except when I went to vote) I missed work and now I'm being called to the evil overlord's office to discuss my attendance.
As the great philosopher, Roseanne Roseannadanna once said
And so I go forth, as normal.
The Mc Cain rally was a lot of fun. I gotta say, Ahnold has some big feet, Dang!
And there were like 300 "Joe the Plumbers" there, so we got to sit in a special section, wear our "Joe" stickers and be close to, but not touching, the man. Oh well, I saved the voice mail.
My heart hurts over Mac's defeat. However, I am an American, and unlike some soon to be First Lady, have always been proud of that fact. And have understood just how lucky I am to have been born here, as opposed to, say, Sweden, the land of my forefathers. The tax rate there is upwards of 50%. And life in prison really means all of 12 years. So what is the incentive to work hard to achieve a modicum of success. Why bother following laws and doing this the right and honest way when you know that even if you murder someone, you'll be out in 12 years?
Nah, I'm glad I'm an American. And part of that is respecting the Office of the President. Even if I totally disagree with the socialist ideals that the President-elect admires, I must respect him because of the office he holds. It is my duty as an American. As I've told others today, I just pray that at the end of the next four years we live in the UNITED States, not the SOCIALIST States, of America.
Wednesday, October 29, 2008
So I signed up for the McCain for president newsletters some time ago. I really wanted him for president in 2000.
At any rate, this past weekend they sent out a request for Ohioans to send in their "Joe the Plumber" story. I read that, and decided to stop working and pound out an abbreviated version of my last 3 years. You know, how I worked my data entry job, ran an internet business, and babysat a little boy for 50 hours a week, while taking care of my kids and home all the while I was in horrible kidney pain for which we had no answers. I could have taken social security disability but did not, because I could function and I had a responsibility to my family.......
I got a call tonight from the campaign asking me to come the rally here in Capital City on Friday and sit in the VIP section with the real Joe the Plumber. I might even get a chance to meet McCain and Schwarzenegger!!!!!
No matter if you're an evil Rethuglican like me, or the other guys, you gotta admit that is pretty exciting.
I think if I meet them I'll tell 'em that if our next baby is a boy, we'll name him John Ahhhnold.
I'm so excited. And I signed up for NaNoWriMo, National Novel Writing Month. It's a challenge to write a 50,000 word Novella during the month of November. You can read more about it here: www.nanowrimo.com
What a whirlwind week this has been!!!!
Here is my "Joe the Plumber Story":
I do not believe in "Spreading the Wealth" by taking from the successful and giving to those that are not. That is basically another form of Welfare, which does nothing but create the sense of entitlement.
I work 30+ hours a week at my home doing data entry, while I care for my two children (and now discovered, one on the way!) AND for the past 2 1/2 years, I babysat a friend's son 50 hours a week on top of caring for my own children and working.
Would I like to stay home and keep house and be the perfect June Cleaver mother? Of Course! But pretty much my entire income covers our tax load, so in order to realize my husband's full income, and thus pay all our bills (including our mortgage) and putting food on the table and clothes on our back, I NEED to work.
For the past 3 1/2 years I've battled excruciatingly painful kidney stone disease, endured over 15 operations, spent most of that time on pain meds that would normally have someone passed out. AND I still did my job, took care of my kids, and someone else's AND volunteered at our church AND foster basset hounds for Ohio Basset Rescue. My condition was finally diagnosed at The Mayo Clinic in August 2008 as an exceedingly rare syndrome that has affected less than 300 people.....ever. An autotransplant of my right kidney was done, (my left one was partially removed in October 2007) and I am back to work and recovering from an Achilles tendon repair (thanks to Cipro).
I was within my rights to declare disability, go home and lay in bed, waiting for my government check, let my kids run wild, or dump them on others. People have remarked over the years that they don't understand how I manage. I tell them "because I have to". It is my RESPONSIBILITY to care for my family and to help provide for them. How can appreciate the things that I have unless I have earned them? Why should someone else have to support me when I am able to pull my own load? I had these children, chose the house, bought those cars, why should I look to others to pay for my own choices?
Obama's rhetoric smacks of communism. Look at how the socialist system in Russia worked out. Look at people who have been on government assistance for years and years. If I can work through all I have been through, why can't someone else?
During this time, I also opened a small internet store specializing in cloth diapers (my son was allergic to disposable chemicals, plus they are more economical). I have yet to turn a profit, but I worked hard during all that time when I could have just dropped everything. (www.diapersnthings.com)
"Spreading the Wealth" should never be mandated by Washington. We share our wealth with our church, with volunteering in the community, with giving back AS WE SEE FIT AND AS WE CAN AFFORD. Higher taxes are only going to create even more resentment and hardship for people who have pride in themselves and enough self respect to work and earn their way. It will only encourage those with less-than-driven work ethics to sit back and take, take, take, without ever giving back. That is not only sad and wrong, it's very un-American.
It feels good just to get this off my chest. I never sat around crying "why me" or "look at all that I have to do". I stayed the course and did what I had to do, because I could, should and would. Thanks.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
Woke up at 1am, came downstairs, finished off Ben and Jerry's Turtle Soup. Woke up to pee again at 4:30am. The most amazing, incredible, miraculous thing happened then.
I couldn't get back to sleep. So I got up and got ready to go to the Come-To-Jesus-Meeting with the Evil Overlord, which is never as bad as I anticipate.
The amazing, incredible, miraculous thing happened 5 more times today, each time the same exact thing.
It's so incredible, I'm just in shock. Super G is elated, similar to when we thought we won the lottery and had nouveau-riche porn dreams for a while. (okay, so that really didn't happen, but it could have, or maybe that was me and the Ex)
Anyway, God has shined upon me, as if to say "I grow wearing with smiting you, I am now pleased with you.....be happy"
So tomorrow, my other day off work, I have to take Banjo the Basset Hound in for his annual shots and such. Jessi the Aussie was in on Monday because she dragged her back legs for a bit, her hip dysplasia and arthritis in her hips and back has gotten worse. They gave me Equine glucosamine pellets to give her, more Previcox, Tramadol, and ear meds. $300 later the dog that hates me is feeling much better. So much that she's blowing her coat all over the bed and floor and my clothes, little remnants of her furriness to have with me...........Everywhere.
Anyway, I just had to tell y'all about the miracle that happened today..........
well, perhaps I needed to tease y'all, maybe tomorrow I'll fill you in.
Bwaaaa haaaa haaaa haaaa
Monday, October 20, 2008
The heating pad works amazingly well, until my butt gets so hot I feel as though I'm sitting on a campfire.
Super G is doing homework with Bug. Thank God. I have no patience for that. And it's cool because then I can run interference with Buddy and she can concentrate, a bit.
So, I'm thinking, about my Evil Rethuglican status. I liked McCain in 2000, but we got W instead. Now he's back, but he's so much more creepy and nasal and centrist. Up until the convention, I was conflicted about who to vote for.
Then along comes Caribou Barbie. Sarah Barracuda. I like her, if for nothing more than she's not a career politician, she's a Boy Scout, a True Believer. And she's hot. That helps.
