*sigh* Church People

Candyland is frozen over and I've had lots and lots of time over the past few days (four days to be exact; I've not left the house in FOUR days. It's like heaven) to ponder and, um  dwell  on a certain interaction that occurred last Sunday that has left a very bad taste in my mouth.

I love my church. No, seriously. My church is wonderful, and to be more specific, my Sunday School class is just downright amazing. When I hear people talk about how churches are so hypocritical and judgmental and only want perfect people in their buildings, I know that these poor individuals have never been to my church. My Sunday school class has seen me through the end of my miserable marriage, my divorce, a surgery and hospital stay that was beyond terrifying, and countless other crap that comes up in the course of a normal life. They have stepped up to be godly examples to my kids; taking my boys hunting, fishing, to ball games, and to Boy Scout events since their dad (who does his best - not ex bashing here) lives so far away. I've had people from my church step up to fix my plumbing, take care of my yard, drive my kids when I couldn't. Nobody has ever presumed to judge me or make me feel bad about the job I'm doing as a mom. Nobody ever acts like they are better than you. Nobody pretends that because they are on this committee of that council that they are more holy than you are. They recognize that everyone has flaws and that just because they are good at one thing, they aren't good at everything. It takes the whole Body of Christ to really make things work for a church. We all tend to be checking for the plank in our own eyes and leave it to you to find the speck in yours.  Basically, my big, wonderful church is, mostly, full of people that wouldn't fit the most definitions of "church people."

But...(you knew that was coming, right?)

As if to make a liar out of me, I had an encounter last week with a person from my church that made me feel about four inches tall. Then it just started to piss me off. This is a person I've known for a very long time. I've never been particularly close with this person, but I do appreciate what he does for the church. He and his family are some of those people who are there "every time the church doors are open." They really do fill a number of needs that our church has. He works a lot with the youth. And having two children in the youth group, I REALLY appreciate those who give their time to care for the spiritual growth of these kids. HOWEVER...

(small segue for explanation)

If you know me at all or have read much of my blog, you know that I struggle mightily with chronic migraines. A few years ago, the flight surgeon also determined that I have some sort of auto-immune disease that we never did figure out. After several blood tests and other attempts, this flight surgeon got assigned elsewhere and the remaining docs didn't have the time or inclination to play "What the hell is wrong with Buffi" any longer. Suffice to say, I do take care of my kids and try my darndest to get them to all the extra-curricular activities they participate in so that they can grow up to be healthy, well-rounded people. Some days, though, I wake up with a particularly terrible headache that keeps me from driving because I can barely open my eyes. Or when I do open my eyes, everything looks a little, um, wavy or weird and I feel like I can't trust my senses to guide me. On school days, I do my best to power through and at least get the kids to school. The cost of that is that I generally end up back in bed for the rest of the day until I have to get the boys. Although now that SP can drive, I can have her pick them up sometimes or I have had friends who do that for me once or twice.

Add to that: For the past several years, SugarPlum  played on a club soccer team that required us to travel to Metropolis to our south in order to play. So many, many weekends, we missed church because of soccer games. Now that she is a junior in high school, her club team basically disbanded because juniors & seniors would rather spend weekends with their friends and/or working than travelling two hours each way to play soccer. Yes, I'm a soccer mom without a soccer team...but that's another post for another time. The upside of this is that we have been able to go to church much more often and the boys have finally been able to be way more involved in some of the activities at church. Yay! [now that I am thinking about it, these are the same parents who made it a point to tell me that they would never put sports before church...whatever]

Now, there are still some Sundays when I wake up, open my eyes, and the pain that comes shooting from every direction causes me to lie back down and say, "NOPE. Not happening today." So, I take some migraine medicine, drink as much water as my queasy belly will allow and go back to bed, hoping that the pain will pass. Am I proud that I'm missing church and causing my kids to miss? No. I'm very sad about this. Could I get SP to take them to church. Probably. But my brain isn't exactly functioning at capacity and the ridiculous amount of nagging it takes to get those boys ready to go anywhere, much less dressed in a manner acceptable (to me anyway) for church, is usually beyond my brain's paltry abilities at that point. So we all stay home.

Last week was one of those Sundays. However, by Sunday afternoon, I was feeling much better and was able to get Bear to church for Bible Drill followed by a party that the youth group was having. When I went up there to fetch him after the party was over, this man (the one I mentioned waaaaay back there, before you stopped reading, because golly this has turned into a long post!) pulls me aside and says, "I have a bone to pick with you!" I, knowing this man as a fun-loving guy with a good sense of humor, chuckled and said, "Okay, what did they do now?" 

THEN, this man - this self-righteous man - proceeds to SCOLD me, saying that Bear told him I had slept in this morning and that I have a responsibility to get my kids to church every Sunday. He didn't think it was okay for me to just sleep in when these boys wanted to be at church. I was speechless. I smiled, nodded and told him that from now on, I'd be sure to have Bear call him when his mom was too lazy to get the kids to church. Okay, maybe I left out the "when his mom was too lazy to get the kids to church" part, but I was just floored. 

I carry so much guilt over what I cannot do when I'm going through a bad streak of migraines. Not to mention the guilt I feel for my kids having to grow up with divorced parents. I was awfully proud that I'd been getting us to church as often as I had. I was also feeling pretty good that I'd gotten Bear to church that night. I truly felt like somebody punched me in the gut. Now I can hardly look at him or his wife (who has also chastised me in the past for Bug missing Sunday school, but not to that extent) without feeling angry. And I don't like that. 

I wish that people could understand that many of us are doing the best we can and that what we need most is encouragement when we are getting everyone to church. I wasn't feeling God's love at all last Sunday. What I was feeling wasn't coming from God at all. Why can't people see that these kinds of interactions are what KEEP people away from church? If I hadn't been a member of this church for nearly ten years, I don't know what effect it would have had on me. I don't know that I would want take my kids back to a place where it seemed the policy was to make parents feel bad. Thank goodness I have my Sunday School class and other good, loving friends in my church who encourage and support me and never once make me feel bad for missing when I can't help it. I feel sad for those people who haven't had time to meet the friends I have and whose early encounters are with stereotypical "church people." Our church is a great place filled with the most amazing people. If you are active in your church, please consider how your words sound to others. No one person is more "holy" than another. Nobody gets to pass judgment on anyone else but God. So stop casting those stones already.

I'll get over this. But I just pray that I'm the only one that caught this man's judgment and not a new person who is struggling with their faith and feelings. It would be sad for something like this to drive someone away entirely.

(and if you made it all the way through, thanks for listening to my rant!)

Sorry about the lack of posting again, but....

You know what I hate? I hate being unable to post and share what is going on with me and my kids and all of the funny, joyful, irritating, crazy, LIFE around here. And WHY am I unable to post? Because of the possibility that every word I type can be used against me (and probably is). And I hate that. It makes me angry. Because it shouldn't be that way. But evidently it is. So, sorry, all three people who still read around here. Just thought I'd give you an explanation.

