MFA Mama

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.

once more into the Soulless Corporate Megalith, dear friends

   Today I'm a brand ambassador again, and I would kind of rather have a boil implant than go and spend six hours at a Soulless Corporate Megalith store, but a) it's money and b) I said I would do this for Temp Agency #1, and they are what saves our ass any time I don't have a Real Job. So here I am at the MFA County Public Library printing out my timesheet and other essential documents, and off I'll go in a moment when the printing kiosk is free.

   Yeah, some bloggers get to go to Mom 2.0 or BlogHer as a brand ambassador, and I get to go to a Soulless Corporate Megalith superstore. Any A-listers want to trade? Anyone? Bueller? No? Ah well.

   I kind of think the old guy at the next computer over is looking at pr0n. At the library. Our tax dollars at work, kids!

   Before I sign off and go (wo)man a product table for 600 years hours, I wanted to ask y'all for some advice. I haven't worked in an office setting in a while, and I'm a little afraid I'll be rusty on Monday. So what tips do you have for me (other than don't microwave leftover fish in the break room--HIIII M!) on how to ingratiate myself to my new employer and/or win at life?

   Ooo! Printer! Later.

 

my anaconda don't want none...

...UNLESS YOU'VE GOT BUNS, HON!

   Everyone in the comments of the previous post and on Twitter agrees:

Figure One: Smart lady!

   "They're all wrong!" Hotter insisted.

   So I sent him a picture from Kroger:

Figure Two: BUNS.

   "This is the South. Y'all are ignant," he replied. "I WENT TO THE CULINARY INSTITUTE OF AMERICA."

   So yeah, Hotter decided to go down with his ship, and we're having hot dogs for dinner.

P.S. Hotter says he never did like any of us. 

what would you do?

   I have some dilemmas, and thought I would crowd-source them because sometimes y'all are wiser than I am about things:

I. Hotter's eye surgery. Do I cancel it because we are broke as a joke, or forge ahead because 1) VISION and 2) if things keep going as poorly as they are at work I may not have this excellent insurance coverage for long. My knee-jerk reaction was FUCK NO WE ARE NOT CANCELING IT but am I being stupid about it/making this harder than it needs to be?

II. Big Child's birthday. It's in six days, and we're still going to be overdrawn, and I don't know what to do. I can PROBABLY bake a cake with what we have on-hand, so there's that, but as far as gifts go...not so much. Do I 1) talk to him about it, explain things, and let him choose a gift that I will buy after we're back in the black or 2) _________ (I don't know--ideas?). He will be twelve.

III. Work. Things at my job...could be going better. Today there is a mandatory meeting wherein Management will address something monumentally shitty they've done to every single person in my department (in essence they have given everyone a huge paycut in a way that may or may not even be legal). A lot of my co-workers plan to quit on the spot if the meeting goes poorly. I am not that rash, but do I 1) hang tight at all costs, because BENEFITS and hey, this is my chance to really ingratiate myself with The Powers That Be or 2) take the time and energy away from the rest of my life to actively begin searching for something new and hopefully less shady?

festivus shopping advice needed, please

   I am at a loss as to what to get Middle Child for Festivus this year.

   Little Child is getting a refurbished 8G iPod Touch that I got a really sweet deal on. He's going to love it. I got the idea because a) he's the only MFA Child without a computer and b) he found an old flip-phone of mine and became obsessed with it, just taking pictures and listening to the various ring-tones. He was very sad to learn that those phones can't run apps and okay, fine, I went a little overboard but he's going to FREAK OUT. I can't wait!

   Big Child has asked for Minecraft, which I plan to get him. I'll probably also give him an Amazon.com gift card to use on more books (he's a reader, that kid is, and I love it--he just finished the Wrinkle in Time trilogy and my heart grew three sizes--it's so cool to have a kid who reads like I did at that age) (well, minus all the smut--I was very poorly-supervised!) since Minecraft doesn't cost much (I try to spend about the same amount on each kid).

   Middly is more complicated, since I received a special dispensation from Santa in order to spend $75 on the newt habitat for Sir Isaac, a.k.a. the WORST RAFFLE PRIZE EVER (I jest--he's kind of cute and eats pelleted food--no crickets!). So I want to spend less than $50 in addition to that, but I don't want to get him Minecraft (since he doesn't have a computer capable of running it without blowing up, plus if I get something for two of them the third would feel left out). Y'all are usually full of great ideas--do you have any for me re: Middly's Festivus gift? He is eight years old, enjoys typical boy-targeted things like Transformers, Legos, and Superheroes, and seems scientifically-inclined.

