MFA Mama

in which the weekend is ruined

   Well, I wrote an entire post earlier and sent it to the blog via e-mail, but it's not here, and maybe it's more than I should've said on the innernet anyway. The essence of it was: Hotter done fucked up. PROBABLY I will forgive him, but what he did was about the worst thing he COULD have done in the context of our relationship, outside of actual violence or infidelity, and I am very, very sad (and freaked out) about the whole thing. This is something that's happened once before, and that time it took a couple of weeks, counseling, and him getting very ill and needing surgery before I fully forgave him. I keep telling myself that I got past it once, and can do it again, but...I dunno. It's bad, y'all, and he really should've known better. Needless to say, this pretty much ruined the holiday weekend, and I'm wishing the children were here, or that I was at work, because I'm feeling really lonely.

slump

   I have missed a LOT of work over this latest oral surgery drama of Hotter's. This whole "easily could have gone septic and died" thing hit me like a ton of bricks and I just want to make sure he's breathing, OKAY PEOPLE? Also I have some kind of lung lurgy and my entire back is seized up and OH MY GOD MONEY and...I dunno. I feel like I could sleep for a week. At least.

   How do YOU break out of a slump?

I hate people, bunnies, rainbows, happiness...and anything I may have omitted from that list

   I finally dragged my arse back to work today, despite an aching back and still feeling like utter dookie from this bronchitis-y largynitis-y Cold of Filth (tm May)...but had to leave before lunch because I am cursed by life, as evidenced by a) Pfeffer the very-pregnant rabbit disappearing on Hotter and b) the HEALTH DEPARTMENT sending us a notice that they'd received a complaint about our not using a proper outdoor trash receptacle and threatening to charge us with a class III misdemeanor. SERIOUSLY, CRAZY TRASHCAN NEIGHBOR??? So I had to come home, assess the situation, bust up the floor of an old shed in order to reach and extract the (very angry, vicious, HOLY HAND-GRENADEWORTHY) rabbit hiding underneath, make a garbage run, and mow the lawn for good measure. And sometime in the course of all of that, a mosquito bit the HELL out of me. Remember how I said I'm allergic to mosquito bites and prefer beestings? This is why:

Figure One: Hand shown for scale. And yes, I just put my stretchmarks on the innernet. It's not so much that I have no shame (although I pretty much don't) as that I have a connective tissue disease, and therefore I have these from my neck to my ankles. So I'm kind of over them.

Figure Two: In this one you can see how it's starting to swell. 

   So yeah, I hate everygoddamnthing right now. But especially Crazy Trashcan Neighbor. I think next payday I WILL go and buy a trashcan JUST LIKE HERS, but I will have to mark it with spraypaint so that we can tell them apart.

   Mine will be the one that says "SCREW YOU" in foot-high neon letters.

today was a lot like my ex-husband...

...in that all it did was kick my ass, spend my money, and waste my fucking time.

   *rimshot*

   Seriously though, the ER did a CT scan of Hotter's head and some bloodwork, said everything looked good and they had NO idea why he was so ill, and discharged him with instructions to follow up with...TRANSPLANT. So it's like a giant medical circlejerk with my husband in the middle (barfing, most likely), and this is why Hotter usually isn't allowed to go to the doctor without me. Because I probably would've cut Transplant off at the knees when they sent him to the goddamn ER, or at the very least put the kibosh on the ER being all "your brain and blood are normal so have fun throwing up and passing out at home, sucka!" Since he's been hypotensive for the past week I'm thinking SOMEbody probably needs to scale back one or more of his BP meds, which only Transplant can really do (they manage those, plus nobody else will alter a transplant patient's meds). Either that or Hotter just needs to sack up and quit being such a wussy about having a BP in the 90s over 60s, because I walk around like that every goddamn day and you don't see ME retiring to my fainting couch over it.

   The MFA Children and I were actually on our way to go and get our bees when Hotter called to say he'd been discharged. So everybody got to go along for the ride! I was kind of worried because I have the kind of veil that goes over a hat (that is the cheapest kind) and my feral children destroyed my straw gardening hat (which I'd been planning to use with the veil) doing some kind of Mexican hat dance on the thing, but then I realized that their plastic Bob the Builder hard hat would a) fit me and b) have enough of a brim all the way around it to hold the veil. So I swiped that to use (really, it's the least those rotten kids could do!), and my beekeeping instructor at least had the courtesy to go and laugh at me in private. And now we have bees!