As it is, everyone is healthy. Everyone is happy. It is summer, so everyone is whiny - especially me since I'm working my tail off in school, trying to get this MA done as quickly as possible AND spend time with my kiddos, because they are growing up so fast. I'll fill you in someday. I hope. Comments will be turned off on this post. Email or call me if you want to offer encouragement. I love you guys.

All Hell Breaking Loose....

Okay I know I said "next weekend" or something like that. But I've been a little busy. You know. Life and kids and stuff. But I'll make like Paul Harvey and give you the rest of the story now....(I'm sure that this is full of all sorts of mistakes and grammatical errors that I will compulsively go back & fix later, but I'm going to bed now...) PART 1 click here

So, yes my instructions when I left the hospital after having the baby factory removed and almost bleeding to death were simply to rest and to go to the ER if I started running a fever. Well, I wasn't sure how long those instructions were for. Because, I went home on Sunday. On Tuesday or Wednesday (it's all a little fuzzy), I started running a very low grade fever. I SO did not want to go to the ER. But after some prodding and close to downright shouting from my mom & FB friends, I did phone the GYN on call and she said to take some Tylenol, that I probably had a UTI and to call my regular dr in the morning, which I did. He sent me to pee in a cup & put me on antibiotic which did NOT agree with my digestive system. I kept having the fever but just took Tylenol. The lab results came back I and I did NOT have a UTI and since the antibiotics were making me sick and unable to eat, the dr said I could stop taking them. This was Friday, I think.

The weekend was fairly uneventful. Like I said before the kids got to spend time with their dad. My uncle and cousin came by for a visit, I got out and walked a bit (per doctor's orders)....things were okay. Mom was even contemplating going home. My tummy was still a little upset, so Mom thought she'd stay at least one more night & get the kids off to school. Sunday evening, my stomach was really bothering me. ***Here's where you need to stop reading if you have a delicate constitution*** I felt really gassy & couldn't seem to go to the bathroom. I went for a walk and the stomach cramps about overtook me. I made it back into the house and to the bathroom in time to toss everything I had eaten that evening. And then everything I had eaten that week. I was doubled over and couldn't stop throwing up. Finally I was just throwing up bile. Mom called the clinic since I could barely speak and the doc on call said to take me to the ER. So, a wonderful friend came over to stay at the house with the kids since they were all asleep - and help me walk to the car (Mom seriously considered calling an ambulance, but I didn't want to freak out the kids or the rest of the neighborhood).

We got to the ER and Mom ran in and asked for a wheelchair since I couldn't walk. Evidently I was moaning pretty loudly and got triaged right back to a little ER room (there was a 3-4 hour wait otherwise). I kept calling for my "Mommy." (Amazing how we revert back when we are at our most vulnerable, isn't it?) And she just held me as best she could and yelled at those people to take care of me. Seriously, you don't want to get crosswise my mom over one of her kids. She will make you wish you were dead. They gave me lots of drugs and I finally stopped puking. Of course I also stopped being lucid at all. They took me for an x-ray. Then they wanted to do a CAT scan - can I just say that there are few things nastier than barium, especially when you've been throwing your guts up. I do remember trying to choke that crap down. I guess I didn't have any bleeds anywhere, but my fever had spiked to over 104, so they thought it might be a good idea to admit me. I have very little memory of being moved to my room. One of the nurses who was there said that they had to lift me because I was barely conscious enough to slide over. Evidently, I was in serious condition and there was talk of putting me in the ICU. Yeah. As it was I was on IV fluids, three different IV antibiotics and lots of pain and anti-nausea meds. And I was bloated up like a balloon in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade.

EVIDENTLY, I had developed an infection at the site of the repairs made in the second surgery. One of the abscesses was big enough that it was blocking off my bowel, essentially trapping all of the gas and *ahem* everything else from coming out of my body. That was making me a little queasy...and nearly septic. Because it was cellulitis. Which is really bad from what they tell me and to have it INSIDE is extremely rare. The doctor was a little freaked out.

My mom was keeping my friends & family updated on my condition and let them all know that I had cellulitis of the vaginal cuff. One of my friends later called to tell me "Um, your mom sent me a text about your vagina." NICE.

I stayed knocked out on pain killers and nausea meds for the first few days. By Wednesday, the first offending abscess had gone down enough for my bowel to be able to, um, deflate. Yeah, that was pleasant. Especially for the housekeeping staff. There are some great stories that could go with that day, but they are better left untold. In the meantime, doc came in every day and did a pelvic - oh, yes, just as awesome as you can imagine it would be. I also got to go for another x-ray, an ultrasound - both external and internal. I was wheeled to the sonographer by a lady who was very insistent that I wear those lovely hospital socks with the grippy things on them. She told me all kinds of stories about why this was important. Evidently it is crucial. Whatever.

Every few hours, they came to take blood, take my vitals, change one thing or another on my IV, give me medicine or something or just aggravate me. The good nurses (read: the ones I liked) would turn on the least intrusive light possible. All the hullabaloo and they changes in my meds had given me one doozy of a migraine & I wanted it as dark & quiet in there as possible. There were some terribly cheerful nurses who would burst in in the mornings and turn on all the lights and open the curtains - I had a corner room so I had two windows. I hated those nurses. The nurse I had the biggest problem with was a night nurse who kept insisting that I should take a shower, it would make me feel better. I had already taken one shower and learned that those were the worst showers in the history of ever. There was barely any water pressure and you had to rotate yourself to get completely wet. I was cold the whole entire time. One of the GOOD nurses had brought me some of those cleansing cloths to use so that I didn't smell like a lumberjack and I really didn't care what my hair looked like. Nurse Ratchet tried to blackmail me and tell me that she would take my blanket away if I started to run the slightest fever. I asked for the charge nurse and never saw Miss Smarty-Pants again. I may have been known as a pain in the ass but I just really don't give a flying flip.

My friend came to visit Wednesday night and as he left he told me I was hot. I laughed and said "Oh yeah, I'm hot. I look fantastic after laying in this bed for three days." He cracked up and said, "No, you are burning up, I'm going to go tell the nurses before I leave." Yeah, my temp was back up over 102. Super.

By Thursday afternoon, I was still running a pretty good fever most of the day. (Though I was no longer bloated so that was good) All of my blood cultures had come back clean. Nobody knew exactly what was making me sick. But I still felt like shit. I had another CT & it was decided that I was going to have a drain put in me to try to remove the infection from my vaginal cuff (I know, sorry). I thought I had a vague idea how this particular procedure might go. I was very, very mistaken.

The next day, they wheeled me off to CT and had me lay on my belly and zipped me in and out of the CT scanner dealio while the radiologist, Dr DeSade, inserted a tube from my right butt cheek through my lower abdomen to my (close your eyes) vaginal cuff to drain the infection.** BUT WAIT THERE'S MORE...while he was in there he took samples of the fluid to send to the lab to see if they could identify the bacteria that was trying to kill me. For the record, they could not. The little collection bag just kind of hung out there off the skinny little tube which was about 12 inches long or so. Surprisingly, once the tube was in, it really didn't bother me at all except that it was a little awkward trying to find a place to hold it when I went to the potty. It was good for freaking out visitors, though.

