MFA Mama

my right foot is starting to take this personally

   So yesterday I thought I'd just take a quick peek and see if Alpha Hive had finished filling their super with honey. The answer was "yes, and there are about 20,000 of them directly beneath the inner hive cover executing a celebratory dance." Bees came boiling up out of that sucker like WHOA, and I was not wearing my protective gear. I duly remained calm and began backing slowly away from the hive. Unfortunately, a bee fell down into one of my clogs; I felt the wings against my skin and jerked my foot out of the shoe, not wanting to crush her. In the process I kicked two of her sisters-in-arms, and both of them stung me, one on the instep and one BETWEEN MY MOTHERFUCKING TOES. 

   That is my new LEAST-favorite place to be stung.

   So I went inside and hit the Benadryl, then suited up to go back out and check on both hives while I was already stung and full of antihistamines.

   Bravo Hive looks to be doing well, but I did not see evidence of any larva or new capped brood so I am concerned that they may be queenless. I took a frame of brood from Alpha Hive and gave it to them in hopes of resolving that, and if they still don't have a queen when I check them next I think I'm going to need to buy one (yes, you can mail-order queen bees). I'm of two minds about that, because on one hand I want my bees to have local genes, which is why I bought a NUC from a local beekeeper last year. If Bravo Hive raises their own queen she would have Alpha Hive's genes and mate with a local-to-me drone, which would be the most natural way to ensure I have bees that are adapted to my exact climate. If I order a queen, I could specify what traits I wanted but it would mean bringing in genes from elsewhere.

   Alpha Hive...oh, Alpha Hive. They are doing GREAT! Tons of bees, lots of honey and brood, and they filled the first super already. I didn't see the queen, but I wouldn't really expect to see her this time of year when there are so many bees in the hive--they kind of swarm around her and conceal her. I put an empty super on them with the full one on top, and separated them with a Bee Escape in hopes of being able to remove the full super without bringing a bunch of bees with it. I'm kind of writing this post as a form of procrastination, actually, because I'm not looking forward to removing the super...it's really heavy and, of course, likely to be covered in angry bees. FUNTIMES!

   All in all, I only got stung five times yesterday (ONLY GOT STUNG FIVE TIMES...lordy how did THAT become good news?!?), with two of the five stings being on my right foot.

   What the HELL, bees? Why have half of the stings I've gotten from you this year been on my right foot? My right foot is starting to take this personally.

********************************************************************************************************************************

   Okay, I went ahead and took the super off. The Bee Escape proved worthless, so I won't bother with that next time. The good news is, it only cost me two bucks. If I'd paid any more than that I'd be really pissed! Only three of the frames from the super I pulled were completely filled with capped honey (capped honey is sterile and actually a mild antibacterial, but the uncapped stuff can carry all sorts of germs so if it's not capped it's not a good idea to eat it), so I replaced those with empty frames and stuck the original super back on Alpha for the bees to finish filling and sealing. Here are the three full frames waiting to be processed:

Figure One: Three full frames of gorgeous capped honey! In my experience this will translate to about ten eight-oz jars of the stuff after I scrape and strain it. 

   Meanwhile, Hotter got stung for the first time during yesterday's hive incursions, and to my amusement was all "WOE AND ALAS, I THINK THIS HURTS WAY MORE THAN IT SHOULD, MAYBE I AM ALLERGIC, WHAT SHOULD WE DOOOOO I THINK THOSE BEES ARE AFRICANIZED!" I looked at his sting and it was much less swollen than any of mine so I told him I thought he was okay. He was skeptical, but has yet to keel over dead, so I think I'm right. He still insists that something is wrong and bee stings are WAY more painful for him than the average person. Personally I think they're just really painful, period. Here is how they progress when I get one:

Figure One: This was taken within five minutes of the sting. The swollen spot is about the size of a dime, and you can see which direction I scraped the stinger out in by the little trail of swelling.

Figure Two: This is about an hour after the first photo.

Figure Three: This is about two hours after that. As you can see it's starting to swell at this point, and this is where it starts to really itch, too.

Figure Four: This was taken about four hours after the last photo. The itching woke me up so I took a picture and some more Benadryl.

Figure Five: This is after about twenty-four hours, when the swelling tends to reach its peak. It'll stay like this for another day or so then start gradually going back down. The pain will be gone after about three days, but the itching will be with me for at least a week.