Can't say the same about Slow Joe....wooog.
I got nothing to really say tonight. I made it through a week of work, and have already been called in for a conference on shit I did wrong before I went on leave...... Whatever. I fucking hate this part of the job, review the err of your ways and atone for your sins, be contrite and repentant....blah blah blah.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
I got a call on Friday, at 4:30pm, telling me that if I don't go back to work by this coming Wednesday, I'm terminated. How nice. Since I'm part-time, I'm only eligible for 60 days of FMLA. Oh, the lowly part-time employee, how you are so needed and so mistreated all at the same time. Whatever, the fuckers.
So I'll get my doctor's release and go back to work. I'm hoping that my current precarious mental state can withstand the insanity. It is a very, very negative environment that I work in, where each and every error that you make is brought to your attention, but no one ever thinks twice about telling you when you've done a good job. I guess that is most places anymore, but still. I had hopes of being a great American Writer or the perfect June Cleaver Stay-At-Home Mom type person, with perfect hair, a string of pearls and tasty dinner on the table when my family is hungry.
Instead, I'm a data entry worker who can only cook from the directions on the box, most days I don't shower and for the past two months, Super G has done all the parenting.
So I'm watching TV with Buddy, and I really have a bone to pick with the Nick Jr people. Max and Ruby:
Where are their fucking parents? What kind of Grandma lets those kids live alone in that house and then gives Max fucking ice cream for breakfast??? So Ruby is this bossy 7 year old that keeps a clean house and takes good care of Max, and has a garden and a manicured lawn and she always manages to have tea parties, or Bunny Scout Parties. I am almost 38 years old and I can't do any of that!!!!! How dare Nick Jr. show me up with a 7 year old bunny. Poor Max, growing up with absent parents and a bossy sister...... Or perhaps poor Bug and Buddy, for having a mom that can't do what any juvenile rabbit can.
Super G is trying to get the kids upstairs into the shower, and suddenly I hear this song "I'm running with my scrotum in my hand.....This is to protect it throughout the land"
I am going to stay in here. I really don't want to know, but they were all running around and laughing, so I feel no need to interfere. Buddy took a 3 hour nap today, so he'll be partyin' until midnight while Bug is crying hysterically, perhaps because she has no scrotum to hold while she runs, I don't know. Who knows why 7 year olds cry and scream, for the drama of it all I guess.
Now they're playing Rock, Paper, Scissors to decide whether it is a shower or a bath, no matter what, one of them is going to be angry. He likes to shower, she likes to bathe, and neither Super G nor I feel like running the water twice. At some point, they're going to be too old to bathe together.....and the girl just lost two out of three......the screaming has begun. I could go help out, but, well, her performance keeps ratcheting upwards, if I stay down here, she could be Oscar-worthy before she gets into the shower, at which point she won't want to get out. This is the dichotomy of childhood. No! No! don't put me in the clean, clean water......NO! NO! don't take me out of the now dirty water!
I should go up and help him out, lend moral support or something.
Monday, October 6, 2008
Had my Achilles Tendon repaired last week. Not very painful, not bad at all. BUT the recovery is one class A stone cold BITCH. Leg fixed Wednesday afternoon, that evening I hobbled to church with the kids because their bickering and fighting was driving me nuts, why rest? The next day, at the top of the stairs, getting ready to sit on my butt and scoot down, I slipped, fell backward and bashed my head on the marble windowsill. Blood was everywhere. A trip to the ER later determined a mild concussion and a little laceration that garnered me two staples.
Then Sunday I fell at church, once again unsteady on my crutches. Fractured my tailbone and sprained my wrist. Also hissed four of the seven words you can't say on television (God Bless you George Carlin) as a crowd of wingtips, knees and crotches gathered around me. After a very emphatic "fuck" the slacks owned by my pastor had some smartass comment about my newness to crutches. Whatever, mortified and hurt....yet again... we went to the ER where the Dr ordered me a walker.
So I'm housebound, getting out and about sucks when you can't bear weight on both your feet. It hasn't even been a week and I feel myself getting lonely and weird. Buddy runs wild in the afternoons, because he knows by the time I get to him to stop what he's doing, he'll be able to escape and go onto something else.
So I started thinking today, bad thing really, but I was thinking about what girls talk about. And I wonder if some of my friends are the way I am, meaning, that I blurt out almost whatever the hell I want to with some friends, and with others, I keep that stuff under wraps and then they're shocked when they hear me in my natural state, or read this blog. I have a friend that I've not talked to in a long time, but we can always pick up where we left off. I miss talking to her. She's the best. So beautiful, and creative and artistic and the only person in the world I can discuss things such as pubic shaving with her while keeping a straight face. For what it's worth, thanks Babbs, the Seiko Cleancut works wonders......now that I can see what I'm doing yay no nicks, cuts or ingrowns.....wooo hooo!
And you see, guys can't talk about that kind of stuff. Lots of guys manscape, but most of them will deny it. They won't even go over the pros and cons of it Now, if I hadn't had this long ago discussion with Babbs , I would still be hacking myself to bits trying to smooth out the swimsuit line. Granted, I went a little further, but that is my prerogative, Super G doesn't mind so I guess I'll just see what my urologist has to say when I go in for my annual cystoscopy.
And speaking of Doctors, oh, no I think I won't speak of doctors right now. I'll save that for another time, it's a whole post in and of itself.
So what is it about women that makes them go out and seek interaction and community, while most guys would hole up in their caves and watch sports and war porn? There are days when the words in my head swirl and twirl and seem to crawl out of every pore of my being in an effort to be heard, to be expressed to be noticed. And then there are days where the words are there but I can't put them down, or don't want anyone to read them. And I think that is where I've been for a month. Not really anyone to talk to, struggling to recover and then nearly immobilized, it is easier for me to lay in bed all day, than get up and move around. I miss having friends to talk to sometimes.
Was it "Rear Window" with Jimmy Stewart stuck in his apartment with a broken leg and he thinks he's seen a murder? I can empathize with that character now. This sucks.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
Tuesday I had an autotransplant of my right kidney. They took the kidney out, cleaned it up, severed all the nerves and put it back in my body in the groin, the pain in my flank is gone!!!!!
I'm still in a lot of surgical pain it is hard to get that under control once you let it get away from you. Today is Friday, and I'm still trying to get the pain under control. I switched to oxycontin and oxycodone to try and ride out the pain. So far, it is not working very well.
Two days later and I'm out of the hospital. Super G is back in Ohio, Hightower and The Little General (forget what I've named her before, but that is one my stepmother knows ) went back to Nebraska, put Uncle John to rest.
I struggle with the surgical pain, but I know it will go away and get better. Friday I woke up 30 pounds heavier than I was on Thursday. I was not making very much pee, so they poured fluids into me, then gave me diuretics to get it out. I wasn't so happy with the plan, and upon release on Sunday, we had to go to wal-mart and get me some clothes, as I had one pair of pants and one shirt that fit me.
I obsessed about this weight gain, my right leg was so swollen and tight I could not bend my knee. I described it to the nurse as being a watermelon wrapped inside a grape.
Not very comfortable.