**Yes, I was awake thru all of this, but I did have some pretty good drugs on board to make me relax. Plus I did that breathing that they teach you in the childbirth classes. Nice that THAT finally came in handy!

The drain seemed to do the trick. By the next day, I was off all IV antibiotics (still taking two oral antibiotics, though. One for colitis which I developed at some point in there and made things even more fun.Good exercise though!) It was good that I was off the IV since most of my veins had been blown - all of them in both lower arms - and my last IV was in my upper arm near my left shoulder. Actually that was the only one that didn't leave any lasting marks AND it was the easiest to manage. You can still feel the knots in my lower arms where the veins have scarred. It's super-creepy. One of the nurses told me that one of the reasons that I blew so many veins was because of all the Phenergan they gave me for the nausea for all those days. And you know what? TOTALLY worth it. I hate feeling nauseated. SugarPlum says I was pretty funny on phenergan, too. Mom & I evidently had whole long conversations of which I have absolutely no memory. Same goes for phone conversations & actual in-room visits with several friends. So if you called or came by & I don't remember it, sorry. And, if you DIDN'T call but want credit for calling, you can say you did and I will have no way of knowing you are lying.

Mom brought they kids up to see me nearly every single day. I did let them open the window shades because there were pigeons nesting on the window sills and occasionally they would have eggs. They named one set on the birds "Coco & Loco" and one of their eggs was "Yoko" (get it? Yolk-o....they thought it was hilarious). Sadly, we never saw an egg hatch.

By Saturday I was SO READY to bust out of there. The doctor seemed inclined to send me home, too. Except that I still had that damn drain in and he wanted to leave it for at least 24 more hours. He actually was going to send me home with the drain. I was somewhat opposed to bringing a bag of bacteria home to my three children. He let me stay another day. Sunday, he came in to remove the drain. He had the little kit and as he got started, he honest to Doogie said "I think the radiologist said to cut right here...." The nurse and I both had the same look of shock and dismay on our faces. Then, with absolutely no warning, he just pulled that sucker right out of me. HO.LY. CRAP. He asked me if I wanted any pain meds for home. Uh, yeah. So he wrote me a few scrips for that and for antibiotics and I don't know what else and shortly after I signed all those papers, my Mommy took me home.

Oh, and they never did figure out what was making me sick. Every single culture came back clear. All of them. I had some mystery bug that tried to kill me. I am either Dr House's dream patient or his biggest nightmare.

All in all, I was in the hospital the second time for eight days, not counting the night in the ER before they admitted me. I lost about 20 lbs. Nothing at all tasted good. I read about four books. Thank goodness for having Kindle on my phone. I updated my Facebook statuses in the moments that I had the energy & could see straight. And I never did wash my hair. I know. EW. Shut up. The first thing I did when I got home was take a shower and climb into MY bed. That bed never felt so good.

Little by little I have been getting my strength back. I am still amazed at how tired I am and how much I MUST nap. I mean, it's been two months. But the doc keeps telling me to give it six months before I even approach being my old self again. I have gained back all the weight - I really didn't have much that I could lose - thanks to Girl Scout cookies and Haagen-Dacz. I managed to pull an 'A' in the class I was taking last semester in spite of my prof sending me home my first week back because I "looked frail" and I was "making her nervous." I sported the whole "heroin chic" look for quite some time - skin & bones, sunken eyes, tracks & bruises all up & down my arms. I looked terrific.

Bear still tells me almost every day that he is glad I'm all better and home. I hug my babies a little tighter and try to fit in some extra snuggles every day. Bless their hearts. In one week, their Dad deployed to SW Asia and their mom was suddenly back in the hospital at death's door (although they don't really know just HOW sick I was). SugarPlum has been amazing, as always. She is an astounding caretaker, especially for a 14 year old, and she is fiercely protective of me. And I have discovered some truly wonderful people in my life. I am honestly blessed beyond measure. I have realized who and what really matters.

God is good, all the time. And all the time, God is good.

And to think, this was the EASY part....

Okay, since several people have asked "Just what the hell happened to you and the whole hospital thing?" here is the saga…..it’s long, but trust me it felt longer while I was laying there. (That’s what she said) (sorry I couldn’t help myself.) Today is just the first part, because, seriously, it is a SAGA. And if you get queasy easily, you might want to skip it. It ain't pretty.

I was scheduled to have a hysterectomy. Yes, I am only 40 but I have had tons of issues that are certainly more than most of you want to know so I won’t bore you with all of them. The biggest reason was that my CA-125 blood test (which is one of the markers for ovarian cancer, you know, what my mother had me totally freaked out about) had come back as above normal more than once. My GYN (Dr L) didn’t think it was “cancer high” but enough that we should probably take a look around in there and given my other issues, if he was going to “be in there” we might as well take it all out. Honestly, I was fine with removing the baby factory. After my last pregnancy and the ridiculous crap that accompanied it, I am done. D.O.N.E. And I was tired of all the girl stuff every month. So YAY! Fire sale: everything must go!

It was supposed to be very routine: LAVH (I won’t over-explain, if you want to know, you can click the link...hope you're not eating), overnight stay, home the next day. I scheduled the surgery for just before Spring Break so that I’d have nearly two full weeks to rest and recover before I went back to class. My mom was planning on staying a week, maybe ten days. I’d be tired for a few weeks but should have been back on my feet by the time Spring Break was over. Ha. Ha.

You know that nothing is ever easy with me. I am ALWAYS the aberration.

My mom came to take care of the kids and me. A friend took me to the hospital that morning at 6:15 (thanks Courtney!) and my mom was up there as soon as she got the kids to school. I remember checking in, joking around with the anesthesiologist, getting wheeled into the OR and talking a minute. The next thing I remember is the recovery room.

Here's the thing: I don’t do well coming out of anesthesia. And I am ALWAYS overwhelmed by much it hurts. But this time, even though I knew why I was hurting, something still didn’t feel right. I kept telling them that I was hurting but I couldn’t articulate that something was wrong. Drugs will do that to you, kids. They kept saying, “Yes, you just had surgery.” One jackhole actually “asked” me “Is this your first hysterectomy?” My mom almost punched him. I started feeling really nauseated. No REALLY, seriously pukey. I told them and I think they gave me some phenergan or something. But it didn’t help much.

At a certain point, they had given me all the pain and nausea meds they could. Between all the meds and still coming out of general anesthesia, everything is very swirly in my mind. I remember them giving me a basin because I felt sick. I didn’t have anything in my stomach, but I started dry heaving. I know that they took me from recovery back to my room. I remember telling them that I was bleeding and they said it was normal to have some bleeding after a hysterectomy. But every time I heaved, I felt a LOT of blood.