   So yeah, bees are kind of a mixed bag. Pollination and honey? GOOD. Stings? BAD. 

   I spared you the photos of my right foot, because I have my father's feet. What that means is that a) they are slightly deformed and b) I have the feet of an eighty-nine-year-old Jewish man. You're welcome ;)

 

Pristiq (yes, still)

   Yes, I am still hung up on the medication issue. I just don't know what the best way to handle this is. The lowest price I have found for Pristiq is at Costco's pharmacy, which you don't need a membership to use. $178.92 is still a lot of money. If I thought generic Effexor would work as well, I'd switch in a New York minute, but I tried damn-near every drug on the market before settling on Pristiq and none of them worked even ALMOST as well for my depression, anxiety, and OCD tendencies. I am kind of attached to the ability to get out of bed, leave the house without fear, and turn pages in a book without turning them back and re-reading the last word three times (yeah, I know, it's dumb, but if I'm not medicated I HAVE TO). If I get the job I'm interviewing for tomorrow, I really want to put my best foot forward, and if I don't my mental state is already going to be in the crapper. The question is, is it worth possibly having my phone and/or electricity shut off to stay on Pristiq?

   If I get the job, I'll just go ahead and get the Pristiq, whether that means getting short-term insurance coverage that will help with the cost or just paying out of pocket. I'm not going to get a job this good and then lose it because I can't stop crying or touching things the right number of times. That would just be dumb. If I don't get the job, that is where the decision gets harder, because it would mean there's no steady paycheck coming in on the horizon (I love Temp Agency #2, but it doesn't pay THAT well). However, it would also mean that things here are about to get super-ugly, and I don't want to do anything to compromise my mental health any further than it would be by things like talking about handing the kids over to my ex indefinitely, getting evicted, etc.

   What do y'all think? What would you do? For the record, Hotter's answer seems to be "GET THE DAMN PRISTIQ, WHATEVER THE COST. I'D RATHER REJECT MY DONOR ORGANS THAN BE AROUND YOU WITHOUT PRISTIQ IN YOUR LIFE." Thanks, honey. I have four more pills, so I need to figure this out soon.

Big Child's big achievement

   Having found out more on The Narcissist's condition, I think it's safe to say she won't be reading anything I write on here from this point forward, so I can go ahead and tell y'all that yesterday my Big Child won THREE academic awards (one for being in the top 10% in the district in FOUR different subjects, one where he was one of only two students in his grade to receive the school's "Thinker" award, and one for straight As for the entire academic year), and was ALSO recognized for achieving a perfect score on the math portion of our state's standardized tests (so clearly the hospital switched babies on me, but I'm not giving him back).

   He asked if we could go out to dinner to celebrate, and I had to say that no, we couldn't afford it. But Hotter and I talked about it and decided that I would use the P.F. Chang's gift card I'd been saving for his birthday to take Big Child out to dinner instead, just him and me, so that is what I did. Big Child had never been to P.F. Chang's, and it'd been a long time since I took him out anywhere (in fact, the last time we all went out to dinner was his birthday last year I think), and he was SO APPRECIATIVE. We talked about the menu, asked our server to answer questions I couldn't (yes, I left the poor guy a good tip--he was a good sport about it and did a great job), and played the "would you rather" game.

   Big Child would rather:

*   Go deaf than blind
*   Eat a single live worm than an entire plate of mushrooms
*   Grow hair on his entire face, including nose and eyelids, than grow boobs
*   Win the lottery than be able to fly

   He's asked me why I'd been upset earlier in the day (I thought I'd hidden it pretty well but he pointed out that I don't attack the yard like that unless I'm upset about something), so I told him about the situation with The Narcissist. "Is it okay if I'm not sad," he asked, "because I really didn't like her when she came to visit. She was mean to us while you were in the hospital and you could just tell she hates taking care of kids." I told him feelings aren't right or wrong, they just are what they are, and that I wasn't sad either. "Because she wasn't a good mom to you. I'm really sorry you had her for a mom. I'm glad you're not like her." Oh, y'all, my heart. My number one goal as a parent is to not be like The Narcissist.

