I have left you guys out of so much of what has been going on in my life lately. I elude to it and then jump to a new topic and leave you, my faithful readers, hanging in the dust.
Research Would Have Been Helpful
My procedure on last Thursday was for a nerve block in my abdomen to try to alleviate some of the pain and occurrences of pancreatitis that I have been experiencing for the last 3 years. While no one really seems to be able to pinpoint why I have this disease - they all agree that something must be done to alleviate the pain.
I know that it is naive and kind of dumb to blindly follow a doctor's urgings, but I was so desperate for relief that I didn't really do any research into what they would actually be DOING on Thursday. I had googled nerve block a few times but everything I found was about back pain and since that is not me, I didn't really read into it.
I really just thought that this would be like getting a few shots. No big deal. They underestimated my pain threshold when they told me to take the day off from work, that's all.
Scare Bear (my responsible adult) picked me up at 6:30 that morning (it was still dark!) and drove me over to the Pain Institute.We arrived before the facility had even opened so as we waited we talked about skin disorders, husbands, tornadoes, and children. Finally, my name was called and I left the Scare Bear on the swanky leather couch in the waiting room.
My nurse, "Linda" took me back did the weight, height, blood pressure thing and then led me to the procedure room. She left for a few seconds to retrieve her "tool box". Imagine my surprise when she re-entered the room and it really was a tool box! She unloaded about 12 vials of medication, along with several syringes and a set of 10 of the longest needles that I had ever seen.
She left the room again and I sat down on the table, trying to not focus on the thickness and length of the needles that lay before me. In my mind's eye, they seemed to be growing longer and thicker as time progressed. I looked at the clock on the wall and realized that although the sky was pitch black, it was really 7:55 at this point.
The lights began to flicker as the thunder and lightening outside started. Linda and the doctor came in and quickly closed the blinds. "Let's get started."
I laid back onto the bed as Linda placed the pillow behind my head. The doctor began to identify the places in my abdomen that he would place the injections. That's when I realized that this was going to be more than just a few shots - skeletal, nervous, muscular, fat, skin - they were going to have to pass through all of my layers to get to the nerves!
He had Linda "freeze" my skin while he talked idly about the storm raising up outside, rain on the south side of town.
"Tell me what kind of pain you have - sharp, crampy, aching, stabbing, etc"
In went the first injection.
I grasped Linda's hand and moaned. "Sharp, sharp, cramp, cramp, CRAMP..." Linda told me to breathe and patted my hand.
"Damn it, Linda." The doctor said. "You are not a life coach, freeze her skin or she is really going to start screaming." She giggled nervously and blasted my skin again.
There were 20 more injections - 3 in each of the 7 injection sites.
When they finished, I lay sobbing on the table, ice pack held over my abdomen, sobbing like a college girl that had just had sex for all the wrong reasons.
And then the lights went out, snapped back on. Linda came in and retrieved me.
The phones and computers were down so they could not make my follow-up appointment, but that was okay - I just wanted out of there. I walked down the hallway, opened the door at the end and walked straight into a darkened linen closet. Damn.
I walked around the corner, made it to the exit door and retrieved the Scare Bear and walked out into a Thursday morning that looked like Armageddon.
"The Hubs called. He wanted to know if I had you."
Apparently, the Hubs forgot that I had an appointment that day, forgot that I would be gone when he woke up and forgot that he would have to ready Z and take her to school.
My skin had already started to bruise before we even left the parking lot. We drove into the blackened horizon as Scare Bear complained of men not doing their jobs, of fathers saying that they are babysitting rather than caring for their children.
We got to the house and there was Z - naked (of course) wet curls framing her face - she ran to greet me me and head butted me directly in injection site number 4. I doubled over as the Scare Bear grabbed the child and I made my way to the couch. The Hubs and I debated sending Z to school in the storm, but then decided after watching the radar that the worse was over and she should go - so I could get some rest.
I am sorry that I did not think to bring a camera and that I am not showing you pictures of my bruised and swollen belly. Trust me when I say that it looks as though I have been in a UFC Prize Fight with large deep bruises at each of the injection sites.
And the lesson here would be - always research whatever is going to be done to you.
And leave a note for your Hubs.
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Monday, May 2, 2011
Teaching Points
Dear Daughter,
I know that in your 3 year old mind I am a mean mommy that is too bossy and domineering. I know that you wish I would just follow your little whims and do as you ask, but baby, there are reasons that I answer the way I do and someday (maybe when you read this) you will understand a little bit more about who your momma is raising you to be.
When you say, "Momma, he hit me" and I tell you to stop tattling, I am not telling you that you can never talk to me. I am teaching you that sometimes you have to choose your battles. I am teaching you that sometimes you have to learn to defend yourself and use your words, I am teaching you that sometimes you have to fight your own fight - I am not always going to fight it for you.
