Scenario Sucks vs. Scenario Sucks, Too

Scenario Sucks:

I permanently discontinue use of the feeding tube (whether it be the NG/NJ/PEG). I do what I’m essentially doing right now: I continue to eat three meals a day and at least two snacks. My weight more or less stays the same, but I eat. I more than likely am fired by my treatment team for not using the tube. But I have the support of my family (namely, my husband [who rocks America's face off] and amazingly fab mom) who believe that I am eating and doing better than I ever before have, and are okay (and really, prefer) the fact that I am not being tubed. They believe in me.

Scenario Sucks, Too:

I place the feeding tube again (whether it be NJ or PEG, I’m not sure). I suffer serious physical consequences that include but aren’t necessarily limited to: severe sinus and allergy problems, stomach issues, skin rashes, etc. I eat less because I’m not near as hungry due to the ridiculous amounts of Boost and/or Jevity being pumped into me. My skin breaks out in a painful, embarassing, hard-as-hell-to-get-rid-of rash. I hang my head in public, and am too embarrassed to look people in the eye. I am able to continue treatment with H and M, but I resent them a little. I gain only a small amount of weight, despite the high amounts of cals being pumped into me.

----------------

These are my choices. M and I had a really good talk about it yesterday in our session. It was a very “adult-like” and respectful conversation. We seriously talked about my options, and she said she’d respect and support whatever I decided to do, re: if I decide to not do the tube, and I’m fired, (she hates the term "fired" by the way, but it fits because I truly feel that's what's happening to me) she’ll respect that and believe that I can try it on my own. So I have a lot of thinking to do. I vowed a year ago when I started seeing M that she would be my last freaking therapist. I don’t want to keep trying, keep starting over with someone new. So, if I’m done, then I’m done. You know?

On one hand, I truly am doing quite well. My family has never seen me happier and more productive and able to survive on my own before, like, ever. I’m eating, and not just eating to barely survive, but to enjoy it. I've discovered that I love maple bars and chocolate bars with toffee in them. I allow myself to drink OJ, which before was a no-no because it had cals in it. I eat cookies and ranch and put butter on my toast. I even, dare I say it, like to eat.
…But if I do choose this path, I’m essentially telling myself (and the world) that my low body weight is okay. –But isn’t it okay? If I’m eating and taking care of myself, I shouldn’t have (and do not, presently) anything to hide or be ashamed of.

But if I go the route of the tube, it stops being for me. It turns into a power struggle, because I’m so angry I have to have this funsuck taped to my face. I eat less because I’m too full, and I hate that I want to eat and can’t. I have diarrhea more. I throw up more. My stomach hurts more. My face breaks out in a rash that makes me look like a pubescent teenager. But, then I can stay in treatment. Wait. Do I even want or need treatment anymore? I think a little, yes. But I also think I’d be okay if I didn’t have it, either.

M says that she doesn’t think it right if she continues to see me if I don’t gain weight, because by seeing her I’m essentially saying I want and need help, but if I don’t get the tube to gain, then I’m also saying I don’t want help.

Or something.

It doesn’t matter that she’s seen how hard it is for my body to gain even a pound. It doesn’t matter that she and my D look at my food log and are thrilled with how much better I’m eating.

All that matters is that damn number.

I thought the number on the scale wasn’t important. Isn’t that we’re always told, over and over?
So what gives?

I have a lot of thinking to do.

Graffiti and Google Analytics

Okay, first off: an insanely short update on how the T appt went: ooookaaaaay. I’m not fired. Yet, anyway. (It went actually really well, though, for seriousies.) I want to write a bit more in detail about my thoughts that have been spurred by my sesh, but I’ll save that for another post – perhaps tomorrow.

Okay. So here’s a few pics:

Mommy and Cade decorating for Valentine’s Day.


Okay…so I just took the following beavers about 20 minutes ago. See, some smelly ball sack sprayed some graffiti on our garage. It happened before we moved in, and it’s really no surprise seeing as the previous owners were hardcore meth users. I’ve been so embarrassed about it, but since it was on brick, Big B and I were a bit stymied as to how to get the, you know, gang symbols off. I felt like we were marked or something…like targeted for a home invasion or something. No bueno.

