Mothers' Day

To a wife and mother dear,

We have had some ups and downs over the last couple of days years. We have been to Brazil, to treatment, to your parents, to my parents, to New York, to Meth House...and who knows where to next? It really just doesn't matter what else lies ahead for us, because we will still always be us. As long as I am with you I know I will always have someone to share my worries with, and to celebrate with during the good times. And I will always have the one person I care about making laugh the most, you! And I really mean this, nothing else matters.

I love watching Caden and seeing the expressions he makes when he hasn't seen you for even just a little while and I tell hime, "Cade, Mommy is home!" He runs across the room, jumps on the couch, stands up and looks out the window and says, "Daddy, Mommy is home!" He absolutely adores you. It doesn't matter if you have a tube, or if he is wearing yesterday's socks still, he KNOWS you are his sweet mommy, and that you love him. He knows you can fix his ouwies, knows he can sleep on your pillows. Knows you will watch movies with him on the bed. And most importantly, he knows who will always be his go-to person when he wants a donut!

I love you woman! You have deeply impacted me in a good way. I admire your resiliance and envy your ability to always get back up. There is no doubt in my mind that you have great things in front of you.

Thank you for always believing in me too! Happy Mothers' Day! We love you!

Love,

Daddy and Cade

B also bought me a yellow iPod as my gift (my first one drowned and my second one was stolen) and I didn't think I could love anything more than her (I named her peePod - she's yellow after all) but when I got this letter, I know it sounds cliche, but it really was better than any gift I could have gotten. I love you, Husband! Thanks for redeeming my Mama's Day, after being in the hospital all day...

I'm lucky, aren't I?

Pneumonia

Just got out of the ER. I had just talked them out of admitting me (I have severe Pneumonia in both lungs) when a steroid they were giving me intravenously, Rocephin, gave me an allergic reaction. I turned LITERALLY as red as a lobster, got hives everywhere, and my lips got big and a little blue and my oxygen went way down. After a few more hours of IV meds to counteract that, they begrudingly let me go home pending I come back immediately if I don't feel well or get worse and I have to stay on bedrest besides doc appts. SO don't want to be in the hospital anymore, the whole time I was there I was crying mostly because I couldn't believe I was back there already.

Well at least I know now why I've wanted to die the past few weeks; felt so sick. Oh and don't worry I'm not contaigous so you don't have to worry about my germies or anything.

That's all, pray for me mkay thanks.

Happy Mother's Day. I've sure had a helluva great one, haha.

When Having a Handicap is good

Well, I am in a bowling league. Yes, you heard me right, no need to make me repeat myself. Okay I will I’m in a freaking bowling league can you believe it?! When Brandon’s dad called and asked if we wanted to join, in dead seriousness I was like, Don’t you need to be good to play on a bowling league? Or at the verra least have a shiny, full beard one can be boastful of? I mean, there are some hard-corsies out there. One time Brandon even saw an old dude with oxygen strapped to his back bowl like a 200.

And then there’s me.

I have my own ball and shoes, so that makes me a leeettle legit, but when one does not know how to use them correctly, it actually makes you look like a sad eager beaver, and I’m not going for that either. Though I’ll take that over having oxygen strapped to my back, but still. So Big B told me not to worry about it, that they’d give me a handicap to make it even and we’d have fun.

So last night it started. No competition yet, just played three games to find out what our handicaps will be next time we play. My scores were 105, 167, and 103. My goals were to not look like a reject but also to at least bowl over 100 every game, so I partially achieved them. There are four of us on the team: me, Husband, his dad Steve, and one of Steve’s co-workers that apparently really likes big billowy Hawaiian shirts. He was really good though, so I’m totally welcoming him on my team. C'mere big guy, let's hug!

So all in all, I truly didn’t do as bad as I thought I would. I’ll still have quite a high handicap, but I am okay with this because it is the only time in my life that I’ll ever want to, like, have a handicap. And I for shizzle did better than some drunken girl in a tube top on the other team that was doing more hoisting her shirt over her boobies than bowling. Who would put a tube top on to go bowl? Well, if you’re drunk enough, I guess anything makes sense…but anyway she totally sucked; bowled like a 67 and I felt bad BUT mostly glad that I at least beat somebody. Although a 67 is pretty good if you’re drunk, right? Maybe she was just cheating to get a high handicap. Note to self: look into this.