    Man, I hope I'm well enough to go to work tomorrow.

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.

in which I have a mostly good weekend and clearly it angers the gods

*   Friday night Hotter came down with Middle Child's most recent GI bug.

*   Undaunted, and fortified with Immodium and a fabulous purse filled with snacks, we sallied forth on Saturday and saw The Hunger Games with those movie vouchers. It was excellent.

*   Sunday I mowed, edged, trimmed, and weeded ALL THE THINGS. Which is good, because it rained all damn day Saturday and rained again today and the plants (the grass included) are all growing like mofos.

*   Today was Big Child's birthday. In preparation for that I went into work an hour and fifteen minutes early, left early, ran to Trader Joe's with my rubber checkbook, and got groceries (we were out of EVERYTHING). Then I headed straight home, brought the groceries into the house, and...threw my back ALL THE WAY OUT reaching to put a package of organic string cheese away in the fridge.

*   Yeah. I can dig three-foot trenches, throw sixty-pound bags of potting soil around, hell, I can dead-lift my HUSBAND and carry him on a triumphant lap around our living room just to be a dick prove a point, but a one-pound bag of cheese sticks? Dropped me in my tracks today like I'd been pole-axed.

*   This is the worst back pain I have ever experienced, I think. Including the time I broke my goddamn back. I have taken a liver-damaging amount of Tylenol-laced narcotics and a hefty dose of naproxen (FUCK MY CLOTTING TIME! IN THE ASS! WITH EVERY DICK THAT EVER THERE WAS, THIS IS THAT BAD) and I still can't move any of my limbs without yelping. Also, my legs aren't working very well. Nobody panic, this isn't all that unusual for me when my back is acting up, it's just never been THIS BAD before. I like to think I have a pretty robust pain threshold, but this has me whimpering like a little bitch. If I don't wake up tomorrow miraculously improved I don't have any idea what I'll do.

*   Well, that's a damn lie. Unless I lose the ability to walk I will go to work anyway and be fucking MISERABLE all day, is what I'll do. But right now I don't see how I'll manage. Of course, I didn't see how I'd bake the requested triple-coconut/vanilla layer cake earlier, either, and I still did that, so I guess I'll do what I have to do and even smile during if need be. I'm just not particularly looking forward to it.

*   How are all of YOU?

...and today forgot it entirely :(

   This morning I woke up before my (extra-early) alarm, and got to the office before dawn, and was kicking ass and taking names RIGHT UP UNTIL LUNCHTIME when I got The Call from the elementary school clinic: "Middly is complaining of a stomachache and headache, and has a temperature. Isn't this what happened when he ended up in the hospital?"

   Eff. Word.

   A quick call to the Lord of The Douche (a.k.a. the XY) was fruitless, and the across-the-street neighbors who have given Hotter an emergency ride to the elementary school with replacement pants in the past weren't home, so I packed up my work computer and hit the road, employing every four-letter word I know on the way (it's a twenty-five minute drive).

   While I am very relieved to report that this is NOTHING like what happened when he ended up in the hospital, the kid IS sick. He complained of nausea when we got home, so I dosed him up on Tylenol and Zofran, and he was able to keep some ramen down and is hydrated. So that's good.

   What's NOT good is that I had to cancel two meetings, and was already down four hours from Monday (when I worked a half-day from home while caring for Hotter after his oral surgery), and tomorrow is Friday so I don't have time to make up the hours before the end of the week. BALLS!

   So yeah, I'll be going in early again tomorrow, and Hotter is under strict orders to keep anyone who looks the least bit peaked home tomorrow, because GAHHH.

   How are all of YOU?

oral surgeon, etc.

*   I have lived in MFA Town for nearly thirty-three years of my thirty-three and change and managed to make it until yesterday without ever knowing there was a cookie-cutter office complex off Main Rural Drag with at least eleventy-five hundred oral surgeons', dentists', and maxillofacial surgeons' offices. AT LEAST. And they all had the same tooth-with-roots cutout on the side of their building, and the same three signs reading "ORAL SURGEON," "DENTIST," and "MAXILLOFACIAL SURGEON." And the same color and font used to paint their names on their office doors (the only variation in these offices was the names--I didn't even see any damn address numbers). After I found the office I was meant to go to I got out of the MFA Minivan and kissed the ground on my hands and knees, giving thanks for small favors like only seeing THIS place once in my life to date. Although I am sure it will be appearing in my anxiety dreams FROM NOW ON.