...And randomly, if Big B and I were in an argument, I’d tack on AND CLEAN UP THAT STUPID (fill in the blank “angry” word of your choice) graffiti off our house!! YOU SAID YOU’D DO IT 17 BILLION DAYS AGO! YOU NEVER DO ANYTHING YOU SAY YOU WILL! And then, inevitably, the anger (because it always, yes sadly, ALWAYS does) will turn inward and it’ll go something like this:
…I DID MY BEST! (Insert sobs) IDIDMYBEST!IDIDMYBESTIDIDMYBESTIDIDMYBEST! (They are now racking.)(Hiccup.)(And then, softly, i did my best...)

So, Bran decided we were going to try to sand it off. Not with weenie little sandpaper, but like a big time power tool thing. So B started sanding, but I decided I had so much pent up anger against that reputation (and potential marriage) ruining graffiti that I needed to take a wizack at it. And I did.

And it felt gooooooood.


So it looks better, (like, exponentially) but it’s still not c o m p l e t e l y gone. I’m not sure what to do. Boo. Double boo! At least the big sign that essentially said YOU’VE BEEN TAGGED, HOMIE is no longer there. Or, at least harder to read…

Okay, moving on: I was looking at my blog’s stats on Google Analytics, and I must say the month of February (thus far) has been a good one for Blogxygen. 1,700 site visits in just under 5 days. I was looking at some of the things people search for at Google or Yahoo and somehow find my blog, and some of my favorite are:

-Fear to pee phobia (must have brought up my Pee Air post) – another one from that post is my pee smells like oat bran. Eeeewy to the max!
-Bobbi’s hummus sucks (love this!) Bobbi’s one of my furry lovers, and I recently blogged about hummus, but I didn’t mention them both in the same post or anything!
-Nose piercing related death – okay, I cannot even tell you how many people find my blog by googling something about the dangers of nose-piercing. Since Feb 1st, I’ve had 90 views alone by people pulling up my nose-piercing post. It must be a disappointment for them seeing as I was being a major baby freak about it all… (and entirely not helpful...)
Let’s see, another good one is: does tube feeding cause weight gain, which is like a big-time no brainer. What else is tube feeding for? FUN? Hmmm…
Another goodie is “pregnant you bastard, you did this to me!” I think it came from this post.
and
Would you live in Floyd’s Knobs? I believe it came from a brief mention on the unfortunate citizens who have to live in a town with a name that has so many dirty connotations. My dirty mind cannot handle the overload of them all!

Anyway, looking on it is eva so fun! You should try it for your blog...

Okay, that’s all for now. Maybe I’ll write something deep or whatever tomorrow.

Some Silly Shenanigans

(alliteration: 3 points!)

Hello my friendcicles! Hope everyone is doing swell.

So, here are some little tidbits, here and there:

· I’ve begged hired my DDF Racher who owns my most favoritist store ever, GrÜn, to re-design my blog! She’s a graphic designer who kicks A and takes names. It’ll be fab when it’s done, methinks I can’t wait. So stay tuned for the Blogxygen Amazingness to come. It’ll be muy fantastico.
· Now that I’m pretty much a bad A seamstress and, like, homemaker, I’m getting all into the Valentine spirit. I even decorated! For those of you who know me, know that this is very odd indeed. I also bought supplies to make homemade valentines – and – hold your breath – I might even make valentine’s cookies. Where has Brie gone? Methinks she’s been replaced by a seamstress (who does kick some ass, though) who also COOKS (okay, the word ‘cook’ might be s t r e t c h i n g it, but whatever) and MAKES THINGS. Cool things. I feel weird about this, but mostly because I’m actually okay with it. Who knew I’d be one to embark on creative adventures? I’m blossoming into something amazing, I tell you, amazing. ;) (But I hate the word 'blossom'. It gives me weird tingles deep within that aren't the good kind.)
· So Brandon and I went to Ikea yesterday, which was fun, but also un-fun at the end because we got lost in the maze of alluring junk we didn’t need and Swedish food (no joke there, peeps) and couldn’t find our way out. We bought a cute 3 drawer dresser for ‘Lil C that we’re going to let him paint all by himself. It’ll look like grade-A shat, but he’ll have a blast. We’re going to do that this weekend, and I’ll post pics.
· I have an appt. with the T this afternoon at 2:00. I’ll keep you posted – however vaguely, haha.