Our team name is like the weirdest in the world. I think it’s JACN: which stands for, and I think but am not sure: Just Another Crappy Name. And no that is not a joke. I don’t think any of us think very highly of ourselves? Meh if it had been up to me, I had have gone for something awesome, and combine two words in one, like the Strikerrifics, or if that doesn't work, how about Pork Soda? I pretty much decided right now that that is the most amazing team name eva! I suppose I am a quiet creative resource on the team that they have not yet tapped into. JACN my arse. Pish.

So, despite my monster migraine, this horrible anger I’ve had licking at my insides for days now, regardless of everything, I had fun. And I was surprised. :)

My handicap, by the way, is 69. That’s pretty high. But that’s alright. Being handicapped is fun.

It raises my self-esteem a notch or two to know that I bowl better than drunkards, you know? At least the one in tube-tops, anyway.

GO TEAM!!

The Art of Pretending

there was a little girl. She loved to pretend. She’d wear her older sister’s prom dresses and turn them into lavish princess gowns, she’d stuff her baby doll up her shirt and have it there for all of twenty minutes and she got bored before she gave birth to it and became a mother. One of this little girl’s favorite things was turning the ordinary into extraordinary. Spinning exotic tales and making her life less boring and less awful than it may have been.

This girl needs to learn how to do that again. For it is vital for her health, as well as those around her. But when you grow up, pretending isn’t so easy anymore. The optimism and awe you have for life fades right when reality gives you a swift kick to the left ovary and leaves you winded. You forget how to thrive, only survive. You realize you aren't a princess; you never were.

I think I’ve learned the trick to my own survival, in particular: to thrive, I need to pretend. That everything’s alright. Pretend that we have enough money to pay the bills and our staggering medical bills. Pretend like I don’t cry about that on a daily basis. Pretend like I’m not sick. Pretend like I am a decent mother. And a decent wife; even a decent person. I think it’ll be easier that way. I no longer have my dress-ups, or my barbies, or my best friend that I used to spend hours with, weaving tales of magic and mischief and unbelievablity. But I have a family who needs me to pretend I am a strong Queen, a ruler over the household, who can clean and cook and laugh like it ain’t no thang. A queen who no longer wears her husband out with her ill health. Or cries for half a day. A Strong Queen.

I can do this. I used to have an excellent imagination. It’s just a bit rusty, is all. It’ll come, I keep telling myself. It’ll come.

The End.

Tears

Well, the allergist left me a voicemail yesterday. I was unable to answer it because my phone was on silent while I was in the T’s office. It was quite brief, but he basically said what it came down to was that I am a liability. To him, I’m too much of a risk to be seen.

I don’t know why I’ve cried so much over this stupid doc I only saw for a few months. I guess I just feel like a major ass. I’m entirely humiliated that he doesn’t want to see me anymore, and maybe I’m taking it more personally than I should, I dunno.

I’ve been crying a lot today, which would actually be nice – I like crying because it feels gooooood and because I rarely do anymore. But crying does not feel goooooood when I am at work, not gonna lie here. Three times (yes THREE) I’ve had to leave my desk and bounce to the little girl’s room to wipe my tears (and I’ve only been here an hour and a half). I hate feeling out of control like this, and I hate even more that I’m feeling this way mainly due to an old guy that looks more like a mad scientist than doctor who tells me I have fat arms. Only, when I get mad at myself and tell myself to stop crying, I only cry more. I’ve always been quite the defiant little bugger, I guess.

I found a new allergist to go see, though; I have an appointment in a week or so. I will probably tell him nothing about my PEG tube or low body weight because that seems to be what freaked my other doc out. All he needs to know is my asthma is bad, my lungs are bad – and that’s it. I just need them fixed. I’ll leave all the old anorexia shit to my T and D. This MD definitely doesn’t need to know about it; most don’t really know what to do about that stuff anyway.

I think tonight I’m going to go to an eating disorder 12 step group sponsored by my church. I need something more than I’m getting, maybe spiritual edification can give me the relief I feel I need. I like 12 step because its focus is positive, there is no dwelling on the negative or the past, but on what one can do to move forward and what one can do to stay “sober.” I think I need a little more support than I’m getting now, so I’m going to try it.

Better stop typing. Can’t afford any more tears.

Oh, and PS: Feliz Cinco de Mayo! I've always loved this holiday, I think the six years I took of Spanish in jr. high and high school instilled a love and respect and loyalty to this Mexican holiday. Way to gain that hard-earned independence, Mexico. Love it!