But it is going away. And I am here alone, again. In quite a bit of pain right now, waiting for the meds to kick in, so I ambled out of my room and came down to the business office to blog. I don't mind surfing on the craptop in my room, but I need a desktop to type with speed and finesse. You can't do anything with finesse on a craptop.
So I was in the shower this morning, thinking about Super G. We've had our ups and downs. I'd say that my medical oddity odyssey was definitely a down. It has been hard, learning to live with a person that emotes, and has thoughts that must be heard, and things of significance to say, and feelings that get hurt. But it has also been wonderful being with someone who can finish your thought in the same perverted way. Nothing has been more rewarding to me than to parent the two blessings that he gave to me all Goddamned day, and fall, completely exhausted, into a bed full of dog hair and Goldfish crumbs, snuggling up nekkid under my own blanket next to him and his seven layers of pajamas, and giggling about some stupid demented thing until one of us (usually me) has to get up and pee.
Eight years later and he can still make me pee. THAT is saying something considering the shape of my kidneys.
Last Tuesday morning, as we walked from the hotel lobby to the hospital for my evisceration...uh, I mean surgery, I casually, and not so subltly pointed out to Super G this beautiful emerald and diamond ring on display. Chances are it was antique, chance are it cost more than the Hulking Mini Van of Death, chances are that it has been on display in the same place for a long time, as there were tiny cobwebs around the box. I had looked at it every day for a week. It never moved, the display never changed. I made sure he saw it, a definite "if I survive this surgery, this would be a good gift" hint. You See.....
Super G has Gift Angst. Severe and profound Gift Angst. He tries so hard to give people what he thinks that they want, then he flounders in an ocean of indecision about his gift, then he worries. Then I tease him. And for the big ones, yeah, he sucks. The year I got the lesbian lumberjack shirt that was 2 sizes too small. Fail. The Christmas I got books 4, 5, and 6 out of a series in which I had not read books 1, 2, and 3 (and no, seeing the movie is not the same). Epic Fail. And then there was the subwoofer. Blatant gift-was-really-for-you fail.
No one can be perfect, and this is his blemish that I have engraved large and bold in type and on the internet for the world to see, and read and laugh and mock.
However, my intent here is not to destroy his confidence and make him a laughing stock. All our friends, and now, everyone else, already knows about the trail of less than stellar gifts. And he has dutifully given me exactly what I ask for when those all important times of year roll around. ( **cough** Kennth's Gift Certificate**cough **)
Nope, in the shower today, I realized that he gives gifts of genuine love and care, of tender emotion and undeniable affection. He hears me when I prattle on about the smallest of things.
I say once, in some odd conversation about hunting season and why I only want to cook wild game taken down in the meat department of the grocery store, that I'd always wanted to shoot a gun. Seven months later I get a gift certificate to the local shooting range to take a Concealed Carry Weapons Class, where I will get to shoot lots of guns, and find out that I'm actually good at it.
Wow. It was the coolest thing I've done in a long time, I still have my targets hanging up and we are now members of the club. I can't wait to get my NRA membership!!!
What kind of guy would remember that one little comment, so many months later?
Then there was the music. The song "Photograph", by the group Nickleback, was going through my head and I was singing it to myself as I gathered laundry upstairs.
I come downstairs to start working and discover that he had downloaded the song in a legal and legit way, and put it on my desktop, so that I could click on it and listen to it over and over, whenever I wanted.
That, my friends, is geek sweet. He's a systems engineer, he's not some smooth talking Lothario car salesman-real estate agent-businessman-corporate executive. He is different. He thinks differently, and I realized today just how lucky I am at times to have that in my grasp. When he stops worrying about getting the gift that I want, and just does these little things for me, it swells my heart and helps to overshadow the times I have wanted to bash his head in with a rock.
Friday, my feet were cold in spite of the fugly hospital booties I had on. So we went downstairs to the gift shop, and I bought a set of fun socks. They were zany colors and designs, you get three of them, and none of them match. I got multi-colored puzzle piece print, and multi-colored stripes of differing widths. They made me smile when I looked at them. As the weekend went on, I realized that I'd never wear them out of our house with the whole mis-match thing going on, and I really loved that puzzle piece print. So on the auspices of going to get a goofy pair of socks for Bug, I slithered another package in for me (along with a "Repaired in Rochester" T-Shirt). I didn't need them, we really didn't need to spend the money, but they made me smile when I looked down, and so he didn't batt an eye.
It's the little stuff. When he doesn't anguish over it, and think about it, and feel like he HAS to get me something, when he just sees something and thinks of me, those usually turn out to be the best gifts ever. Sometimes, when I've had a long hard day, and I am keying furiously to get my work done by ten, and he gets home at 9:30, the best thing ever is when he hands me a cold REAL Coke, because he knew when he left work that I had a hard day, and might need it.
Getting back to the ring.
Coming back to the hotel yesterday, as we passed the display case, my heart skipped a beat...... the ring was gone! I got a bit lightheaded and shaky, until I saw that it had only been moved to a different spot in the case, as another ring was missing.
Now, I don't know if he did or he didn't. But part of me says he went back to see if it was possible for us to get that ring. Maybe he did look at it, maybe he didn't. But the cool thing about Super G is that I know that he at the very least thought about pricing out that ring for me, and the love and devotion and sweet, sweet passion for me that he has in perhaps even thinking about pricing out that ring are more than most other women could ever hope for.
Or, they actually just dusted the display for once and put it back in the wrong spot and the asshole didn't even so much as give me a get well card.
Take your pick.
Sunday, August 24, 2008
It's me again. The pain on the right side is back. It is like fire that burns AND stabs at me. It drove me from my room, down here, where I can hear people moving about and talking, so I'm not alone, scared and hurting. Scared and hurting so much.
Hightower (my dad) is coming up tomorrow, will stay for my surgery and leave on Wednesday. His Uncle-in-Law, Uncle John, passed away Saturday morning. The viewing is Wednesday night, funeral on Thursday. But he's still coming up here. Probably because I called today, sounding so scared and lost. I am grateful and happy for that.
Super G will be here tomorrow afternoon as well. So I will no longer be alone, this makes me happy.
I was out walking today, and ran into a family walking a Bloodhound named Emma. Supposedly she's a famous dog, doing some ads for a local shop. I explained that I was from Ohio, didn't know her, but rescued Basset Hounds and really missed the ears and drool. both of which Emma graced me with. And for a while, I felt better.
This pain won't abate, I really really don't want to go to the ER again tonight, I want to just have the pain go away, but the more I sit here, the more it hurts.
How wonderful life will be without this constant horror in my side........
and how very strange.......
Lots of soldiers here today. The Iraqi bigwig must have left, as the secret service goons are gone, or else they have become less conspicuous. Most of the stores are closed on Sunday, so I can't go visit Trisha or Michelle, the girls who run the toy store. They have sympathetic auras, and I instantly knew that I could go in there and breathe deep and let the tears run down my face without worry. Standing there among the Thomas toys and the pretty dolls, I think of my children, and how much I miss them. They let me just stand in there, breathe in all the childhood that I am missing right now. Yes, it hasn't even been a week, but my children are all I've ever wanted in my life, and if I lose it all else, I'll still have them, and I'll still be complete.