   Oh, and for anyone out there who plans to mutter about the idiocy of my spending money on gifts for my children given my often-precarious financial situation? FUCK OFF IN ADVANCE. They're children. It's the holidays. I'm working three jobs right now in order to be able to do this for them, and they absolutely deserve something fun. Festivus and their birthdays are the only time they get anything above and beyond the basic necessities, and the younger two still believe in the fat man. So: yeah.

 

P.S. This isn't about competing with the XY. He's getting them things like 3DSes and ATVs. Whatever.

crowdsourcing, because I really don't even know what to do with this

   So. I didn"t go to work, which should tell you everything you need to know about how my back is. I got up when the alarm went off, and shuffled to the bathroom, holding onto the hallway wall all the way, and then in transferring into the bathroom, proper, almost fell flat because my right leg twitched out and then buckled at the knee. I caught myself on the vanity (my arms are okay--it hurts to move them, but only because that pulls on my trunk; whatever this is is down at L5, which I know because that is where I broke my back and it is ALWAYS L5), and took a moment to get my shit together and think. Seeing as it's my right leg that's the most wonky (and given that I have nerve damage in my left leg from the break twenty-one years ago that alone is pretty alarming), that was one strike against going to work anyway. Because that's my pedal-pushing leg, obviously, and while the MFA Minivan has cruise control, braking in a timely manner is essential to safe driving. The whole "not able to walk/balance worth a shit without holding onto things" scenario was strike two, obviously. I mean, I do possess a Rollator, but all concerns of personal dignity aside (I pretty much got over those when I had to use the thing to get around for months and months a few years ago), the idea of lifting it in and out of the MFA Minivan seemed tremendously optimistic at best (and downright idiotic at worst) (in the Rollator's defense it is VERY lightweight, but it weighs more than string cheese. So). Strike three was the fact that I had an hour-long anxiety attack* in the wee hours of the morning after sternly telling myself I NEEDED to sleep to go to work and that it was mind over motherfucking matter, and I looked and felt like someone operating on three hours' nightmare-riddled sleep following an hour's helpless tears.

   I so totally can't even afford this, y'all.

   But since my body doesn't seem to give a shit about what I can and cannot afford or tolerate, I have to decide what to do about this, and since I cannot, even with unpacking and examining my reasons for liking or disliking any one option, discern what the best way to handle this would be, I'm crowdsourcing it and giving y'all a chance to weigh in.

Option One: Do nothing, by which I mean continue to take NSAIDs and Tylenol-laced narcotics, ice my lower back, and move as little as possible up until VERY CAREFULLY stretching, applying heat, and gradually ramping my level of activity back up is feasible. This is what I've been doing so far. Pros include not costing anything, not having to leave the house, and the fact that historically this always turns out to have been the wisest course of action in cases like this. Cons include possibly running out of leftover dentist pills before the pain is less terrifying, the possibility of overlooking something like a disc issue, and the fact that seeking some medical attention MIGHT have me back in fighting (or at least white-collar working) form sooner than this.

Option Two: Drag my sorry ass to Urgent Care (my GP, in addition to being on my shit list, doesn't have an x-ray suite in her office). Pros include ruling disc issues in or out via x-ray and neuro exam, documentation to show my boss (who doesn't care about such things and kind of rolls his eyes when I present him with doctor's notes after absences, but I like to demonstrate accountability), and possibly obtaining better pain relief in the form of steroids and/or more narcotics. Cons include costing money,having to leave the house, and  the fact that realistically and based on precedent this won't actually make me feel any better any sooner than waiting it out.

   What say ye? At this point I could argue either side, and Hotter is the KING of "whatever you want to do about it, baby," so I'm interested to see what other people think.