Okay, well that’s allsies. Hope you have a day filled with happiness and much frolicking.

LOVE YOU!!

Oh, and PS: Is this not the smallest scale you’ve ever seen? I saw it at Ikea yesterday and was just in reverent awe for for this teenie-weenie wonder. I’m still debating on if it’s for either a) for a fetus or b) a small animal or c) perhaps a small individual. PLUS it was only $7.99 and I would never trust something that tells me what my worth is (KIDDING) that was that cheap.

(And NO, I swearsies I didn’t weigh myself. Brandon wouldn’t hear of it. ;)

A Confusing Correspondence

I got a totally random absolutely out of the blue email from my T last night at, like, 9 pm. (As in, very late at night.) I had to read it like four times to try to figure out what the H bomb she was even trying to say…and I’m still not sure. Here’s an excerpt, but really, I feel like she wants to fire me or something. Liability schmiability.
Whatever. At this point, right now, I don’t even care:

Hey, I know when you left last week you were mad. My perception was that you felt like I was not validating your progress enough. And I did get a bit defensive when you made a comment about the peg tube being a joke. I can't remember your exact phrase. You were being sarcastic and I was tired of trying to convince you that you are still not completely medically stable and still underweight. I'm sure you could hear the frustration in my voice when I told you to get a second opinion if you disagree. There could have been more that you were reacting to that I'm not aware of.

I would like to talk to you about where therapy is going and discuss your needs in relation to what I can offer…

So there it is. Suffice it to say I’m going in to see her tomorrow, as unoriginally planned. The thing that’s interesting about it all is that when I left last week, I wasn’t mad or frustrated. Just TIRED, hence the self-prescribed (short) break from treatment. I have no idea what’s going on now, and I feel so anxious about it I can hardly think of anything else.
Eeewy, gross. Make it stop! Any mind readers out there wanna take a stab at what she’s trying to say to me?
This sucks balls. Why does it seem I'm always doing something wrong? I'm a naughty girl.
Yea verily.

Fixing You

I woke up this morning to a persistent tap tap tap I could hear coming from down the hall. I rolled over and stretched as far as I could to look out the bedroom door without getting off the bed. And, in the distance, was Cade, kneeling on the floor, single-mindedly hammering at something with his new toy hammer. He looked up, and caught my eye. “I’m fixin’ it, Mommy! I’m fixin’ my Spongebob!” I smiled and replied, “That’s so good, Baby! Keep going!” And with that, I rolled over, and tried to catch a few more Z’s before I’d have to get up for good.


[a few minutes later]

I can feel a tapping on my feet and toes and legs. They’re mostly soft taps, but there are some quick raps in there for good measure. I look down, and there’s ‘Lil C, banging away. He looks up at me, eyes bright, all smiles and lashes and dimples. “I’m fixing you, Mommy! I’m fixing you!” I laugh and give him a hug and a kiss. “Are you all better now, Mama? Yay! ALL BETTER!”

And then I think. And it hits me.

I am all better. I woke up this morning for the first time in weeks without a headache, and without a dread for the day ahead.

So, ‘Lil C, thank you. Thank you for fixing me, time and time again.

I’d Like a Timeout, Please

Do you ever just want to take a break? Say, TIMEOUT, PEOPLE, walk to the sidelines, grab some agua, and just chill for a minute?

Life is sofast. At work this contract needs to get created or these people need help and at home C needsneedsNEEDS and recovery is an ongoing, never-ending lifesuck, andandand…

I’d like a timeout, please. From everything. I’d like a day filled with no obligations or pressure. I’d like a day where I don’t worry and wonder if every morsel of food I put in my mouth is going to be enough.