Evidently I kept saying “gushing” until a CNA came to change the pad on the bed and noticed that the whole entire bed was covered in blood – like horror movie style. She screamed out in the hall for someone to "get their asses in there" (as my mom informed me) and finally they took me seriously. They laid me back down in my gross, bloody bed, tilted the bed to head down (which made all of my stitched up insides hurt like a son of a bitch - that I DO remember) and wheeled me back down to pre-op where they started a blood transfusion. I remember my mom there by my head telling me what was going on, kissing me and telling me she loved me. I remember thinking that I would really just like to close my eyes and go to sleep if everyone would just STFU. But they couldn’t let me do that…something about lapsing into a coma or something, so annoying. They kept shouting at me, “BUFFI?! DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT’S GOING ON?” and I would nod. I was soooooo tired and but not scared, really. More aggravated. And very confused. I don’t remember going back into surgery. Dr L checked everywhere he had cut out anything (which was pretty much everywhere, because evidently I had an incredible amount of endometriosis all thru my lower abdomen - I am SUCH an over-achiever. There were no nicks or ruptures anywhere that he could see, except one place.

(Skip the next paragraph if certain anatomical words offend you or give you the willies)

Evidently, when I was dry heaving, a blood vessel in my vaginal cuff – where the uterus connects to the…you know – ruptured and caused the whole thing to start throwing clots & blow all the stitches. So, when I was saying "gushing" I was right. Good times. He stitched it all back up very carefully. They ended up giving me three units of blood. Which, evidently, means that I very nearly bled out. At least that's what one of the nurses told me. So much for quick and easy. I vaguely remember the recovery room again and remember my mom being there and a friend coming back to see me. I think he was a little freaked out. But, pretty much everyone was "a little freaked out." I looked fabulous, I’m sure. From what I’m told I looked slightly cadaverous.

**Also, the jackhole nurse came and apologized for his jackholery**

The doctors agreed it would be a good idea to keep me sedated for a long time to avoid the nausea and to keep my blood pressure down. I guess that every time I woke up a little, I hurt like hell and my blood pressure would spike. Also, they didn't want me dry heaving again and busting something else open.

The original plan for the boys was that SugarBug’s teacher was going to bring the boys home from school. Since the surgery was so early, I figured I’d be awake and in my room by the time they got there. And if things had gone normally, I would have. Instead, Mom kept in touch with the boys’ teachers and Mrs. Secondgrade took the boys to ToysRUs to get some Legos and bought them some pizza (she is so absolutely wonderful, I cannot even begin to describe her) and brought them up to the hospital…somewhere around suppertime maybe? I don’t know. I know that they were pretty freaked out. There I was in bed, no color at all, who knows how many tubes coming out of me and oh, so barely conscious. Bless their hearts. I remember telling them that I love them and that I was going to be okay. I remember them each giving me a kiss before my mom took them home. And then, I was out.

The next thing I remember was waking up when my friend came back. He was really nice and stayed to visit for a while. He (sarcastically) told me I looked great even though I was practically see-through. That is the first thing I remember clearly. I hurt some but not as much as earlier. My blood pressure was still wonky from all of the fluids and meds they had given me after I sprung the leak. Oddly enough, my blood pressure would go down whenever they gave me pain meds. Imagine.

After my friend left, I asked the nurses when I could get the catheter out because, golly I HATE those. They had to check with the doctor, who was thrilled that I was awake and lucid enough to ask to take it out. So they did. YAY! I went to the bathroom, I drank some water. I called the house to talk to the kids so that they could hear that I was okay. I needed to hear their voices too. The full impact of what had happened was beginning to dawn on me and OH, how it broke my heart to even consider the alternative ending. I still hate that the boys had to see me like that after I had told them the night before that everything would be just fine. Now I'm a big fat liar.

Random snippet: When I was more fully awake, I saw a small card left by one of the pastors at my church. It was funny because I remember at one point in my drug-induced haze thinking, "Wow, that doctor looks just like Danny Pastordude!" Heh.

I stayed in the hospital one extra day (yes, that’s all!) and they sent me home. My instructions were to eat, rest, and go to the ER if I started to get a fever. I got my prescription for the pain meds and my hormone patches and headed home. It felt good to be in my bed. I was happy to be with my babies. I was a little shaky, but felt like I was getting stronger & better. The kids went with their dad, who was in town for a Spring Break visit, and they had a grand time. It was good to see them happy and not hovering and worrying about me. I studied some (mid-term approaching) and tried to begin making my way back to normal. SD left, my Uncle and cousin stopped thru on their way home from a Spring Break fishing trip to check on me. Mom was in charge and taking great care of all of us. She was considering going home the next day.

And then all hell broke loose…..

(to be continued this weekend, I promise. Probably)

FINALLY, part 2

Dang, this is killing me

I have honestly had every intention of blogging about the past week or so. About how I had most of my girl parts removed. How I almost bled to death right after. All the glorious aftermath of my medical adventures. But I am still so tired.
I mean, I knew from the gall bladder surgery and the ectopic surgeries that I would be tired. But for some reason I thought I would bounce back faster this time. I guess someone forgot to remind me that I'm 40. Middle aged. We don't bounce back so quickly any more. In fact, very little bouncing of any kind  has taken place as of late. Because, you know, forty.
So, once I have the energy to blog somewhere other than on my phone while lying in bed; and once my head is clear of the anesthesia from two trips to the OR in one day, I promise to share the whole exciting tale with you. Though at this point, it might be sort of anti-climactic.
But for now, I'm going to sleep some more.

So, yeah, this happened....

So much happening lately and, yet, at the same time there is really nothing happening at all. Which is funny because I really feel like I have been going non-stop for weeks now. And it's exhausting. Which is one of the problems. I'm just wiped out tired all of the time. So, I've been seeing the flight surgeon to try and figure out what the heck is wrong with me. I know that being tired is part of being a mom, but this is crazy. I honestly feel like I could go to sleep at any point in the day - anywhere.

So, the flight surgeon - and not the idiot flight surgeon I have seen in the past, but the KING of the flight surgeons (okay, maybe not his official USAF title, but close enough) - has been kind enough to make time in his schedule to really try to help me. Unfortunatly, solving the mystery involves bloodwork. Lots and lots of bloodwork. The first time, I had to be fasting for the blood tests. This always baffles me. They tell me to not eat anything after midnight, then come in (after getting three kids ready & off to school) and they take like a liter of blood. So...I'm starving and NOW severly anemic - and then they send me home. "Good Luck!" I never remember to bring a granola bar.

Good news? My cholesterol numbers are fabulous! My thyroid test were right on the money! Blood sugar? A little low, but nothing extraordinary. The down side of this is that now I have to get more blood tests. On the up-side, these don't involve fasting. Down side? SIX VIALS of blood. Thank goodness these don't require fasting. If I wasn't anemic before, I most certainly was afterward.

Those tests....were also unremarkable. Blood counts are good. No rhumetoid issues, no auto-immune markers. This seems like it should be good news, but it just means that we still don't know what is wrong. Grrrrrrrrr. So, now, he is sending me to a rheumetologist and he's sending me for a sleep study. Seems SD has informed him that I snore. Dr. King says that if I weighed 300 lbs he would have done the sleep study from the get-go, but since he and my therapist always feel the need to ask me if I am eating, that doesn't seem to be an indicator, but I could be suffering from sleep apnea. We'll see.