But the store is closed today, so I stood outside the windows for a bit, then went into Starbucks and saw a woman outside walking the fattest old yellow lab I've ever seen. So I went outside and ran after her, asked if I could pet the dog and loved up on that lab like it's never been loved on before. Two soldiers were out there smoking, they too, loved up on the old girl. The lady said she's a farm dog, but has good manners so got to come to town today, and she may never get the dog to go home because of all the love she's gotten today. I don't want her too. I let the dog lick my hands until they were sopping, still isn't like the drool I get from my hounds. I miss them so.
Being away from home is hard. Giving up all the control to others is harder. Not knowing when I'll see my children, just being marooned here is hard. Being in pain, being scared, sad and lonely is hard.
Some people have been here for months, some just a few days. But we are all connected by the fact that we are all unwell, in varying degrees, and we've all come here as the last ditch effort to save and/or improve our lives.
In the last couple of weeks the pain I live in has become unbearable. Friday I was at Dr. E's office, getting the last of my test results back and planning on the surgery which will probably be on Tuesday. His nurse Colleen (her real name) was so wonderful, she called my cell earlier to check on me, and was showing me a shortcut back to the hotel when that pesky stone that was in my right ureter flared up again. it's a small one, but I'm so worn out and hypersensitive, it brought me to my knees. I crumpled to the floor and started sobbing "this is what I live with every day"
I had my second ambulance ride in as many days, taking me to the ER. They had a full house, but put me on the top of the list, and after 4 tries, they got an IV in me with a huge dose of drugs. Still the pain persisted, so they kept me overnight in an observation unit hooked up to a Fentanyl PCA. In the morning I told the Dr that even though I'd probably be better off staying at the hospital on the meds, psychologically, I needed some semblance of control, I needed to go back to the hotel. They let me go, got me a cab and I came back. I stayed in bed all day. People called and I was in and out of my haze, don't remember talking to many of them.
I called for roomservice around 10, got a rueben, that I ended up eating for breakfast. I read through all my medical records and then decided that I needed to leave the room for a while. I might go hang out with the 101 year old lady, or I might stay here and blog, I don't know.
Life is so fragile at times, it makes me sad. I'm scared of this surgery coming up, but what other options do I have? This is my last chance at normal. And even with this, I will still have Loin Pain Hematuria Syndrome, I just wont' feel it since the right kidney was denervated. We just have to pray that it won't spread to the left kidney.
I had a transitional cell papillary carcinoma of the bladder at age 29. This normally is seen in black male smokers over 50. I was white female non-smoker under 30, less than 1 tenth of 1 percent chance of getting that. Now I have been diagnosed with a syndrome that has affected less than 500 people EVER. And I am only the 10th person here at Mayo that Dr. Sarducci has ever done it on.
Couldn't I be extraordinary in another way? Like, say, winning the lottery?
Typing this out has helped. It is so hard, not being with my babies, not being with my dogs, being stuck in a strange city, having a rare disorder and having an even more rare and drastic surgery in the hopes that this solves my problem.
I want to go home and live my life. The fear that my kidney will not make it through the operation scares me, the thought of living with my remaining 1/2 a kidney, or being on dialysis is terrifying. But if I don't take that chance, all we can be sure of is that I'll be a narcotic mess for the rest of my life.
Oh the decisions we must make.
Thursday, August 21, 2008
I love men in uniform.
So, I visited with the transplant surgeon, who is Italian. He was telling me about the very serious surgery I'm probably facing, and it was all I could do to keep from giggling because he sounded just like Father Guido Sarducci. I've decided to name him Dr. Sarducci.
I will find out on Friday morning, after I talk to Dr E when all my test results are back in, but it sounds like they are going to do a surgery, autotransplantation. Where they take my kidney out, severing all the nerves, then cleaning it up and putting it back in my abdomen. It has an 80% success rate. It scares me a bit, as it should. I wonder if I'll ever get out of here, talking to Bug today she sounded sad and said "I don't think you're ever going to come home" Broke my heart it did.
So, I went out and found a mom and pop convenience store here in the overpriced downtown Rochester and bought up their only two jars of Vlasic Kosher Dill Pickles. mmmmmm pickles................
more to come as the mind races with fears and worries, and lots of nonsensical free-associative thoughts.
The badnews, the ancient laptop that goes with me on hospital stays, well, the ethernet card seems to be alive....the lights flicker on and off on it, but no connection thar be. So I hooked up via dial up last night, but found out that there is a charge for local calls. 800 numbers are free for the first 45 minutes, so I'll have to see if Road Runner has an 800 number to connect to.
I'd also like to say that my trip was uneventful, for the most part. I demanded that Super G stay home, as his mother was coming to take care of the kids, but I knew that I would do nothing but worry about my babies if he were here with me. SO, I drove it alone.
My appointment was on Wednesday, August 20, which is the day after the first day of school for Bug. So, we put Bug on the bus Tuesday morning and then I went and left for Rochester. It's about a 12 hour drive. I did okay, until I hit the Champaign/Urbana area of Illinois. That was when the pain started. I pulled off at a rest area, took some percocet and curled up in the car until it kicked in. Then I pulled the most boneheaded move of my life. I left the bottle of percocet on the shelf in the rest area bathroom.
I didn't realize that I had done such a stupid thing until I got to Rockford, several hours later. The percocet began to wear off and suddenly life sucked. I kept on going until I saw the blue "H" sign in the Spark county area of Wisconsin. I pulled off, found the podunk hospital. Went to the ER, I noticed a lot of people in BDUs (Battle Dress Uniform), this will come into play later. They gave me a shot of Toradol and let me rest for a few hours. Then I continued on, but about 20 miles east of LaCross, with only about 90 minutes left on my trip, I could take no more and found a motel.
The American Inn had one room left, a two room suite, that the manager gave me for the standard room rate, bless his heart. I slept like a rock, got up at 7am and headed for Rochester.
I'd like to say right now, that the mosquitos here are HUGE!!!! They don't just suck your blood, they shake you down first. Holy cow, when the bugs up here hit your windshield you just have to pray that the structural integrity of the front of your car remains intact, and you brace for the next impact. I always thought that Texas had some big ass bugs, but the quantity of large unidentifiable bugs here rivals any giant flying tree roach they have in the greater Dallas-Ft. Worth area.
Having said that, the Mississippi River crossing at LaCrosse, and subsequent interstate journey along the shore was very beautiful, especially at sunrise. Very tranquil.
The staff at the medical clinics were so nice, and I finally met with Dr. E. A tall, skinny man, with wild white hair and a goatee, he was very compassionate. We went through my entire history, and he even braved the two pound stack of records I brought with me, to find out what my stones are composed of. To my surprise they were not calcium oxalate, as I had been led to believe, but rather calcium phosphate. Highly unusual.