   On the drive home, Big Child asked me if The Narcissist being bipolar mean I might "get it," and whether his father being bipolar meant that he might. I told him that being bipolar is like having ADHD (which Big Child has) in that it may make some things, like being a nice person, or studying, more difficult for someone with the disorder than the average person. "But we all have a choice. Granny is bipolar AND she's not a nice person. They don't automatically go together. I think some people use things like that as an excuse. But just like you choose to work harder than someone without ADHD so that you can still do great things like win all these awards, someone who is bipolar can choose to still be nice to other people even if it's hard for them. I'm past the age where people usually show signs if they're going to be bipolar, and my doctors tell me I don't have it, but if I did I'd just try harder to still be a good mom anyway. If you end up having it, I already know you'll try harder too, just like with the ADHD, and you have a good heart. I'm your mom, so it's my job to worry about everything to do with you, but I'm not worried that you'll be like Granny or Daddy." He seemed satisfied with that.

   I am so proud of Big Child, and I'm glad he thinks I'm such a good mom, but it makes me feel like that much more of a loser for not having the money to take him to the doctor when he needs it. That kid deserves the sun, the moon, and the stars. And doctor visits when he needs them.

   I really, really, really need a job.

 

blahhhh

   I am still sick, and so is Hotter. This virus (I am fairly certain it IS a virus at least) does not fuck around! I still have no voice to speak of and my back is killing me...originally I thought I threw it out coughing (and it DOES hurt like hell to cough) but Hotter says his aches really badly too, so maybe this is an achy-virus? I'm hoping that with the boys being with my ex for the weekend they will have missed out on the incubation period, since Big Child doesn't need to be coughing with a broken collarbone!

   On top of the sick we are the broke. It's not panic-level broke, in that Hotter has his prescriptions and I have gas in the car to get to and from work until payday, but it is "less than ten bucks in the bank, when we run out of milk we're just going to be out for a bit"-level broke, which is no fun. We have enough pantry to eat. It'll pass (although my next payday will be very sad with my having missed three days of work due to Big Child's injury and my illness and I only have another three weeks to get health insurance before I will have gone 60 days without and invoked the pre-existing conditions clause of doom that would make insurance pointless, so we're going to stay broke for a bit). It still sucks though.

   Mentally at least I am not doing too badly. I think PMS Buddy failed me, or else all the weight loss and/or sickness has thrown my hormones off, because that whatever-it-was ten days ago was NOT normal and it did pass after a couple of days. I did gain a bunch of weight when it happened, which would support the hormone theory, but could also point toward it having been gluten-related. 

   What else? The bees are doing well, and I am pretty confident in saying that splitting the hive hasn't harmed Alpha Hive one bit. I think they were getting ready to swarm if I hadn't intervened, and I would hate to lose my marked and over-wintered 2012 queen. Bravo Hive is doing well too, with plenty of activity. I haven't really felt up to making any hive incursions this weekend, so I'm letting them be for now. The hens are laying well, although someone (I think "Blacktop") has taken to laying wee mini eggs. This can be age-related, and my girls are in their third year of laying for us, so they're probably perimenopausal. As long as we're getting at least two eggs a day from four birds I'm okay with letting them coast a bit. Any less than that and they'd not be earning their feed (the chickens forage some and eat our leftovers, so feed for them isn't much of an expense). The rabbits, SPEAKING OF NOT EARNING THEIR FEED, are being pains in the arse. Iden is tied up with the "twins," and Pfeffer proved not to be pregnant last month after all and duly spent a day with Haas last week. Since she hasn't had kit-bearing to keep her busy she has focused her efforts on digging all of her bedding into a heap and getting so fat that her brisket laps over her tucked forepaws in the "loaf" position. Haas is full of beans; Hotter calls Haas his "dog" and pets him and carries on, and I have a feeling that if the old boy ever starts shooting blanks I'll have a hell of a time convincing Hotter he's not still earning his keep around here.

   And finally, Isis remains utterly worthless except as comic relief. In that area, however, she excels. Here is a picture from this morning:

Figure One: From foreground to background, here we have 1) MFA Mama, as portrayed by her right boob, 2) a thoroughly worthless dog, 3) said thoroughly worthless dog's outstretched legs,4) my husband, clinging to the edge of the bed, with the claw-ends of said thoroughly worthless dog's outstretched legs over his heart. I may have forgiven him, but Isis seems to be holding a grudge--she definitely senses when things aren't right with us and abuses Hotter accordingly, and I find it kind of hilarious.