*   The oral surgeon seemed very smart and was quite engaging, which...well. I instantly wonder about him, because men who are people-persons usually lead me to make stupid decisions. Be that as it may, since he did have an advanced degree and years of surgical experience, plus the personal recommendation of Dr. JewishName, I heard him out on his interpretation of my Jank Jaw.

*   Jank jaw is jank, y'all.

*   Dr. PlasticFantastic thinks the next (and also, in my case, the LAST, on which more in a moment) step would be arthrocentesis of the temporomandibular joint.

*   Arthrocentesis (go ahead, Google Image that shit, I'll wait) may or may not work. My insurance company may or may not agree to cover it. It may or may not be a good idea for various reasons inherent to both general risks and specific physical oddities of mine. If it doesn't work, though, I either have to figure out how to live with the symptoms (which currently I do) or pursue pain management as an ongoing part of my permanent medical "team." Which? Barf. But my connective tissue disease (which I had stupidly neglected to put on my intake paperwork because seriously what would that have to do with my clenching and grinding my jaw? OH EVERYTHING APPARENTLY IN THAT AN ENTRAPPED PIECE OF DETACHED CARTILAGE IS BEHIND THIS BULLSHIT) makes any kind of open joint surgery (YES HE MENTIONED THAT) dumb(er even than for the general population--joints are like engine cases, people, you open them and it voids the warranty no matter how skillful you are about it). Bottom line is, my body is going to do what it's going to do, and any attempts to stop it will be temporary at best and crippling at worst. 

*   So I have to decide whether I want to pursue arthrocentesis (in theory--in reality I don't know for certain how I will feed everyone for the next six days and surgery? OH HAHA, YOU SILLY GOOSE!), which may relieve current symptoms, most likely on a temporary basis, or just shrug and choose to live with this evenifIcouldaffordtofixit.

*   Hotter's computer is totally dead. Like, giant lovingly hand-built paperweight attached to desk-sized monitor dead. He is very sad about that. And bitter. By which I mean prone to sniping at loved ones. But he's so upset I don't even really want to call him on much, so I'm gardening tons. "That's fine for you," he groused at me yesterday, "but what about MY rage and anxiety?" Implication being that I should come the fuck inside and keep him company. "I can't address YOUR rage and anxiety," I said, "I can barely handle my own." And I kept on digging, so. Yeah.

*   My health, aside from the various ongoing TMJ/ENT/Asthma clusterfucks and despite my major "diet/lifestyle/headspace adjustment," is not what I would like for it to be. I am retaining a TON of water right now (by which I mean more than ten pounds' worth that appeared literally overnight), which is uncomfortable, unsightly, and unsettling. I am starting to fear that my autoimmune bullshit is waking and stretching preparatory to looking for a nice snack. I don't want to talk about my health. If you asked me to describe it in one word I'd hiss at you like a cat.

*   So things are...not good here. At all. How are YOU?

today is testing my zen

   I've continued to do pretty well with the reduction of stress and stuff, even handling an Epic PDD-Driven Meltdown from one of the two children here on the spectrum with a fair amount of aplomb (which, well, I always do EXTERNALLY but this time interally too I was just all "this is not a new thing, I got this"). I just refuse to take on stress. Re. Fuse. 

   Right about the time I was planning how I'd narrate the audiobook version of my best-selling self-help Assvice Diatribe myself and give Belleruth Naparstek a run for her sweet, soothing multimillions, Bad Ear started to hurt again. Fuuuck. I had already mentally canceled the Oral Surgery consult on my jaw, y'know? But now I would go into the appointment with the knowledge that handling The Situation is truly beyond my control, and feel good about placing my wellbeing in the hands of others, ommmmm.

   Today I woke up full-blown sick with crap lungs and Hotter's computer just upped and died.

   I...yeah.

home

   Just a placeholder. The nutshell version is that I am past any need for immediate ENT surgery and not in any current danger, but (etc. etc. inflammatory etc.) and I need to see a different KIND of surgeon for this. Plus pain pills. More tomorrow. The end.