So I kinda called one.
A timeout, I mean.

From recovery. Wait, scratch that. That’s not what I mean. Maybe I mean I took a timeout from all the hard work of it so I can just pause and catch my breath again. I cancelled therapy today, and I cancelled dietary tomorrow and therapy on Thursday, too.

Not because I want to be sneaky and lose weight. Just because I want, for a short period of time, to not think or analyze or freak out. Not to hear I’m in denial ONE MORE TIME, or that it’s not enough, it’s never enough, or if you don’t eat enough you’ll be tubed or we won’t see you anymore because you’re a liability and I know you say you’re working so hard but why aren’t you gaining more faster whywhywhy?

I’m tired. Please, give me some time. Some de-freak time.

And then, I’ll start the game again. It’s just a timeout. I’m not forfeiting, I swearsies. I just need a little break. I'm tired.

So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to grab a comfy chair, and a relaxing book, and not worry, and not think. And I hope that’s okay.

Weekend Recap

Good morning lovers! Guess what? I had a good weekend! Much better than last, that’s fo sho. I’d ask ya’ll what you thought of the superbowl, but I can’t, seeing as I didn’t watch any of it (not even the fun commercials!) but instead had a really fun and super interesting convo with my mama and some of my sisters and hubby and twin. (Think the possibility of expressing brown milk meets the likelihood of a human “doing it” with a chimp.) Fun times! Hope ya’ll had good times and refined conversation like myself. :)

A weekend discovery: I’m also allergic to SMOKE. Smoke of any kind, including the burnt popcorn kind. Last night I had a whiff of that and it just ruined me. The asthma came back, the sniffles…all because of a little burnt popcorn. I’m a hot, allergenic mess again today. Thank you, Oroville.

I’ve decided that I actually like working with the small children in church. They’re so hilarious. In nursery yesterday there was this adorable little 3 year old, B, who just loved me. Of course, I couldn’t pay her much attention with Lil C there, watching her like a hawk. Any time she’d come near me, he’d yell, GO AWAY. MY MOMMY! But they’re all so sweet and just humble and I absolutely adore how carefree and unapologetic they are for just being themselves. Big B said that in primary, there was a little 5 year old during singing time who was SO UPSET because the singing teacher kept saying after every song she’d pick whoever was the most reverent to help her with an activity, and this poor 5 year old just wasn’t getting chosen, and after every song he sang (and he gave it his all – just belting those songs and folding his arms to demonstrate his knack for reverence) he would scream HEEEEEEEY! I SANG THAT SONG THE MOOOOOOOST REVERENT! THE.MOST.RE-VER-ENT!!! They’re so silly. I loves it! It seems to be good for me to be around them. Yea verily.

I’m so in love with these. I bought 5 of them this weekend, and I’m totally going to embroider my shirts and shades and a pillow or two and hey yeah let’s throw an apron in there and maybe some hand towels. These aren’t your grandma’s embroidery patterns, people. I can’t wait for them to come!

So, I was looking through some of my posts, and last year on the superbowl I wrote a sad post about how sick Lil C was, and then the very next day was the day he went into the hospital. I was looking at him sleep this morning, and at the way his superlong lashes fanned his little cheeks, and the way his dimple shows even in his sleep, and I just had this great, swelling feeling of gratitude for this sweet, angelic baby man. PLUS I’m so glad he’s here today, healthy, and not where he was last year at this time. Having to watch your baby be horribly sick, and there being not a thing you can do about it, is the most horrifying and helpless feeling in the world. Love you, mini man. Way to be healthy!

And, I’d like to welcome my newest niece into the world, Brooklyn. She was born on January 23rd and I’ve been waiting all this time for my cute sis-in-law to post pics on her blog so I could yoink some and put them on mine. Anyway, you can now all partake of her adorableness. Welcome to Life, Brookie!

Have a great Monday! (And happy Groundhog Day and birthday, Mom!)