 

comfort

   Y'know, I tell y'all when he's horrible so it's only fair I also give Hotter a shout-out for Spousal Excellence during the most recent round of tribulations. When I left work yesterday I was feeling really lowly worm, emotionally and physically both, and all I could think about was how badly I wanted to go home to him, and feel his soft hands on my aching back, and spoon up next to him (Hotter can nap will, at any time and in any position, and most of the time I hate him for it a little bit but when I'm sick and need a big spoon it's great), and know that someone cared how I was feeling. This evening he made a very tasty, non-healthfood pasta with cream sauce, and it was perfect comfort food. Maybe if you've always had family and emergency contacts you don't appreciate that kind of thing, but it's pretty great and none of us should take it for granted.

struggling

   I am not quite sure what is going on, but I feel like I quit taking Pristiq or something (I didn't). Hotter got annoyed with me last night; he wasn't even out of line really, but I got this jolt of adrenaline that wouldn't go away even after walking three nine-minute miles and then fell the fuck apart and told him I was done. I don't know if I'm just tired of trying to hold everything together, to the point that I'd rather ship Hotter back to his mom, let the XY take the kids from me, and go die under a bridge somewhere and have it OVER with so I can quit dreading it, or maybe I'm not sleeping enough, or it's hormonal...I don't fucking know. Hotter has every right to be disgusted with me today, hell, *I* am. I'm just sick and tired of not being able to get his eye fixed or buy a new lawnmowerso Trashcan Neighbor shuts her yap, and feel like maybe Hotter and the kids and the world would be better off without me, and it sucks. If I had health insurance I'd go see my psychiatrist and ask him for his two cents, but I don't. Maybe losing my job, changing career fields, AGAIN, Hotter losing his fucking mind on me a couple of weeks ago, having something go horribly wrong in my belly, my ex acting more of the fool than usual, AND the daily death by a thousand cuts of flogging an un-airconditioned car that doesn't idle to and from work in the summer heat is collectively too fucking much and this is what anyone would be doing? I don't know. I hate it, though. I'm eating. I'm sleeping. I'm exercising daily. It's not helping.

   I would very much like a vacation from being me, or really a vacation of any kind.

today I have a firm grasp of the obvious

   Pretty much everything I have to say today falls under the category of "obvious, comma, totally." But hey, here it all is anyway!

*   Not having working AC in your car when it's in the 90s sucks

*   Grandmas' answer to every problem is "you're too skinny, let me fix you a little something," and they are excellent cooks. (no, not MY actual grandma; both of mine are dead)

*   After the pain subsides, beestings will continue to itch for a good while.

*   My ex-husband is a classic narcissist due to one or more of his DSM-V diagnoses.

*   If someone's been doing something a certain way for forty-three years, the odds of them ever changing are slim to nil.

*   Boundaries are healthy, and those who rail against them are suspect at best.

*   The BMI scale was written by misogynists.

*   CIA sure does turn out some skilled chefs, boy howdy.

*   Exercise makes you tired.

*   I spend way too much time thinking about how much I weigh and what to do about it.

*   Men who do laundry are fabulous.

stuffed

   Hotter made seared Ahi and cilantro-lime rice, and I made a big salad from our garden with avocado and feta, and that was the most protein and roughage I have had at one time since the great GI debacle of last Friday. It took my finally sticking to a strict liquid diet for three days, and copious Miralax, but I finally had a completely pain-free day (at least GI-wise, the beestings were still hurting like hell) for the first time yesterday and quite frankly if this meal pushes my belly back over the brink it will have been worth it (I am the type of person who would rather suffer for a gourmet meal than be kicking myself for eating a box of macaroni or somesuch).

   The beestings are much improved today; I was able to get a shoe on my foot and go outside and do some gardening, and the pain is gone. The itching is NOT, but I can deal with that better than itching that morphs into burning and throbbing plus grotesque swelling. The bees are still annoyed with me I think; usually I can squat next to the hive out of their flight-path and watch them for as long as I want to without them paying me any mind, but today one worker seemed to remember and not care for the look of me, and buzzed around my face until I decided to retreat. I sent a few-second video clip of the hive to K via text message, and she replied "Oh shit. That's like a nature film!" Yes, yes it is. Despite the recent altercation I just love having bees. They're so cool :)

   Other than that, I am peeved with Iden The Vicious, because after a month of my not being able to tell whether she was pregnant or not she gave birth to TWO kits. Yes, two. Yes, the average litter size for her breed is 8-12. FUCKING IDEN! It's been two days since she had the duo of kits, and she is far too healthy (AND VICIOUS!) to be retaining any kits, she just...had two. WHO DOES THAT?!?