When you say, "Momma, I want" and I tell you to pray, it's not because I don't want to give you everything your little heart desires. I am teaching you that I will not always provide you happiness, that happiness can not be purchased at Wal-Mart or Toys R Us, and that the only provider of happiness does not live on Earth. It is not my job to make you happy 24/7, it is my job to keep a roof over your head, food in the refrigerator and to keep you clothed and bathed - anything beyond that you will have to pray for.
When you say, "Momma, carry me" because there is a large crowd that makes you nervous, and I say no and callously walk on - know that the crowd makes me nervous too, but I have to help you find the confidence in your own steps. I have to teach you to have faith in your own two feet to guide you into the crowd. I will not always be able to carry you, I will not always be able to hold your hand. And as much as it pains me to see you so worked up with worry and fear, I am not at all worried that you will be left behind.
When you say, "Momma, I can't do it" and I tell you that you can, it's not because I don't want to put on your shirt or socks or shoes. It's because I want to see the pride and confidence in your face when you realize that you can.
When you say, "Momma, cleaning makes me SO tired" and I nod my head and smile - I am not trying to tell you that cleaning is fun. I am telling you that I understand, I am tired too - the difference is I did not make the mess, did not have the fun that you apparently had, instead I was most likely at work to pay for all of the toys that are now laying scattered throughout my home, and I know just exactly how tiring cleaning can be.
When you say, "Momma, I wanna watch my show" and I say no - it's not because I don't want to watch the Siberian Tiger episode of the Wonder Pets (again). It's because if I do, men in little white coats will come and take me to a sanitarium and you will have to grow up without a mother (and I heard that stepmothers can be really mean when they want to be). You don't want that really - do you?
When you say, "Momma, please don't comb my hair today" and I tell you that I have to - I never really give you the real reason that I have to. I have to comb your hair because birds have been calling me about leasing opportunities and if I don't comb it out and put it up, they will begin squatting in your hair.
When you say, "Momma, smell this" and I refuse, it's not because I don't understand your fascination. It's because I really don't want to smell your fingers - I know where you just had them.
And when you say, "Momma, I love you" and I wrap my arms around you and squeeze you tight, it's because you are growing so frighteningly fast that I just want time, that moment, to freeze in place for just a little while.
You can't fault me for that - right?
I know that in your 3 year old mind I am a mean mommy that is too bossy and domineering. I know that you wish I would just follow your little whims and do as you ask, but baby, there are reasons that I answer the way I do and someday (maybe when you read this) you will understand a little bit more about who your momma is raising you to be.
When you say, "Momma, he hit me" and I tell you to stop tattling, I am not telling you that you can never talk to me. I am teaching you that sometimes you have to choose your battles. I am teaching you that sometimes you have to learn to defend yourself and use your words, I am teaching you that sometimes you have to fight your own fight - I am not always going to fight it for you.
When you say, "Momma, I want" and I tell you to pray, it's not because I don't want to give you everything your little heart desires. I am teaching you that I will not always provide you happiness, that happiness can not be purchased at Wal-Mart or Toys R Us, and that the only provider of happiness does not live on Earth. It is not my job to make you happy 24/7, it is my job to keep a roof over your head, food in the refrigerator and to keep you clothed and bathed - anything beyond that you will have to pray for.
When you say, "Momma, carry me" because there is a large crowd that makes you nervous, and I say no and callously walk on - know that the crowd makes me nervous too, but I have to help you find the confidence in your own steps. I have to teach you to have faith in your own two feet to guide you into the crowd. I will not always be able to carry you, I will not always be able to hold your hand. And as much as it pains me to see you so worked up with worry and fear, I am not at all worried that you will be left behind.
When you say, "Momma, I can't do it" and I tell you that you can, it's not because I don't want to put on your shirt or socks or shoes. It's because I want to see the pride and confidence in your face when you realize that you can.
When you say, "Momma, cleaning makes me SO tired" and I nod my head and smile - I am not trying to tell you that cleaning is fun. I am telling you that I understand, I am tired too - the difference is I did not make the mess, did not have the fun that you apparently had, instead I was most likely at work to pay for all of the toys that are now laying scattered throughout my home, and I know just exactly how tiring cleaning can be.
When you say, "Momma, I wanna watch my show" and I say no - it's not because I don't want to watch the Siberian Tiger episode of the Wonder Pets (again). It's because if I do, men in little white coats will come and take me to a sanitarium and you will have to grow up without a mother (and I heard that stepmothers can be really mean when they want to be). You don't want that really - do you?
When you say, "Momma, please don't comb my hair today" and I tell you that I have to - I never really give you the real reason that I have to. I have to comb your hair because birds have been calling me about leasing opportunities and if I don't comb it out and put it up, they will begin squatting in your hair.