 

*   Which...what the fuck? All self-deprecating hyperbole aside, I haven't had a genuine anxiety attack like that in YEARS, like, probably at least three of them. And yet there I was having a conversation with myself in the wee hours that went something like "There is absolutely no reason to hurt yourself rolling over to make sure nobody is standing at the end of the bed, because the dogs would've gone nuts if someone had broken in and ZOMBIES ARE NOT REAL YOU ARE JUST BEING STUPID ABOUT THE ZOMBIES, THIS IS NOT AT ALL LIKE YOU WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK, ANYWAY I MEAN ZOMBIES, SERIOUSLY???" And then I finally went to sleep and had nightmares about my maternal progenitor until the alarm went off.

because I need some garden porn

   I...am still down in the dumps, fighting another sinus/ear infection (it's not bad enough that I'm ready to throw in the towel and take antibiotics yet, I mean, in theory half of ear infections resolve on their own, right?), my eyes are bothering me (but I don't want to talk about it), and work is very work-y (I am solely in charge of completing a Very Big Project, which everyone seems to think I'm doing a great job of, and I am, but it's giving me agida because we have a deadline and I can't do the WHOLE thing without other people's participation and I haven't specifically asked but probably PseudoCorp would frown on it if I roamed the cubicles on my floor with a stick prodding people who aren't getting back to me) (yes, I can be a TEENY bit goal-obsessed when I am working on something big).

   I need some garden porn to cheer me up. 

   I don't think I ever specifically mentioned it to y'all en masse (although I've talked about it with some of you), but LeaseGate 2012 reached a peaceful conclusion involving the magical cooperation of my landlord and my ex-husband BOTH at the SAME TIME. I know, I'm shocked too! The key to handling the XY, maddeningly enough, was for me to remove myself from the communication process and have Hotter be the MFA Mouthpiece. See, the XY is one of those narcissists who have a desperate need to be widely-liked, and only shits on people who know him intimately, and while I no longer think that applies to me, apparently I've been grandfathered or something because he will still nut up and scream at me and be utterly horrid. With Hotter, however, he's still trying to do that thing he often did with great success during our marriage, namely to convince the third party he's just the nicest guy alive and I am some kind of crazypants whackjob for thinking ill of him because LOOK HOW NICE, SEE HIM SMILING AND OFFERING TO HELP YOU MOVE? Of course Hotter knows this is bullshit, and dislikes the XY thoroughly, but if HE flat-out asks the XY to do something like pay the child support, or make a pharmacy run for a sick child while I am at work, or keep his word on the extra $50 a month to let us stay in this house, it's all "of COURSE! GLADLY! You look fabulous, have you been working out?" Barf.

   The upshot of the ludicrous mindfuck of that whole paragraph up there is that we're not moving, and I have a garden to plan! I ALMOST bought seeds and stuff the day before Leasegate 2012 erupted, and am kind of glad I didn't because I don't just want to grow whatever is the seed catalog with the best sale. I want to grow FABULOUS THINGS! To that end, if you grow vegetables, what are your favorite varieties and why? What is a fabulous producer/super-cool looking/damn-near-impossible-to-kill? I am intrigued by Novella Carpenter's Triamble squash...has anyone ever grown those? Last year I did Royalty Purple Pod string beans and they were good but not the best producers...what bush beans have y'all planted with good results? Tell me your gardening stories!

   And now I have to go and eat something and get ready for an early bedtime, because I am working New Weekend Warrior Job tomorrow at an obscenely early hour. Ole!

the one where I get MRSA but feel pretty damned lucky anyway

   Last night my right fuck-you finger started hurting; it felt like maybe I had a splinter but the skin was intact, there was no redness or anything, and even checking it out with a bright light and the iPhone's zoom (which is damn-near as good as a microscope) showed nothing so I shrugged it off and went to bed. This morning I woke feeling rested, albeit extraordinarily achy, and for the first time in ages my teeth didn't hurt (I squeezed in a trip to the dentist before the fair and he fixed my nightguard, which hadn't wanted to play well with the new front tooth). My co-workers were happy to see me and said they'd missed me on my day off (seriously LOVE those people!), and I was fully prepared to call today a good day except that my finger now felt like I'd burned it. Around nine in the morning I posted the following photo and caption on the facespace:

Okay Dr. Facebook, let's play "Spider Bite or Burgeoning MRSA," the home game! Sudden onset yesterday, stupidly painful, no visible break in the skin, hot to the touch: go!

   My friends had variously helpful things to say, and it was kind of funny in that the people who only know me offline (yeah, I'm not "out" as a blogger on the facespace) were all "what is MRSA? Why would it be MRSA? Don't be a pessimist!" and the people who have known me online for years were all "it's MRSA cellulitis, go to the doctor, do not pass GO, do not collect $200." I was disinclined to do that, because I am currently making a REDONKULOUS sum per hour and while it hurt quite a bit, on a scale of 1-10 where 1 is a papercut and 10 is a gallstone I would only have given it a 4-5 at that point. 