So I've peed in a million different cups, had my blood drawn and he gave me some oral pain meds to help me while I'm here. They are checking for everything under the sun and today I'm being sent to see a transplant specialist who has an interest in a very rare, exceedingly obscure disorder Loin Pain Hematuria Syndrome. Figures, that the only real explaination is some syndrome that no one has heard of, and that there is no effective treatment for other than pain management.
I'm sure there will be more missives later, but for now I'm bored and lonely and miss my babies so much.
Sunday, August 3, 2008
My public adored me and although I have been having a really rough time lately, I felt great about all the feedback I had gotten.
Until I woke up this morning and saw this in my inbox:
And I'd like to say to all those lame-asses at e-bay, the only one violating Violent Materials policies are the sado-masochists who created this stuff in the first place:
Here is my ultra violent materials auction, it's an ultra-violent, Clockwork Orange kind of thing.
Hmmm, Clockwork KY? You be the judge:
Item Specifics - Item Condition
Family Planning Product :
Personal LubricantProduct Type :
Personal LubricantBrand :
Mother of God, what was I thinking?
So, here is the deal. I've had chronic pain for three years now. Finally figured out part of the problem (several slightly bulging discs pinching an odd nerve, sending really nasty kidney stone like pain around my flanks) Now, I've also had some serious kidney problems, staghorn calculi, bilateral, which lead to so really nasty surgeries, or attempted murders as it were, and lot of damage to these particular vital organs leaving me a sobbing blob of carbon hooked up to Dilaudid drips in many an ER room for many many nights. How does all this pertain to a personal lubricant you may ask? I'm gettin' to it.
So, 8 months ago, my Dr put me on Fentanyl transdermal patches to give me a constant decent pain relief option. It was great! I didn't feel high, I could work, play, be a mom, wife, friend a real normal person! No longer a sobbing blob of carbon, I became once again, a functional working member of society. Life was good. Then we finally found a pain management Dr who figured out my obscure problem, gave me something called Neurontin, which is used for people with fibromyalgia and restless leg syndrome. I began to wean myself down from 100mcg patches, to 75 mcg to 50 mcg. I had some breakthrough pain, but that was actually a kidney stone (and how sad is that when it's "just a kidney stone passing"?)
Last Monday I went in to see my Dr, and said, "Doc, I feel so good now, lets rip off this patch and be done with it" My Dr, being a fine internist, but not wholly versed in narcotic withdrawal, said "great! You've got some clonidine to help with the withdrawals and here's 90 Vicodin to help you when the withdrawls might get a bit much" Yay, birds were chirping, butterflies were flying out my ass and I waltzed out of his office with my 2 kids plus one in tow (because I had to bring in another kid to amuse my 4 year old, Buddy... see my blog for complete details, I haven't updated in a while.... http://hthdidigethere.blogspot.com/ )
I go to Walgreens, buy the kids some candy say no to the toys and all the "As Seen on TV" detrius, get my drugs, and take a peek at the sex aisle. The warming stuff I'd tried before, but it ended up feeling like a bonfire in my cradle of life, so we decided never to get funky hot stuff again. I'd seen those KY Yours + Mine commercials, and the hype was luring me in. Once again, as in weeks past, they were out. Man I thought, this stuff must be great, it's never in stock! I made a mental note to look for it at Wal-Mart on my next grocery trip, then went home.
As the children played outside, on a blissfully wonderful Monday afternoon, I took off my last 50 mcg/hr Fentanyl patch and prepared to live my life narcotic and pain free.
Have you ever seen "Trainspotting"? My Dr. hadn't seen it either.
Fentanyl is basically like legal Heroin. It never gave me a euphoric high feeling, so I thought, hey....this will be a snap. Ahem. I lost 8 days of my life. Vomiting, diarrhea, creepy crawly bugs under my skin whenever I was touched, and with two kids who thought mommy was dying, I got lots of hugs, so I had lots of bugs. I blew through 90 vicodin in 5 days. Found some xanax left over from my last miscarriage (#13, see, I'm just a medical mess) and began eating that like candy. My kids ate nothing but pretzels, popsicles and frosting during the day, we watched a lot of Hannah Montana and Spongebob. When you're detoxing, a little talking yellow sponge is NOT what you need to keep your grip on reality. I twitched so much I wanted to unscrew my head, literally. My hair fell out in handfulls and I lost 11 pounds in that week. I didn't leave the house at all. I remember scuttling outside to help my husband put together this huge trampoline, I held three uprights, spent a total of 15 minutes outside and it sucked all the life out of me.
By Sunday, I felt a bit better, actually ate something and was able to sit and work....oh yeah, I work from home doing data entry and because I didn't think it would be so bad, I didn't take time off to detox.
Monday comes again, I make an appointment to see my Dr. Load up the kids plus 1 and head down the road. The first thing I noticed, gas has dropped nearly 40 cents per gallon. Holy Cow, I'm like John Lennon, or Yoko Ono, I lost a week! I still had some wicked vertigo, but managed to crawl in the office door and slither up on the table.
He came in the room, with a nurse practitioner student, and I blew them away with how I was certain that I almost died, but thanks to my heroin addict friends at the online self detox sites, I was able to muddle through. But I was out of vicodin and not out of twitches and bugs and the desire to unscrew my head from my body. I was quite certain that if I just carried my head under my arm like a football, I'd feel better. He had no idea it would be so bad, I had no idea it would be so bad, I mean, I never even got a buzz from the stuff, who knew? Anyway, he wrote me a script for oxycodone to ease the withdrawals and contacted a rehab facility to see what to do next. My 7 year old will never, ever, do drugs after watching this mess. I made sure to let her know this is what you're in for if you do.
We went back to Walgreens, I skittered up to the counter, grey, and shaking. My beloved pharmacist hopped right to it and filled it for me pronto, the kids came at me with a cart full of toys and candy. I had some relief in the bottle, so I cruised through the nookie aisle again and lo and behold......KY Yours+Mine was on the shelf. I grabbed it and headed for the register with a $10 dog bed, an aquarium of fake fish, 7 boxes of candy and a ring pop. Got home, popped the meds, and within a few minutes (God bless you Immediate release tablets) the bugs under my skin were exterminated and I no longer jumped, twitched or wanted to unscrew my head. Life was good.
The kids fell asleep at a decent time, and DH and I decided that I needed to feel some pleasure as opposed to pain, for once. Yay, taaadaaaaa, look honey, I bought this stuff, and the marketing guys say that ballerinas will dance and opera will be played and horses will race and we will be at one with the Kama Sutra.
So, here is the big reveal. The guy bottle, which we poured into our hands then applied (so the bottles are fairly sanitary, but I'll swab them with alcohol before I pack them up for shipping) had a warming tingling sensation, my husband reported. I poured some of mine on my hands and went to town. I didn't feel anything other than slippery, so I poured some more in. Barry White started to sing and things were cool. And then things got COOL. Then downright COLD!!! ACK! The girl bottle is cold sensation. eek, it just takes longer to feel. Now I've got permafrost girl parts when my DH tried to warm up the tundra.
At which point I started to scream, because now I'm cold and hot, cold and hot. All I could think of was I was being raped by a giant peppermint stick. Jack Frost was tormenting me and then I got the vision......I was doing the deed with Frosty the Snowman, who knew he had a peppermint wang?
