I keep meaning to tell y'all what's been going on here, but in the thick of it I was too busy and then for a couple of days I was not entirely confident in my own sanity to the point that I thought I ought to be writing about my life on the innernet.
It's been a rough week here. A friend of mine on the Facespace published a "week in review" post full of their everyday accomplishments in a busy and happy life, which prompted me to do one of my own, which I am pasting below:
"Over the past week, I drove to and from the local teaching hospital about ten times, got twenty hours of sleep, hallucinated for the first time since I did hallucinogenic drugs in college, tapered down from 80 mg oral prednisone to 40 while still breathing with decent success, kept five cats, two dogs, six chickens, four rabbits, a bearded dragon, and three children alive, cleaned the house, fought with my landlord, threatened my ex-husband with egging, took one child to the doctor for spider bites, said the word "testicles" way too many times (yes, one of the bites was THERE), and was not so much as late to work. Next week I aspire to sleep more, not hallucinate, use the word "testicles" at all, acquire any more cats, or be on ANY prednisone by the end of the week, and watch OITNB."
So yeah, the ONE time I didn't rise to the occasion like Mother Theresa and pet his head and make him noodles, Hotter went and got ACTUAL sick, to where I came home from work to him nearly unresponsive with a high fever and ASKING to go to the ER (which is his equivalent of when a cat stops licking itself), and spent five days in the hospital with...pneumonia. Don't worry though, I can't even KILL anyone properly and he is out now after spending five days as a guest of the Acute Neuroscience Unit (because he had one of his neurological spells in the ER and freaked them out, so that is where they sent him to do his IV antibiotics).
There was a seventy-two hour period wherein things went to hell. I got five hours' total sleep, Hotter had a psychomotor/temporal lobe/whatever-the-fuck episode and got paranoid and belligerent to the point that I left when my presence seemed to be doing more harm than good, and then I got a call from the ER doc who had at his request come and talked to him and confirmed that no, MFA Mama did not say any of the things he was mis-remembering saying she was on the point of activating the stroke team, asking what the everloving fuck, and requesting that I come back prepared to make medical decisions as his next-of-kin because she was Worried. So I called the XY to come and get the kids (I have called him on the phone mayyyybe five times since the divorce, because he is the kind of guy with whom you want all contact to be ON RECORD), and gave him his choice between taking the three kids and Bumpus and a dozen and a half eggs in the shell with my thanks or taking the kids and the dogs and six eggs to the back of his bald head and twelve to the finish of CATHERINE's nice car when he got nasty (it turns out NOBODY fucks with crazy and he was actually pretty helpful for a couple of days until he asked me to pick up a camp form from the pediatrician when I had the one kid there for the spider bites and it wasn't ready and he then lost his mind and accused me of lying and is now blocked from calling or messaging me again), doubled back to the hospital, and found Hotter a changed man. I don't know if it's a hydration thing and the IV made the difference, or maybe he's been brewing this illness for a while, or maybe he just felt REALLY badly after getting independent confirmation that he is occasionally Not In His Right Mind (I think maybe he suspected I was gaslighting him? I'm not mad, I can see how that might be preferable to acknowledging that one's brain is misfiring on such a grand scale) but suddenly he was the man I married again for the first time in months, and that was great until I tried to go home and get some sleep and go to work and lost my shit in the hospital parking garage when I was like "wait a minute, don't people have some kind of rush of clarity and wisdom right before they die?" So I went back inside and couldn't stop shaking and crying, and Hotter was afraid that *I* was going to have a seizure, and finally I remembered that I was late on my Prednisone and his "take two in case of seizure" jelly-jar of Ativan was in the big bag 'o meds we'd brought to the ER, so I took the Prednisone and two of those, crawled in bed with him, and took a nap.
Then there was a couple of days of things improving slowly while I held myself together with heavy eye makeup and band-aids, having discovered that five hours' sleep out of ninety-six is the exact point where I start hallucinating and resolved never to let THAT happen again, and now Hotter is home, we are flat-fucking-broke, I have probably offended 95% of my co-workers, the toilet still doesn't work correctly, and my landlord is still a dick but I'm caught up enough on sleep that I think I've got this, and it's a good thing too because last night I had a parenting moment I never anticipated when, in tucking the spider-bite afflicted child into bed with a dose of Benadryl for the itching, his BROTHER asked for a dose as well "because I have a bugbite on my nutsack too, but it's not that bad, it just itches," I found myself bellowing "JUST WHAT EXACTLY ARE YOU PEOPLE DOING WITH YOUR TESTICLES TO BRING THIS ON YOURSELVES? DO YOU DRAG THEM ON THE GROUND OUTSIDE OR SOMETHING? STOP THAT, IT'S NASTY!" The third child then chimed in "there's nothing wrong with MY testicles!"
Good for you, son. Good. For. You.
But seriously, that is the kind of conversation with one's progeny that you need to have your act more or less together for, so it's a good damned thing life seems to be settling back down to a dull roar over here.
How are all of YOU? I hope your loved ones are healthy and your testicles unbitten by insects, or at the very least that you have had more than five hours' sleep out of the past ninety-six, because yeah, don't be that girl, TRUST ME.