   A couple of hours later it started swelling:

Oh goody, it's getting bigger!

   I still wouldn't have rated the pain as greater than five, although it was sobering when one facespace friend cut and pasted the symptoms of cellulitis per the NIH and I had all of them except for fever (which I pointed out, upon which said friend provided anecdotal experience wherein a family member of hers had cellulitis withOUT the fever). People started trying to reason with me all sneaky-like, as in "oh just go to the doctor, it might not be MRSA!" I pointed out that while the rule on House is "it's never Lupus," the rule of MFA Mama is "it's always MRSA," but at that point I was still hoping it was a spider bite. Dr. Anon flat-out stated that unless I was allergic to spider venom she really thought I ought to seek medical attention. I am allergic to spider venom, though, so I continued to hold out hope this would be nothing requiring antibiotics but compromised with my friends list: I would draw a line around the margins of the thing and if it crossed it by four o'clock I'd leave early and go to Urgent Care in time to get a script filled.

   Shortly after that, the finger started to itch a bit and I happily declared it to be a spider bite after all and left work at the usual time, stopped at Target to get a pair of dice and a bag of Smarties, both of which various MFA Children needed for homework assignments (the hell?), came home and ate dinner with the family (they'd already eaten since I work 7-7, but they all sat with me bickering for my undivided attention anyway), and then went and took a shower.

   Something about the hot water seemed to aggravate things, because the finger then increased in size by another 20% or so and turned black in the center, with some other SLIGHTLY less-alarming colors in various other spots, none of which were the color a finger ought to be. 

   Hotter took one look and pointed sternly at the door saying "GO!" and I realized I was being an asshole about it and went.

   At Urgent Care the doctor poked and pressed on my poor sad finger, looked at it up close with bright lights, and had me move it in various ways, then pronounced it to DEFINITELY be infected with "what looks to me exactly like MRSA, although with your history of MRSA septicemia after an aggressive culture you couldn't pay me to lance that thing, so we're just going to assume the worst and treat you for MRSA."

   Ugh. Also? How sad is it when the local Urgent Care doc knows your medical history?

    

    So I went and filled my five (yes, FIVE antibiotics, antifungals for after the antibiotics, antiemetics to keep the antibiotics down, and something for pain since at this point that was creeping up the scale toward a six) prescriptions at the all-night pharmacy and headed home, but you know what?

   I feel really freaking fortunate. Don't get me wrong, cellulitis sucks and MRSA scares the pants off me, but all day long I was enveloped with the concern of friends and coworkers and lovingly nagged as needed by various parties to do what I needed to do about the situation, I went home to a husband who was concerned and didn't complain about doing the bedtime routine alone so I could get to Urgent Care before they closed, I got prompt and compassionate medical care, and then I didn't have to prioritize which prescriptions to fill based on cost and necessity but just sighed ruefully and filled them all. Coming from a place where I didn't have any of the above just a few short years ago (and where as recently as last month the money part would have been harrowing at best) I feel like one lucky person, black finger and all.

   Although I still reserve the right to bitch and whine if the finger falls off or even if I just spike a temp and end up needing IV drugs :)

   How are all of YOU?

the one where I crowdsource my outrage

   Forgive me for this post; it's not very amusing but I need y'all's expertise.

   I texted Hotter from work to ask how the MFA Childrens' first day of the schoolyear went, having decided that asking for the day off was probably silly given that my current job is VERY easy money that we sorely need and Hotter was capable of handling things. His reply gutted me and I spent nearly an hour bawling at my current workplace (fortunately this job is VERY easy and provides me with lots of downtime alone, which allowed for me to compose myself before anyone needed me to DO anything): Middle Child had a horrible first day of school because Tuesday is library day for his class and he was only permitted to choose from a very small pile of damaged books at the kindergarten level because of the library situation of last year.

   I forget if I wrote about it on here or just on the Twitter, but in essence Middly was not permitted to borrow books for the latter part of his kindergarten year due to an overdue book, which I found while cleaning out the older boys' room and returned when I went to the school to register Little Child for kindergarten, but which the school librarian CLAIMED was still missing, resulting in his not being permitted to borrow books for most of his first-grade year (largely because we were very poor that year and I couldn't afford the exhorbitant price the librarian alleged it would cost to replace the book, which was some three times what said book would likely garner on the open market). That year (last year) I called the vice principal and raised hell, and she promised me she would Handle The Situation.