When you say, "Momma, smell this" and I refuse, it's not because I don't understand your fascination. It's because I really don't want to smell your fingers - I know where you just had them.
And when you say, "Momma, I love you" and I wrap my arms around you and squeeze you tight, it's because you are growing so frighteningly fast that I just want time, that moment, to freeze in place for just a little while.
You can't fault me for that - right?
Sunday, May 1, 2011
Me vs. The Laundry
The mountains of dirty laundry in our home are planning an attack. They know that I want them washed and put away (or set on fire, because, really? I have 4 pairs of pants. 4. I am not the one that wears all of this crap and if I can make do with 4 pairs of pants perhaps other people in my house could make some sacrifices as well. WE HAVE TOO MUCH!) and they are formulating a sinister plan to take me out before I get to them.
They have sent in scouts to find out when would be the best time to attack. I can't tell you how many nights I have fallen asleep, the bed completely devoid of any extra clothes, to be awakened in the middle of the night by a stray t-shirt or sock entangling it's way around my leg or arm. It's getting a little creepy.
I am formulating a plan of attack of my own. I am devising strategies to de-clutter my house, my closet and to lose the dirty laundry mountains (and I think they are on to my plan).
The Game Plan
1. Lose the socks. We have a 3 and half foot tall laundry hamper that is filled with socks. I am going to go through that basket and any pairs will be matched and put away. Any socks with missing matches, holes or stains will find itself unceremoniously discarded. On July 3rd (Hubs' birthday) and Christmas everyone in the house will receive all new socks. No one can open the new socks until all of the old socks have been thrown away. Then I will know exactly how many pairs of socks I am trying to locate and match. These will be the only 2 days of the year that anyone will receive any new socks.
2. If it is out of season or for occasional wear, it goes into the office closet. Our bedroom closet is brimming at the seams with too many clothes. If it is a dress, skirt (we all know how often I shave) or a suit (the Hubs works in construction) or clothes for another season, it is going into another closet. I need to be able to see what is taking up so much room.
3. If it is too small for someone in this house - send it to someone else. This morning, I took two bags of clothes and shoes that have been outgrown by Z to church for some of her playmates to wear. I need to do the same thing with some of my old (pre-baby) clothes that I have long since outgrown. The Hubs needs to do a lot of this, since we have t-shirts that he wore in high school hanging around.
4. If it is in a box, either from our move 4 years ago or from my father's death 3 years ago, we will probably never use it and it should find a new home. It's not doing us any good to keep all those "momentos" if all they are doing is sitting in a box in the closet taking room away from other things.
I am sure that there are more things that I can do. These are the first 4 steps that I am taking to de-clutter and organize our space.
And hopefully keep the evil laundry mountain from suffocating me in my sleep.
They have sent in scouts to find out when would be the best time to attack. I can't tell you how many nights I have fallen asleep, the bed completely devoid of any extra clothes, to be awakened in the middle of the night by a stray t-shirt or sock entangling it's way around my leg or arm. It's getting a little creepy.
I am formulating a plan of attack of my own. I am devising strategies to de-clutter my house, my closet and to lose the dirty laundry mountains (and I think they are on to my plan).
The Game Plan
1. Lose the socks. We have a 3 and half foot tall laundry hamper that is filled with socks. I am going to go through that basket and any pairs will be matched and put away. Any socks with missing matches, holes or stains will find itself unceremoniously discarded. On July 3rd (Hubs' birthday) and Christmas everyone in the house will receive all new socks. No one can open the new socks until all of the old socks have been thrown away. Then I will know exactly how many pairs of socks I am trying to locate and match. These will be the only 2 days of the year that anyone will receive any new socks.
2. If it is out of season or for occasional wear, it goes into the office closet. Our bedroom closet is brimming at the seams with too many clothes. If it is a dress, skirt (we all know how often I shave) or a suit (the Hubs works in construction) or clothes for another season, it is going into another closet. I need to be able to see what is taking up so much room.
3. If it is too small for someone in this house - send it to someone else. This morning, I took two bags of clothes and shoes that have been outgrown by Z to church for some of her playmates to wear. I need to do the same thing with some of my old (pre-baby) clothes that I have long since outgrown. The Hubs needs to do a lot of this, since we have t-shirts that he wore in high school hanging around.
4. If it is in a box, either from our move 4 years ago or from my father's death 3 years ago, we will probably never use it and it should find a new home. It's not doing us any good to keep all those "momentos" if all they are doing is sitting in a box in the closet taking room away from other things.
I am sure that there are more things that I can do. These are the first 4 steps that I am taking to de-clutter and organize our space.
And hopefully keep the evil laundry mountain from suffocating me in my sleep.
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