Unable to stop laughing and crying, I crawled to the bathroom, trying to figure out how to put out the frosty fire in my most favorite of places, crying and laughing and just figured that this has just been the topper to one really crappy week.
Here is the kicker, I paid $20 for this stuff. Now, I can't just let it sit, I spent money on it. The dog bed is being used, the fake fish aquarium is set up and going, the candy has been eaten, even the ring pop is down to it's pink plastic nubbin, I am compelled to either use this stuff or sell. it.
So, here it is, One box of KY Yours + Mine. May you have better luck with it. If I ever get the desire to freeze flame my tender girl parts again, I'm just going to grab the Ben-Gay,
Wednesday, April 2, 2008
Blessed is she who heralds the coming of spring, for it is she who is truly blessed.
Or something flowery like that.
I've stopped and started about 50 blog posts since the last one. Here's the scoop. I've now lost a total of about 90 pounds. Funny. The entire time I was in high school, my mother would get on me about being obese, or as she would say "Obeast". Well I just plugged my high school weight an height into a BMI calculator, and came up with 23, which is in the middle of the range for normal weight. So the entire time I was at a normal weight, I had this body image of a morbidly obese person, now that I AM obese, with a BMI of 35, I feel better about myself than I did when I was at a "normal" weight.
I went nuts at Target last week, I look dead sexy. Well, as dead sexy as a still obese person can look. I know I'm more limber, and this is good. The pants I bought last week are now a bit too loose, but I'll cinch 'em up for a while. It's crazy how my weight is dropping.
It's a good thing, in all. I have lost my insulating fat layer. I'm cold all the time now. I used to think it was the Swede in me that never needed a blanket, not so much. Today I crawled back in bed at 10am, under three blankets and shivering. I just could not warm up! I remember wondering how skinny chicks made it through winter in such cold climates. I woke up at 1pm, both boys in bed with me watching TV. Fever: 101. ahhhh, so I was having chills....Whatever. My fat has taken with it my resistance to every and all little bug that travels from kid to kid to parent. bleh.
I'm almost done updating my accounting from last year, procrastinator that I am. It wasn't that bad, tomorrow I'm doing inventory and re-checking my merchant fees and then I'm so ready to take on the tax man! How my life has changed............
This was what happened last week, I don't have the time or patience to re-type it, as Buddy is trying to squish Bug now...
So, Monday, at Target with Buddy, I walk into the building in front of an
older gentleman, dressed very nicely, etc. But got that creepy, someone
is looking at me feeling.
All over the store I go, and begin to notice that wherever I am, older
guy is near me, sometimes I catch him looking at me, creepy. Nothing
winds up in his basket, while mine is filling up fast. hmmmm
Leaving the grocery section, I'm playing race car with Buddy and I end up
getting my cart run into by.......yup, Mr
red, helps me pick up stuff that fell off the bottom. Buddy rips him a
new one for not watching where he was going, and then he asks me if he
could make it up to me by buying us a coffee and an applejuice at the
Yes, I was hit on by a guy old enough to be my dad. Normally, that is not
a problem, I usually do date men that are as old as if not older than my
dad when I'm dating, but ummmm did you not see the rock on my hand? gah.
Then today, the sitter that I had lined up (Buddy has been not feeling
well, poo and puke, so I had one come here so as not to spread the love)
she flaked out on me and I had to take the boys with me to my appt with the
kidney stone specialist at OSU. I freakin' hate those clinics.
So I drag them in the joint, backpack full of toys, some juice but no
food. Coming in at the same time was a mentally retarded man, in a
scooter, about 400 pounds, no teeth, t shirt tucked into his sweat pants,
which were pulled up to his armpits, and the requisite OSU jacket. He was
probably in his late 50's early 60s. His sister was with him, she had the
look of a woman who had cared for this man her whole life, I'd say late
60s, and a family friend who drove them all down from Marion. He also
suffers from kidney stones so he and I were in the same places at the same
times. Amazing what you find out when you're just sitting there. He lives
on his own, but she let me know that he calls her all day long.
He kept leering at me. His sister would scold him, then pretty soon Buddy
would pipe up. "Mommy, that man is looking at you again!" ugh. And what
of poor Buddy? 7 trips to the bathroom because "poop is going to explode
out of my butt" "mommy, my butt is a volcano!, the poop shoots out like
lava!" Everyone knew this and were giving me tips on helping him out.
Time for an x-ray, the receptionist stayed with the boys and I went for 5
minutes of radioactive bliss. I come back out, and the guy is over there
talking to the boys, with several older women going nuts over Whitey's
hair, talking Hot Wheels with them, etc etc. They all agree that I have
my hands full. I"m picking up cars and lizards etc and the man asked me
how many kids I had, I told him two and I babysit Whitey. then he says "
Well, I could give you six more if you want"
I stood there with my mouth open, as did the receptionist. The man's
sister then whacked him over the head with a magazine.
I told Super G this a while ago and he just laughed and laughed and
laughed. His day will come.....................
This is the crap I dealt with after I left my starter husband. Now I'm
not even looking and they're coming out of the woodwork. And I was about
this weight too. hmmmmm
How to pretty, thin women handle this? or does this only happen to the
dowdy soccer mom?
Friday, March 7, 2008
It's hard to realize your limitations. It is even harder when you're in denial. I babysit. I take care of the kids, the dogs, cats and the house. Sometimes I even do things for Super G. I work 30 hours a week, own my own business, just got done pimping Girl Scout Cookies, I've adopted a soldier. I hardly ever say no to helping people out.
But, I've had to realize today that I'm sick. I write a lot about my kidney foibles. I write about the surgery, and the pain, and the frustration, and the great C2 narcotics I get to ease the pain. But lately I've been having to go to the ER two or three times a week for pain control.
But I laugh it off, sometimes I get frustrated and angry, but I deal with it because these are the cards I was dealt, and it's not like I've got some terminal illness........
But Monday, Simon the foster dog had to go back to the rescue and get a new home. He went after my cat, my 11 1/2 year old lovey 20 pound biting balding man-cat. And we can't have that. So Simon is in a new foster home and the house has settled back down and all was well. But I was at the ER when she came to pick him up.
I e-mailed and asked for another dog to foster. We still have Carmen the foster dog who won't ever get adopted. She's so terrified of people and strangers that she barks and growls incessantly when she meets you. You have to come to the house 4 or 5 times before she lets you get close to her. Her former life must have been hell. Right now, we are her stability and her world, and I am her rock.
So I wanted another foster. And I talked my Rescue Rep into getting a new female to me. New Female was supposedly perfect for our home, but the Rep had serious reservations about bringing her here because of my health. Oh, I said, I'm okay, this helps me spiritually....to get these dogs healthy and happy..... i'm not all that sick.
So then I tell Super G about New Foster, and ask if it's okay. This is shortly after I sent him an e-mail describing my pain as excruciating even though I had 125 mcg/hr worth of fentanyl patches on my body, and had popped 2 percocet and a dilaudid to get me to the level of excruciating.