UPDATE: (This should have been posted on this date, but never was. So I'm posting it three years later. Nothing ever was really discovered at the sleep study other than I have some restless leg syndrome and I snore, but don't have any apnea. So, three years later, I've had lots of other tests and surgery and different meds....and a divorce and started grad school.....I'm just a hot mess, that's all...)

Help! I'm melting! (and a SugarPuppy update)

W0e are at another soccer tournament in DALLAS this weekend. Seriously, it's like 147 degrees. It is miserable. Though, watching my girl play goalie like a pro makes it totally worth it. She is amazing. It would be even better if it was about 85 degrees.

I know, bitch & moan, bitch and moan......

On a good note, we got Snazzy home Thursday! SO happy. Actually a lady found her about five blocks from our house. That she was sighted with Yogi when he was found about 8 miles from our house, makes it a miracle, I think. She was coming home.....again! Everyone seems healthy and happy! My kids are still beside themselves.

Okay....off to sweat to death at our final game. Pray that I don't melt!!

How to make an ass of yourself for three days solid (A Step-By-Step Guide)

1. Go to get your haircut.
2. and one for your daughter.
3. When it's time to pay, realize that you must have left your wallet in the car.
4. Go look in car.
5. Realize that you must - for some unknown reason (probably those rotten boys) - have taken your wallet out at home and left it.
6. Go back in hair place, offer to leave daughter as collateral and run home (with daughter since the hair ladies are terribly trusting) and tear house apart (as well as car).
7. FREAK THE HELL OUT because you can't find your wallet.
8. Call CVS to see if you could have possibly left your wallet there when you went to get (yes, ashamedly) Hairstyle magazines.
9. FREAK OUT EVEN MORE because the lady says your wallet isn't there.
10. Dig out the credit card that you were going to stop using from the desk drawer so that you can go back and pay for the haircuts (which, incidentally, was possibly the worst haircut you have ever received and make note to self to never, ever get hair cut at "Kidz Kutz" ever again).
11. Consider very real possibility that some kid at the hair place took the wallet from your purse during the 29 seconds you turned your back to talk to lady cutting daughter's hair (which, incidentally was the most fantastic haircut ever - maybe THAT lady could cut your hair)
12. Pick boys up from kind friend's house and see if there is any chance that you took your purse in for the 5 minutes you were there dropping boys off and left your wallet.
13. Of course not.
14. Drag everyone home and bribe them all with $5 for who ever finds the wallet.
15. No dice.
16. Admit to husband that though yes, that very day, he escorted you to get a new military ID because you had lost yours just days before, you have now lost your wallet (containing new ID) and it was most likely stolen by some little hoodlum at Kidz Kutz.
17. Consider the very real possibility that the UNIVERSE IS FUCKING WITH YOU.
18. Wait for husband to come home and look for your wallet because he is always great at finding lost things.
19. Still. no. wallet.
20. Call all credit card companies to report stolen cards.
21. Call bank to report stolen ATM cards (yes there were 2)
22. Contact credit bureaus to flag your & husbands SSNs because they are on (brand freakin' new) military ID.
23. Realize that there was a $25 Old Navy gift card, $5 Starbucks card about $85 in cash in stolen wallet. Fucking hoodlum.
24. Realize that only good news is that drivers license was NOT in wallet because you'd had it out all week to get on base w/ the temp pass while husband was TDY (out of town).
25. Apologize to husband 900 times for losing wallet even though he is being very gracious and kind - which couldn't be easy for him - about the whole situation.
26. Sulk, bitch and moan all day Saturday about the little hoodlum who took your wallet even though you know that it won't do any good.
27. Go to Sunday School even though you're still feeling sore & crappy from surgery and grouchy about lost wallet.
28. Yell at children who ask for offering money because ALL OF MY MONEY WAS IN MY WALLET you foolish children!
29. Come home from Sunday School to discover a message on your voicemail from the manager at CVS.
30. Call and discover that your wallet was at CVS all this time, locked in the safe, but that the stupid girl that you AND husband talked to wouldn't even go to the trouble of asking her boss if a wallet was found.
31. Resist urge to curse stupid, stupid girl once you realize that if you had half a brain then you would have put the wallet in your purse and not left it on the counter by the register.
32. What the hell is wrong with you anyway?
33. Throw a big "I found my wallet" Party all day long. (Okay, that's an exaggeration. Perhaps what is closer to the truth is call your best friend and sing the "I found my wallet" happy song and make a total fool of yourself.)
34. Still believe that the universe was fucking with you because, COME ON.

Home again, home again jiggety-OOMPH

Well, I am home and without gall bladder. I hurt like hell, but not anywhere NEAR as bad as I was afraid I'd feel, so at least there's that. I will tell you all about it later, but for now I am going to take some more drugs and lie down.

Thank you all for the prayers. I've no doubt that they helped unbelievably!

Hugs & kisses to you all!

Soon to be gall(bladder)-less

Okay, so I saw the surgeon today. I sat for over an hour in the waiting room and yes, I was a leeetle pissy about that. I may have posted a slightly nasty Twitter about that way. Yet minutes later, I was back in the exam room with the surgeon, all was forgiven.

I am officially declaring my love for Dr. Gallbladder.

She had already read my records and looked at my ultrasound (okay, this may not seem like a big deal to you, but realize that I am accustomed to the military health care system and...well, let's just say that, while there are some really great doctors, there are some truly, ridiculously clueless and horrible "physicians" who walk into the room and say "Hey how's it going?" Yes, I'm serious.) and came in prepared to to talk with me about my options. Which, pretty much "suck it up and deal with it" or "get that sucker outa there!"

She reviewed the function (and MALfuction) of the gallbladder and then went over the surgery veeerrry thoroughly. She actually answered the only question I had (after my over-researching it with Dr Google) and she left me feeling very confident and secure about this.

She asked when I was wanting to have it out. I told her the sooner the better. So? It looks like it should be Thursday. Yes, THIS Thursday. My own little Independence Day! Woo hoo!! (assuming the hospital and insurance all agree) (which is a HUGE assumption)

So, listen up you crappy malfunctioning little organ in there: Your days are numbered! Two to be exact. Say your good-byes because it's the end of the line for you, you pain causing jerk!!

(You realize I have totally jinxed myself and now this won't be out until sometime in November, right?)

The language of my insanity

I've been contemplating my depression and all its facets. No, I'm okay right now, really!, just being introspective. Sometimes I wonder what it means when you realize you are crazy. Does it mean that you are reeeaaalllly crazy or does it mean that the meds are working you have gotten enough better to SEE that you are crazy & how bad you WERE? Does this even make sense?