I celebrated by eating a tostada at our Cinco de Mayo Fiesta at work. I also had a mint brownie, but I guess that doesn't count because it's not Mexican? Whatever it was good!

Holy Migraine of Fury

What a bi-polar weekend. On the happy side, my blogger friend JB came to visit, and we all had a wicked awesome time hanging out, but on a lame note, I definitely was feeling more than a little under the weather. I’m not sure if I’ve got the Swine Flu, or if my allergies and lungs are so bad it’s making me really, really sick, but I was feverish, I had a migraine the size of Texas THE ENTIRE TIME, and my body felt like it’d been hit by a truck full of hot garbage juice.

Finally, last night, with the help of migraine meds, a painkiller, and some ibuprofen, I was able to sleep, but woke up only a few hours later with that migraine pestering me again. Holy headache of fury, it’s literally been making its home and hearth on my poor noggin for weeks now. Doesn’t that mean you have a brain tumor or something? To wake up time and time again, over and over, with the worst headache of your life? Something just doesn’t seem right about that, I dunno.

We got some nice relaxing pedicures the other day, and you know how you sit in those massage chairs while they do it? Well mine thought it would be fun to massage my arse and it was like squeezing my hips and fisting my bum hole and I was like, eaaasssssy, personal space, you know? But once I figured out how to turn that ludicrous feature off (who would want a fisted bum?) it was niiiiiice. I actually even fell asleep, but was woken quite abruptly when the nice asian lady started using that pummus stone thingy to smooth my feet or whatever. It tickled hella bad and it was all I could do to not kick her in the face. My back was arched and I was gripping the chair and I was thinking that I definitely didn’t want to pay for tickled feet and bum fisting, and also her medical bill if I gave her a black eye, but it was soon over and I promptly fell asleep again.

Not much going on this week…see the T this afternoon, and my ED MD on Wednesday. Going to buy a new stove tonight, which should be uber awesome since ours currently smells like cat wiz (no it wasn’t my cats – they are not allowed in the oven – and who in the H bomb would even let their cats in the oven?) I mean, none of this makes sense, but there is a definite smell of cat pee which is rather disconcerting and confusing. I try not to think about it. But I’ll just say that eating a Totino’s frozen pizza (which isn’t very good anyway) that tasted like it had been baked in cat wiz was so not cool. Husband was starving enough to eat it anyway, and I pitied him and his desperation. What a weirdo.

Okay, anyway. I have nothing much to say, as you can tell, and it’s time for me to med up again to try to keep this monster migraine at bay. Shoot do you think I have a brain tumor? I’m seriously worried about this.

My allergy prick doc still hasn’t called me…it’ll be interesting to see if he does, and I’ll keep you updated…

Fired Again, Wow, this is Unbelievable.

Well, if you either follow me on Facebook or Twitter, you probably know that my allergist fired me yesterday. The doorbell rang, and there was the mail man, needing my signature for a certified letter. It was from my allergist, which surprised me, but didn’t alarm me – he’s mailed me stuff before. This is what the letter said:

Dear Ms. B______

In the best interest of patient care, you are hereby informed that you have 30 days in which to have your Medical Care and Records transferred to another Physician of your choosing. Your medical care at [Blank Blanks of Blank] will be terminated at this time.

And that was it. No explanation, no nothing. I called his office to find out why, and he was eva so conveniently out of town until Monday, at which time the office manager told me that she’d have him call me. I was acting like a blubbering fool though, crying and totally pissed at myself for crying, so it’s probably good I didn’t talk to him. When I do, I want to be intelligible and suave and not crying and dripping snot and mascara on my phone, you know?

It just hurt, is all. I haven’t done anything wrong, I’ve taken all my meds he’s given me as prescribed, which is the only condition he told me I’d need to uphold in order to continue to see him. I don’t understand what’s wrong with me, what there is about me that is so unwanted, or un-helpable, or something. Three docs have fired me in two months. I’m so pathetic. Blargh whatever.

My blog turned totally legit friend is flying in today to spend the weekend with me and another blogger buddy, so it should be fun – we always have a blast when she comes to town. I pick her up from the airport in the evening, at which time we are going to drive straight to my allergist’s home, take a giant shit on his doorstep, and light it on fire.

Have a fun weekend. I’m certainly going to try to, and dammit, I deserve it after this week!

Bye friends.