And he told me that perhaps instead of getting a dog well, I should work on getting ME well.
Then it hit me. I'm pulling in multiple fosters and loving them up and into health and happiness because I don't know if I'll ever get healthy again.
I have a problem, and no doctor knows why it's there, or what to do about it. I'm on drugs so potent and strong that most people that are on it are usually terminal cancer patients, and those people do not usually function well on the meds. I'm fine while on them, because they don't work very well on me anymore.
I'm sick. I'm really sick. I'm in pain that becomes unbearable at times. And no amount of rescuing and saving other lives is going to make that pain better. It's not going to make me healthy again.
I hurt. And I would like for nothing more than my momma to come here and let me curl up in my bed and rest for a day or two and take care of my babies just like I would and take care of my house and let me just concentrate on me getting well. But none of those things are going to happen. Even if they did happen, I'd feel so guilty about not taking care of my kids, and just being selfish and lazy, that I wouldn't lay down and my kids won't leave me alone to do that anyway.
So I came to the realization that I don't just have a problem here or there, I'm sick. I can't get well by changing my diet or lifestyle. I am sick, and no one knows what is wrong with me. I'm sick, and it affects the lives of everyone around me. My daughter acts out for days after a hospital visit. My son misses me and gets so scared that I'll go to the hospital and leave him again. My husband has had to work from home, schlep kids around, take care of dogs, help customers and deal with last minute life changes when I'm gone. He might even worry about me when I'm up in the bin.
I'm sad. I'm grieving my life, and the sweet denial I once had but now have lost. I'm rambling now, but it's how I feel. I feel lost in the land of "sick" rambling from one obstacle to another. I'm sad, and I cry from the despair, and I cry from the pain. Normally, I breathe through the pain, and make jokes and try to get through it. But now when I feel the pain creeping in, as it has been doing since late last night, I take a deep breath, blow it out, and the pain is still there knifing me. It won't be fooled anymore, because I'm sick.
I suppose I'll feel better after I take a shower and put on makeup and stuff. I hope so. I have work to do, and kids to play with and feed and take care of, and a girl coming home from school early because it's snowing. And I'm sick.
What if I never get well?
Monday, February 18, 2008
We now have Simon to replace Annabelle. He's skinny, young and active. He also follows me around where ever I go, including in the shower. He's not allowed in the bathroom when I'm showering anymore.
Sunday, February 17, 2008
Not surprisingly, some backwater redneck homophobes demanded that the book be pulled from a school library in Virginia because of the "homosexual agenda" that the book supposedly purports.
The sad and sick thing is that adults get these ideas and project their fears, their biases, their bigotry, upon things that are nothing more than simple stories. The adults that called for the removal of the book are the ones with the "agenda". How sad that the school district caved.
I've never understood why people take such offense and get so upset about homosexuality. It makes no difference to me who someone loves, or how they love them. As long as they are both consenting adults, and they've found true love, who am I to judge them?
You love who you love. Good for you if you're one of the lucky ones who has found a true soulmate, someone who loves you for who you are, warts and all.
This is one of those things I digress from the Evil Rethuglican party line about. Gay rights and legalization of drugs. Regulate it, and tax it I say!
ahhhhh...... let the angry troll comments come rolling in now!
But some time during the night, I felt him climb over my body and flop in between Super G and me. He then snuggled up close to me. And closer, and closer, until I was riding the edge and teetering.
I put on some clothes and went downstairs to sleep on the couch. At some point I heard him crying and then he was standing beside the couch, coughing, snotting and generally miserable.
He climbed on top of me, and we slept that way for about three hours, with him flipping and flopping on top of me, until I was certain my ribs were going to break under the weight of his little head. I slithered out from under him and went back to bed.
And sure enough, an hour later, here he comes. Now he's awake and playing like he got a full night's rest and I'm draggin' ass, not wanting to start working because I'm falling asleep just sitting here in this chair.
Sick kids suck!
Friday, February 15, 2008
I was on the phone Wednesday with my grandfather, trying to tell him of my latest medical mishap, but I kept getting interrupted.
"Amy, I need you to wipe my butt" Said Whitey, the recently potty trained. This is great, because that kid can crap like no other. Huge, monster poops that fill and overflow a diaper. Adult-sized crap out of a pint sized package. Since he now poops in the potty, I just have a one swipe cleanup, although it still smells worse than anything Super-G has put out.
I say three words to Grandpa then I get Bug screaming down the stairs...."mommy!!! I need wipies!!!" So up the stairs I go, she is sitting upon the throne, with a fresh roll of toilet paper at the ready, but ever since my mother-in-law introduced Huggies Clean to Bug, she cannot possibly wipe her ass with anything other than the softest, moistest of scatological cleansing supplies. However, being the mean mom that I am, I purchased a competing brand, the Kan-Doo wipes from Pampers, because they were on sale.
So I guess I can forgive her inability to see the full box of wipes sitting on the counter, directly north of the pristine yet unsatisfactory toilet paper, as the box is different. I get to the bathroom and ask "What, you need to pull it out for you?" She looks at me and says "It's a really big one, I know I won't be able to get it all"
By now my poor Grandfather has still not heard about my medical issues, but knows that all I do all day long it wipe butts. I return to my office, sit down and start to tell him about my doctor's appointment when Buddy starts crying and Bug yells down "Mommy, help! Buddy pooped in his pants!"
Back up the stairs. Sure enough, he is standing in front of the toilet, pants at his knees and two HUGE logs nestled gently in his pants. He is going through this phase where he doesn't want to poop because he is afraid it might hurt. So he waits until the last possible minute, or in this case, the minute after the last possible minute. Using the aforementioned wipes, I plucked the two very impressive turds from his pants, (and yeah, something that big coming out of that little butt, I suppose it would hurt!), clean him off and get him some new pants.
My Grandfather, having heard all of this, is now laughing so hard he can't catch his breath. In a span of 5 minutes, I've dealt with three different types of poo. That is my day. What I didn't tell him is that later in the day I had an appointment to take the Australian Shepherd to the vet to get her anal glands expressed, they were impacted and she was butt scootin' and smellin' rather rank.
Wednesday was a day that I'd rather forget.
But here is the medical bullshit.
Friday the 8th, at about 4pm, my kidney started to burn and flare up in moments of agonizing pain. I thought that perhaps this was a stone trying to pass, so I tried to ride it out. Saturday at 3pm, after Bug made a 3 point shot in her basketball game (if they were keeping score that is) the burning became so vicious, I became nauseated and we went to the ER.
A CT scan revealed no stones blocking the ureter, but some dilation, and several rounds of dilaudid and phenergan did nothing to ease the pain and nausea. I was admitted overnight. At some point during the night I was given Zofran for nausea, and now I must add that to the growing list of medicines I'm allergic to. Can honestly say I've had better nights.
The next day I spoke with the doctor on call who admitted me. He was a very nice internist who had kidney stones in the past. He sent me home with oral dilaudid, which takes care of the pain quite well. The urologist came in to tell me about the dilation, and she let me go home. The only problem was the way I was going to get home.