   And how are all of YOU?

yays and boos

*   Hotter and I made up! YAAAAY! He said I made him want to shove a rock up his own butt but he loves me anyway. If you weren't there for the buttrock Twitter conversation, you should probably count yourself lucky, but that line won't make any sense to you. That's okay. It made me laugh instead of cry and there's nobody else I'd rather be discussing butt-rocks with for the rest of my life.

*   My guts are still in an uproar, although nothing like they were on Friday. The same spot in the lower left quadrant is ouchy though, and it's pretty unpleasant. I have been following medical advice and also putting fresh aloe vera gel in my smoothies. I think if I stopped eating solid food altogether I'd feel a lot better. The problem is, I love solid food.

*   Little Child and I made rose-petal jam today. I don't know if it's gelling up okay, but it tastes like beauty. Tomorrow I may buy some heavy whipping cream so we can make rose-petal ice cream with the leftovers. Mmm...

*   My paycheck from Temp Agency #2 is taking the scenic route through cyberspace.

*   My current job is just EVER so nice.

   How are all of YOU? What are your yays and boos?

read the right bicep

   The other day, while I was on the phone with the 911 operator, I realized that if I'm going to be on my own against the world, without an emergency contact, I really ought to find some way of keeping my relevant medical information on me at all times. Because when you're in excruciating pain and on the verge of passing out, spelling the name of your connective tissue disease for the third time after coaching someone who really doesn't want to be responsible for the information through the problem of not having a field on their screen in which to type such things (to which I say, in general, why the hell not because things like blood type and collagen defects may not be relevant to the PHONE CALL but can be crucial once you've reached the HOSPITAL, and in specific, GET A PENCIL AND A PIECE OF PAPER, PLEASE) just seems extra cruel.

   I'm considering getting it all tattooed on the front of my torso. Because believe it or not, that is less expensive than having it engraved on an anklet, and also impossible to lose.

   I digress.

   My friend Dr. Anonymous deserves a medal for putting up with me. Not only did she handle the phone call on Friday with polite aplomb (after dismissing Hotter's suggestion to call an ambulance out of hand, because FUCK THAT GUY AMIRITE, and spending a further five minutes down at the workshop in screamy contemplation of my symptoms since Big Child was due home momentarily and I didn't think he ought to see me when he walked into the house, I realized that maybe I was not the best problem-solver and called Dr. Anonymous in as a tiebreaker) (I still feel bad about that phone call, because I was having an extremely hard time toning down the shrieking enough to form semi-coherent words and suspect I did a poorer job of it than I thought at the time), but she also gave simple enough instructions that even I could not find a way to weasel out of following them (it's like she knew I'd try to drive myself to the local teaching hospital and expire on a sidewalk somewhere after trying to parallel park a straight-shift car that does not idle rather than trust a valet or security person with the task if she left ANY room for interpretation), namely "Emergency room. CLOSEST emergency room. Now."

   I just opened up the Facespace to a message from Dr. Anonymous; a mutual friend of ours has been trying to talk me into accepting a loan and pursuing COBRA so that I can try to get some more medical treatment and I've been saying that no, I will not borrow more from a friend than I will realistically be able to pay back and wouldn't invest in COBRA right now if I had the money anyway because my car is on its last legs and my almost-eight-year-old is still sleeping in a toddler bed. Said mutual friend brought Dr. Anonymous into the thread as an appeal to authority, and Dr. Anonymous instead said something along the lines of "oh holy shit I didn't even KNOW about Hotter and I am SO SORRY all of this is happening right now," and I replied with "oder gor oder gornit."

   The tattoo on my right arm is less specific than the one I'm considering with all of the medical information, but it's a lot more succinct.

 

   For those who have been asking, the most likely cause of my physical misery seems to be adhesions from previous surgeries, which isn't something emergent enough to fix on an uninsured patient so the hospital sent me home with strong narcotics and instructions to take them with Miralax, and I am no longer in acute agony but am still distinctly unwell. Eschewing solid foods makes it bearable and I think I'll be okay for work tomorrow.