Probably not. When I started writing this post, I said that I was okay. But I think that I was very much NOT okay, because the next day, I was having a "discussion" with SD and ended up shaking up my big bottle of crazy and spewing it all over him. It actually ended up being a good thing, though at the time, I am almost certain that he considered calling the men in the white coats. More than once. But by the end of my incoherent rant (which differs from my blog posts how?), I felt much better having given voice & words to the depression and anxiety that I have been dealing with over the past several years. It ebbs and flows, my depression. I mentioned possibly being bipolar a few weeks ago. I really don't think that I am. But I do think that I cycle in and out of depression quite often. I just don't get the "manic" parts of bi-polar. No, I still haven't talked to Dr. C about this because...well, I suppose because I still am not sure I can handle the answer.


Anyway, these are the words that I have associated my depression & anxiety. (How much more of a downer could I be?)

• despair
• alone
• overwhelmed
• dark
• helpless
• agitated
• ashamed
• pit
• hopeless
• anxious
• ache
• sleepless
• exhausted
• empty
• numb
• hurt
• fatigue
• pretending
• smoldering
• unfocused
• disappointing
• angry
• stress
• blurry
• crazy
• inadequate
• difficult
• medicated
• moody
• distracted
• insane
• trying
• misunderstood
• spinning
• ill
• brain
• dying
• low
• over-stimulated
• sensory deprivation
• messy
• apathy
• misunderstand
• suffering
• distorted
• cloudy
• worthless
• incapable
• dishonest
• black
• lifeline
• adrift
• entangled
• pathological
• joyless
• abyss
• reason (or lack of)
• rain
• undeserving
• bottomless
• falling
• regret
• frustrated
• disorder
• therapy
• fear
• lost

**As an aside, does anyone know how I could have made this list into two columns? I couldn't figure it out and it about pushed me over the edge (just kidding)!

Yeah, a list post. Because it's too hot for paragraphs.

1. The past two weeks have been truly insane around here for lots of reasons.
2. Last weekend was Bug & Bear's birthday party and it went well. NINETEEN children were in my backyard, armed with water guns, water balloons, and other weapons of mass (lawn) destruction. A good time was had by all.
3. And then we all passed out.
4. Last week was Bear & SP's last week of school. I attended the awards ceremonies for both children. Which is always a bucket of fun.
5. Though both kids DID get certificates for All 'A' Honor Roll. (patting self on back even though I had very little to do with it).
6. Bug is on a bit of a tear. And by "a bit of a tear" I mean the child has been a little shit -testing every limit that we have EVER established and falling to the ground screaming when I enforce said limits. Yesterday was the real corker though because he threw a big stinking fit during children's church and our children's minister had to come get me out of the church service. Oh, I was furious. But I did hold it together enough to not yell at him. I didn't even cuss!
7. I'm a little freaked out because Bug is no longer a "preschooler" AND SugarPlum is no longer an elementary school student. I have a child in junior high. That's just wrong.
8. I got notification of my 20 year HS reunion. THAT is seriously fucked up. I am definitely not old enough to have been out of high school for 20 years.
9. I am officially addicted to Twitter. And it is pissing me off because it has been seriously jacked up lately. That flying whale is officially my least favorite thing to see now.
10. I saw this "Cuss-o-Meter on somebody's site (can't tell you who any more). It looks at the first page of a blog and gives you the percentage of cussing yours has compared to other pages on the web. So, mine? 0% Zero. Percent. That is fucking unacceptable.
11. I finally watched last week's episode of "Top Chef" and was dismayed that my secret crush, Spike, had to pack his knives and go.
12. I am consoled only by the fact that "So You Think You Can Dance" is back. I love me some Nigel Lithgow! (And Tice DiOrio is really nice to look at, too)
13. Have twice answered the phone this weekend and impressively restrained myself from saying, "Are you fucking kidding me?" Really, you wouldn't believe how much self-control that took.
14. Finally, my favorite kid-quote of the month: "For breakfast I want a fried egg. No, wait, Mommy. I want a Mond Egg. And tomorrow, I want a Tuesd Egg." Silly boys.

That ought to bump me up on the cuss-o-meter!

TMI doesn't even BEGIN to describe this post.

So, I had a realization the other day. A horribly embarrassing realization. About a trip to Target. And my period. (Really this is so TMI, I am truly horrified. Yet, I feel compelled to share. And it's too long to put on Twitter, dammit)

I am terrible at remembering when my period is due. SD can tell with uncanny accuracy. As can my children, most likely. I have too many other things to think about. Like ears, bathroom antics and whether or not I have a legitimate mental illness** (as opposed to an illegitimate mental illness)(you, in the back there, hush). I sometimes find myself wondering if, perhaps, I should be on the lookout for Aunt Flo.

Heh.

Looking back, I see that it couldn't have been more obvious. I was at Target walking around, seeking great deals (as you do). By the time I checked out, I placed on the conveyor belt: one bag of Jamaican Jerk potato chips, one bag of Wasabi Mustard potato chips, one bag of Salt & Vinegar potato chips (yes, really), one bag of Sweet & Salty Snack Mix, a box of Dove dark chocolate Promises, THREE tins of Wasabi & Soy roasted almonds, a Hersheys Extra-Dark chocolate bar, two 4-packs of Blood Orange Italian Soda, eight cans of Pomegranate Soda, and (wait for it) TWO BOXES of....tampons. <------all entirely true - I can provide a receipt if necessary. And I had the nerve to be SURPRISED when I got my period a few days later!

Can you imagine the poor kid checking me out?! I practically had a neon sign atop my head that flashed "PMS." I'm not sure, but looking back, I think I may have heard a security alert issued about a "possibly unstable woman entering the parking lot....stay out of her way AT ALL COSTS!!"

But I'm feeling much better now.

**I think that this post should settle that question once and for all.

No more shouting, I promise

I am actually feeling much better. Nobody is more surprised about this than I. Maybe I just needed to have a big old pity party and vent a little.. Maybe it is all of your wonderful, supportive comments, phone calls and emails. Maybe it's the vodka. Just kidding. It's definitely the vodka. Hee hee. It's probably that things are coming to a close with the terrible, awful situation that we have encountered. I wish that I could be more forthcoming about it, but I can't for many reasons.


Anyway, yesterday I started to feel the fog lifting and I am beginning to climb back out of the pit. Even with SD gone for a couple of days. It's weird. But I'm not complaining. The kids seem to sense that I am doing better too, because they don't seem to be acting as...cautious?...around me. Of course that might just be my perception. Hard to tell.

After a long day of cleaning last week (was it really last week? It seems like a million years ago)- during which I cleaned the kitchen cabinets, swept AND mopped the floor in the kitchen and breakfast room, cleaned the baseboards and walls, AND? AND? vacuumed the family room - I jokingly said to SD that maybe I'm bi-polar and was having a 'manic' day. He looked at me and told me that our therapist thinks that I am. Boy, that threw me for a loop! But then I stopped to think about it and thought, "Hey, maybe so."