Super G had gone to pick up a special piece of flooring that we had ordered for the great laminate flooring project. On his way back from Lumber Liquidators to the hospital, he found himself boxed into a lane on the interstate with a street sign blown down in the road in front of him. He had no choice but to drive over it. Everything seemed fine until he went to leave with the kids (I had not yet been discharged and was vomiting still) He had two flat tired on our SUV. It was 30 degrees outside with a 40 mph wind, i.e. very cold, especially to a guy with no protective hair covering his head.
So for the next two and a half hours, while Super G struggled to change the one tire and used Fix-A-Flat on the other one, I entertained two very bored and LOUD children in the hospital. Then we had to go to the mall, because Sears is always at the mall, to get our tires fixed. I got to sit in the play area, with my greasy hair, two day no-showers smell and hospital band waiting for our tires to get fixed. Yup, it was a GREAT weekend.
Then Wednesday, prior to the massive pooping, the doors on the Hulking Mini-Van of Death were frozen shut, so all the kids had to climb through the front doors, including me who had to get to the back row to fasten Whitey's harness, and then snap in Buddy and Bug, and head over to the other side of town where I got a very nice girl (sucker) to watch all three of them while I went to see the Pain Management Dr.
But wait, you say, isn't Wednesday a school day? In normal states, it is, but in Central Ohio, notsomuch.
You see there was cold precipitation on Monday, causing a two hour delay. Then on Tuesday there was two inches of snow on the ground, causing school to be canceled. Tuesday night came the freezing rain, and thus school was canceled again. If they canceled school in Nebraska because of cold temps or a couple of inches of snow or ice, no one would go to school for the entire first quarter of each year!!!!
So the pain Dr. was nice, but didn't know how she could help me, because I really didn't have anything they could treat with methods other than narcotics.
Here is verbatim what the findings on my lumbar MRI:
There is moderately severe facet and ligamentous hypertrophy and facet arthropathy. At L5-S1 there is a minimal disk bulge. At L4-L5 there is a minimal disk bulge.
My PCP said that I had normal degeneration that would improve with weight loss. This Dr is saying that I have arthritis in my lower spine! Ack!
So I'm having steroids injected into the facets this coming Wednesday. Not exactly excited about this, but perhaps it will help me out a bit. I'm still dealing with quite a bit of kidney pain, and am trying to get in with a nephrologist for a second opinion. Even the on-call Dr at the hospital said that stones can hurt just sitting in the kidney.
So that is my life. Up to my armpits in poop and falling apart at the spine. Oh well, could be worse, I could be Hillary Clinton.
Remember, people: Bros before Hoes!!!!!
Sunday, February 3, 2008
Super G's car wouldn't start yesterday. Major bummer. So it got towed away to a dealership. I suppose on Monday we'll discover how much our auto-rape will damage us. Serves us right for sending in that last payment.
So we are down to my car, the hulking MiniVan of Death. With all of her 197,000 miles on it. It's a Chevy too, isn't that scary, depending on a high mileage Chevy as your sole means of transport? I like to live dangerously though, and the thrilling invigoration of knowing that each drive out could be my last is such a rush....it's almost like drugs.
Actually, I saw an article about a guy who is about to roll over 1 million miles on his Chevy Silverado, and now I have a mission.
Two weeks ago when the dealer suggested that I just park my lovely van in the lawn and declare it a piece of art, as opposed to fixing it's ills, I began searching for the next Hulking MiniVan of Death. I mean, the current HMVofD was paid off last year, and on the day I got the death sentence from the nice guys at Bobb Chevrolet we had just mailed off the last payment on Super G's ride, so we were car payment free. As any red blooded American knows, this is just one step from carrying your Pinko-Commie membership card!
But now, I have a mission, a goal. HMVofD must make it to 1 million miles. She must. I'd like to get her window fixed, so I don't have to pull it up with my hands anymore, and probably that thing about the wheel mounts and tie rod ends.....it would suck to be driving along and suddenly lose a wheel. And the catalytic converter......unless someone can tell me how you can just rip that thing off....I mean really, I'm an evil Rethuglican, we don't care about pollution or the environment, right? Emit away, dear HMVofD, chug out that Carbon Monoxide, to hell with the ozone layer, you know that we're colonizing on the moon anyway......
okay, the kids have fed their breakfast to the dogs, guess it is time to get busy......
Friday, February 1, 2008
Sunday, Bug approaches Super G, the following conversation ensues.
Bug: Daddy, does Mommy have any eggs left?
SG: a few I suppose
Bug: And do you have any of those seeds left?
SG: oh yeah, billions of them!
Bug: Well, can you guys do that thing you do? I want a baby sister.
He explained to her that you never know what you're going to get, you can't put in an order for a girl.
Two days later, in the car, she asks me
"Mommy, are you sure you're not having a baby?"
"Well, have you and daddy done that thing to make a baby? I'd like a sister."
ugh, so much for being honest and informing. Buddy will search pumpkin patches for little siblings when he reaches that age.
Then last night, we were at the store and I looked at the new Zyrtec display when she yells out "Hey! Claritin Clear!"
Me, "yup, it sure is"
She grabs a box and chucks it into the cart. I pick it up and put it back. "You don't need that"
She stomps her foot, "Yes I do! I don't want to go through the day in a fog!"
Me, "You don't take allergy meds, you don't have allergies, you don't go through the day in an antihistamine fog!"
And thus, I AM the meanest mother in the world
Friday, January 4, 2008
Banjo, or "Joe" as we call him, is the newest member of our family. He came to us as a foster dog, to give the previous foster dog a playmate. He ended up staying.
Banjo is a purebred dog, but not a good quality bred dog. Meaning that he was probably the product of a puppy mill, no super long ears, no face full of wrinkles. But boy, does he have the "ahhrroooooo" down pat. For the first week he was here, he didn't make a single noise.
But that has changed.
Banjo's favorite place, other than right next to me wherever I am, is by the table at mealtimes. He can smell food three miles away. He also knows which kid will drop the most food.
He's the sweetest most patient dog I've ever met. He lets Buddy hug him constantly. He plays "tag" with Buddy, and sleeps with Bug when we kick him out of our bed. He doesn't run away when you open the door, he always comes when he's called, and he's housebroke. He's a good boy.
So no surprise when yesterday, after returning from Bowling Green with Buddy, that I find the two of them sitting quietly together in the living room.
Little boys never sit quietly, their dogs don't sit quietly either.
Buddy had gotten into Bug's sacred Barbie make-up kit an taken the purple sparkly lip gloss, you know, the one she'll wear when she goes on DATES, and put it on the dog.
First I look at the dog's mouth, but seeing normal lips, I didn't freak out, until I saw the rest of him.
HINT: look for sparkly spot. if you click on the picture, it will open up larger in another window
So I then discovered that Banjo is also good with baths, once you hoist all 70 pounds of him into the tub. He stood there patiently until it was over, waited for me to towel him off and then he shook.
This almost makes up for the three butter dishes he broke. And the potholder that we found frozen outside, and the underwear in the yard. And the filched tupperware, and items stolen from the trashcan and taken outside and the farting in my office when I'm working..........