   Apparently either a) the bitchy school librarian went rogue, because she's obsessed with the notion that that book wasn't returned EVEN THOUGH IT WAS or because I embarrassed her at this year's open house by dragging my terrified kid in and making her promise she'd be nice to him this year (Middly is now afraid of libraries and especially this school librarian, who I would give the benefit of the doubt and maybe say that she just LOST the returned book or reshelved it somewhere it wasn't immediately findable, except that she evidently yelled at my kid AND BOTH HIS BROTHERS and therefore doesn't particularly deserve a head on top of her fat shoulders as far as I'm concerned) or b) the vice principal's idea of Handling The Situation included treating a seven-year-old like a second-class citizen, and since neither of those options is acceptable to me I need y'all's help.

   Do any of you know whose call it is to hire/fire school librarians and/or vice principals? What is the smartest way to approach this (my mind is only yielding things like "ASK THE LIBRARIAN IF SHE WAS DROPPED ON HER HEAD AS A CHILD," "pull everyone out of this GODDAMN school and homeschool them," "pick Middly up every Tuesday and take him to the public library next to the school," etc. and therefore I have reason to suspect I am not being very logical about this whole debacle)? Please bear in mind that I can't afford a lawyer. Who do I talk to next, and what do I say?

   I kind of doubt at this point that even paying the ridiculous sum the librarian asked me for in order to replace the book would get her off my kid's back, even if I HADN'T already returned the FUCKING book. Which isn't to say that I won't pawn something and TRY throwing money at the situation; I'm not ruling that out. I've decided to sleep on it before doing ANYthing, though.

   What would YOU do? Are any of you lawyers, or librarians, or even teachers or schoolboard members who could maybe clue me in on who's in charge of this nasty woman's job? I intend to first ensure that it was the librarian's call and THEN take action of SOME sort. If it wasn't her call (and I'm betting it was, but I want to make SURE), then she's off the hook and I need to know what to do if the vice principal is behind this. I wouldn't be so upset, except that DAMN IT my poor Middle Child can't catch a break. I got him out of a bad situation with his father, bad things happened to him that necessitated CPS involvement (CPS did SQUAT, incidentally), he already HAS an inferiority complex fer fuck's sake...I just can't deal with the fact that someone at that school (which is rated #1 in the district)  is crushing his spirit over a BOOK. Especially when it's a freaking miracle he's learned how to read in the first place given all that he's had to overcome to get to where he is. Maybe the school just sees this as another Special Ed. student being a space cadet and the parent failing to let their special precious snowflake be held accountable, or maybe because Middly can mostly "pass" and is mainstreamed they just think he's a naughty little boy who needs to learn a lesson, hell, I don't know, but I need to fix this.

   Your thoughts?

tell me about your crockpots

   I don't have a whole lot to say, because I am still at the tail-end of the autoimmune "bleh." I woke up, however, to Hotter cupping my cheek and smiling and saying he wasn't pissed, so that was nice. It was also more than a little confusing, given the events of yesterday, but we talked and he explained that it was more the situation that had pissed him off, and I can certainly understand that. If I wasn't a mostly angerless robot I'd probably be pretty pissed off, myself, but it takes a lot for me to get angry, nevermind realize that I've gotten angry. Sometimes I think that's a superior way to be and other times not so much, because I tend to take a lot more shit than the average person. I dunno. I also tend to dish OUT a lot LESS shit than the average person, which I suppose is good, but not particularly fair in that being a nice person and five dollars will get you a cup of coffee at Starbucks and not much else in life.

***
   I'm going to do a batch of Shebangarang barbecue sauce tomorrow to get an idea of quantities in order to post the recipe (I'm one of those cooks who does it all by eyeballs and intuition, which works beautifully for ME but isn't much help when someone wants the recipe for something I've made). Don't forget to enter the spice giveaway! If you've already entered you can always get another entry by tweeting about it and leaving a second comment with the link to your tweet.

***
   This isn't much by way of a segue or ending, but I also have to replace our crockpot, which came to grief by Hotter's hand (and yes, if you are keeping score at home this is the SECOND one he's killed since we've been married--perhaps as a chef slow-cookers threaten him?). Do any of you have one you are particularly in love with and would recommend? I was awfully fond of the last one, which was a Hamilton Beach, but since I'm having to buy another one and y'all always have such good input for me I figured I'd see what you thought.