Now, considering the dark period I just went through, I think I will discuss this with Dr. C at our next session. Which will be...I don't know when. I didn't go this week because I just couldn't make myself get out of the house except to get the kids where they needed to be. And next week I had to cancel because Bear is having surgery to have the tubes taken out of his ears. (That child can NEVER do things the easy way. More on that in another post.)

I really think that full-blown bi-polar disorder might be a little extreme, but in researching it (gotta love Google) I think that Cyclothymia might be a possibility. I don't know. I will have to talk to my doctor about it.


Trouble is, my doctor is an idiot. You'd think that the Air Force would make the flight surgeons the best-of-the-best to take care of their flyers. Only not so much. It's more like, "Oh, you're pretty mediocre at everything? How about aerospace medicine?" Half the time I go in there, I get a deer in the headlights look. I pretty much tell them what I think is wrong, what medicine I want to take care of it and VOILA! a prescription is handed to me! I honestly believe that if I were to make half a case for it, I could get the flight doc to prescribe me heroin. As long as I accepted the scrip for 800 mg of Motrin along with it. We call it "Vitamin M." They don't call 'em the "Candy Man" for nothin'!

Whew! Lose focus much? (Isn't that on the bi-polar checklist?)


SO. There you have it. Feeling much better. Though this might be an indication of a serious mental illness. (Thus validating the opinions of countless friends, family members and acquaintances.) Or not. We may never know. But I'm smiling right now, so that's something, right?

What's happening in Candyland? Not much, as it turns out...

Nothing eventful enough to merit a whole post, so I will bore you to death with a quick bullet list of the minutia of our lives:

• SD's new job is now requiring a lot from me. Actually, I kind of like it, but it is cutting into my internet time. Worth it, though.
• SugarPlum played her last soccer game of the season Saturday. All that's left is a tournament in a few weeks and we will be done with soccer for a while. WHEE!
• However, she is ALSO playing volleyball....which goes to the end of May.
• Junior High registration went well. SP is taking choir AND drama. Good times.
• I totally flaked on an ENT appointment for Bear last week. He still has one tube in his ear and the Dr is somewhat concerned about it. If it isn't out by now, he may have to have it removed. I'm not sure how that works...
• Bug has figured out how to read and spell. There goes the last one that we could "spell" around. "Think we should go for i-c-e c-r-e-a-m?" D-a-m-m-i-t.
• Bug also has his first big crush. On a little red headed girl in his class named Lisa. She is a sweetie. MAN he is head over heels! "Mommy, I love Lisa. I want to ma-wy her!" I guess I should start planning the rehearsal dinner!
• BIG NEWS! I have given up Diet Coke! I know, right? I was having waaaaay too many migraines and though that maybe my copious consumption of aspartame might have exacerbated the situation. It hasn't been too hard. Though now, I am addicted to AnTEAdote Organic tea. I get it from my favorite tea site, Adagio. My favorites are the white, black and oolong. Much healthier!
• SP has a mystery rash on her torso that was bothering her enough to go to the nurse and even come home. I'm taking her to the dr tomorrow. If she's willing to miss school for it, it must be something.
• I am totally procrastinating because I really need to fold my 384th load of laundry of the day AND clean the kitchen. *sigh* Some days the glamour of this whole job doesn't quite live up to the brochure.

PSSSSSST! You can wake up! It's over now!

I'm still alive - sorta

Did you miss me? Just lie and say you did. My ego is fragile, you know. I was gone all last week on the trip-I'm-not-supposed-to-blog-about and barely had a moment to breathe let alone blog. (I didn't even talk to my kids all week! Well, except for the morning SugarPlum called me before school to tell me that Gram was being mean to her. Heh.) We got back to Candyland late Friday night only to repack - this time for the boys, too - turn around and drive to Metropolis for SP's soccer games. When we finally got home yesterday afternoon? The internet was busted. *sigh*

SD got the internet back up this afternoon and I have been on here for the past several hours shoveling thru the literally HUNDREDS of emails I didn't get to read while I was in "the vacuum." So, if I owe you an email, I will get to it as soon as I can. I'm going back to the dr tomorrow because I suspect that my pneumonia is back. I have felt my fever climbing all afternoon and I sound like I smoke 3 packs a day. Nice.

So, at some point in the near future, my goal is to get a REAL post up. But for now, I am concentrating on not going to the hospital. And that is giving me a headache.

Later.

*cough* *cough* *hackhackhack* *cough* (but no whooping)

Well, the flu finally took the hint and fled Candyland (for the time being - no sense tempting fate). Bug and I were both knocked flat for the better part of last week. Fever, aches, major f_a_t_i_g_u_e, and general whiny-ness prevailed. I don't know how Bug put up with me.

At one point, as Bug and I discussed how our muscles and bones hurt, he told me, "I think my muscles are going to hohrt like this foh-ev-oh!" It was, quite possibly the saddest, sweetest thing you could have ever heard. Blessedly, he was feeling much better and back to wreaking havoc with his brother by Sunday afternoon.

So, yes, the flu fled. But not before calling his good friend Bronchitis to come and take up residence in my lungs. I sound lovely. And, if I hadn't felt so totally shitty last week, I would probably be whining about how bad I feel. But, given some perspective, I guess I feel okay. Except for the extreme tiredness. Maybe from lack of oxygen? Think?

I finally caved and went to the flight surgeon today and he sent me home with the big bag-o-drugs: Zithromax, Xoponex, Flo-Vent, and some codeine syrup (which I will probably just get rid of because that stuff is naaaaazzzzzztttty). Hopefully I will be feeling better very soon. I hope so, because SD and I are ditching the kids for a week (thanks Gram!) for a somewhat official trip (that I am not supposed to talk about here) and I don't want to be spewing phlegm all over the state of TEXAS!

IN OTHER (somewhat related) NEWS:

I can't remember (and am too lazy to look) if I have blogged about my (very strong) feelings about vaccinating our children. I won't get on my soapbox tonight about it (though I reserve the right to do so and may very soon if blog material doesnt seem to come), but Charlie just sent me some info about an organization called PKIDs:

PKIDs is a national nonprofit whose mission is to educate the public about infectious diseases and help families whose children are affected by such diseases. We're trying to raise awareness of pertussis, also known as "whooping cough," through an online resource. The site is:

www.pkids.org/pertussis

Pertussis is a potentially deadly bacterial infection that can strike at any age, but is particularly dangerous for babies. Adults are the number one transmitter of pertussis to babies. One of the best ways to protect babies from pertussis is to make sure that anyone in close contact with them is vaccinated.

At PKIDs’ web site, you can hear an audio clip of what whooping cough sounds like and get advice on how to talk to your doctor about protecting your child or children you may care for from pertussis. This is all part of a campaign to raise awareness of pertussis called "Silence the Sounds of Pertussis."

So there you go. I am just counting my lucky stars that there is no whooping around here. At least not the nasty, potentially deadly kind. With my boys, you can always count on whooping of some sort during each day. Now, where did I put that humidifier?

Conversations when you're sick

"Is it 'feed a fever and starve a cold' or the other way around?"

"I'm pretty sure it's the other way around; 'feed a cold, starve a fever.'"

"What about the flu?"

"I think it's 'tell the flu to fuck off, take a bunch of drugs and go back to bed.' Got Motrin?"

Happy *#$^*% Valentines Day!

Okay. As we prepare to send our little ones to school tomorrow to receive another shitload of sugar in the form of Valentines candy (which of course can't be consumed AT THE SCHOOL. Because the teachers aren't crazy! They send all of that crap HOME so that your little monsterssweethearts can bounce off your walls instead) I want to ask you a question (and do a fair amount of bitching - what? you're surprised?!) :

Are you the parent who helps her child prepare Valentines with little candies or Valentine-y doo-dads attached? Or are you more of the here's-your-box-of-32-cards-for-a-buck-fifty-Sign-your-name-and-put-them-in the-impossibly-small-envelopes-and-then-try-JUST-TRY!-to-get-them-closed variety of mom? I'm certain that you have guessed by now that I am more of the latter. My lazy really takes over on this holiday and, while I don't want to send the kids to school empty handed, I also don't feel like putting that much work or money into this.

But then, the kids get home from school and pour out their little Valentine holders and I see the Kisses that Suzie gave everyone (no, not THOSE kind of kisses and not THAT Suzie- she's the slut at the Junior High now), and the pencils that Dylan brought, and the handmade picture frame/Valentines that Hannah's mom sent (You know her right? Damn overachiever makes all of us look bad), and I feel like a cheap, horrible Mommy. And I resent that. I also resent that I have to give every kid in those classes a gift. Because really, the last people I want to give a gift to are the kids who give my children shit everysingleday at school and sent my sweet babies home in tears. (I'm looking at YOU Bailee and Carlos!) Of course I can't send something for some kids and not for others, so I choose to send just cards.

My children, however, are humiliated by the bare Valentines they are forced to hand out. Oh, the humanity. How can they face their peers on February 15th, having given nothing but a paltry card with a Bible verse on it. How dorky. (The Bible verse Valentines are my pathetic attempt at being subversive)

However, I have found a way to counter the whining. I ask them who gave candy last year. Obviously the initial answer is "EVERYBODY!" But when pushed to elaborate because honestly not everyone did, neither one of them can remember who did or didn't attach a special something to the Valentine. I go on to ask if anyone was ridiculed or shunned for giving a bare card. "Well...no...I don't think so."

See? Because all of that sugar after school creates temporary amnesia, thereby remedying the situation immediately AND getting me off the hook. In theory, anyway. Until next February.

So, your opinion please....does this make me a terrible mom or do you feel the pressure, too and resent it as much as I do? And, do you cave or do you stand your ground (she asks, eyeing the bag of Hershey's miniatures that may or may not be going to Candyland Elementary tomorrow)?

Just for the record, I am also against this whole "party favor bag" business at birthday parties. Why do I have to give you a present on MY birthday? I don't remember that. I always figured that cake and a satisfying round of "Pin the Tail on the Donkey" was treat enough. But I'll put my soapbox away for now.....

The Bug is unwell...and I am insane

So, I have been trapped here since Saturday afternoon with a sick Bug. He started coughing Friday morning, which I chalked up to allergies. He had a friend over after school and I agreed to watch one of my friend's toddler while she got her hair cut & colored. I told her that Bug had a nasty cough, but that he hadn't run any fever and that I was pretty sure it was just allergies.

Sometimes I think the germ gods hate me.

About half an hour before baby boy's daddy picked him up, Bug said, "I feel cold, Mommy. My head hurts."

Crap. Took his temp. And? 102.6. Yeah. What a great friend. I spent the next half hour saying, "Stay away from Noah! Cough the other direction! Wash your hands! Why don't you go play Legos in your room?!" Nothing like feeling loved and cared for when you are sick!

I took Bug to the walk-in clinic next morning. Surprisingly we didn't have to wait long (considering how long it took on the phone just to get TriCare to authorize an off-base dr. visit!). The doc was very nice and explained as he examined Bug that there were several nasty viruses going around and that was probably what Bug had. He would have gladly prescribe antibiotic if he thought it would help, but obviously since it was viral, there was no use. Then he started to listen to Bug's lungs from the back and stopped short. "...oh! Well! I do hear a crackle in there. Sounds like maybe some pneumonia. So, I'll go ahead and give him some Zithromax."

I am not a mom who demands antibiotic if it isn't necessary. So I made sure that he really thought Bug needed it and he said yes. So, we stopped at the pharmacy on the way home and go the meds. Then we came home and got my Buggy down for a (much needed!) nap.

We were supposed to have some people from SD's squadron over for supper that evening and had to cancel. I was disappointed because I just found out that this particular woman is a doula and HOW COOL IS THAT since that is my dream job?! But I was fairly certain that they didn't want a side of bacterial infection with their grilled salmon, so we will have to do it another time. Bummer.

Bug looked and sounded terrible. SD went to mass Saturday night so that I could take Bear and SP to Sunday School the next morning and leave Bug home. SD had to pack to go TDY anyway (of course. the Air Force always seems to time things to coincide with family illnesses!), so that worked out. HOWEVER....Bug awoke at 3:00 that night and was awake and miserable until after 5:00. When SD got up in the morning, I told him "Don't wake me up." He totally respected my request. He's a good man, that husband of mine.

(Except that then he abandoned me to go to his course for a week. BUT, he ended up sick too. HA! Okay, not really. I feel bad that he is sick down there and I can't do anything for him.)

So, Monday comes and Bug still feels crappy and has a high fever. Monday night he wakes up again and tells me that it hurts his chest to breathe. So Tuesday we go BACK to the walk-in clinic because there are no appointments on base - of course. Luckily, after waiting about eight days to check in, we were seen very quickly and the doctor (different guy, natch) orders a chest x-ray. Good news! Pneumonia seems to be gone! But since the fever hasn't gone yet, he changes Bugs antibiotic to something even I can't pronounce. And gives him some (nasty!) cough medicine.

By Tuesday night, Bug's fever is somewhat manageable. Though, I finally relent and let him just sleep all night in my bed, figuring that it's the best way for me to get a good night's sleep. It actually worked, for once!

He seemed to be feeling much better yesterday (no fever!), though I did keep him home from school under the "24 hours w/o fever rule." We had supper at church last night but didn't stay for choir. Today, I am keeping him home just as a precaution. There is a girl in his class who has cystic fibrosis and has already been in the hospital a couple of times this year. I figure she doesn't need me taking any chances with her health.

HOWEVER. I have GOT to get out of this house. The child IS going to school tomorrow. If I have to play ninja, Spiderman, or animal doctor, OR watch one more episode of Curious George (post coming soon about the questionable sanity of the man with the Yellow Hat) or Dragon Tales for one more day, I will hurt someone. There are groceries to buy, errands to run, laminating to do (at the kids' school), silence to listen to...

Which only means that one of the other two will come home with a fever today. Because that's how things work around here. Damn those germ gods.

Anyone need a babysitter?