Happy Anniversary to Us....

Friday was our 5th anniversary.

Wow.

Have we really been married 5 years? The marriage certificate says so, so I guess it really must be true. So much has happened in the past 5 years that they've just flown by. We've weathered several moves, in-laws, house buying and remodeling, 3 years of school, 3 bouts of mom's cancer, two jobs for me, four (almost five) years of TTC and all that go with it, and a whole host of other things that seem small but were really big at the time.

When we got married, we only owned the truck. No house, and the second car that we had was being paid on. I was working for a steel company and DH had JUST started working in IT three weeks earlier. We had a ton of debt, including credit card and student loan. Now? We own a house, the truck, and a new car. Our debt is less, although not gone and about to get bigger in June when my 6-month grace period is up for loans. I will hopefully be starting a new job at the beginning of the year as well, which will mean another adjustment for us.

I worry. We've done well so far, but I read somewhere that the 5th year was the hardest. That's the point where you usually have kids, and they're in the toddler stages (which is rough, so I hear), and life is really starting to kick into full gear. For us, we have no kids and are still sorta coming to grips with that. The in-laws have been out for 4 months, so it's also still being adjusted to - we didn't really realize what his parents did, or how much crap that was here was theirs that we don't have now (wheelbarrow, post digger, soy sauce) and have to go buy. It's just "always been here", according to DH. So we're spending more money and I'm worried about that. Death of a loved one is also high on that stressor list and I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop for a while now - the waiting is killing me. I'm not looking forward to dealing with the aftermath. I worry about DH, because I know it's going to be hard on him too and he's going to shove it aside to help me, which really ISN'T a help because I need to know that he's hurting too. I want to be able to cry together, to be strong for him and have him be strong for me, to get through it together - but I know better. I'm just hoping that it doesn't end up being too much for us.

OY! Time for class! I gotta run...thanks for checking in with me!

Such a BITCH

I know, I know - it's been too long. I'm a little caught up in my own world these days with the inclination but not the motivation to write. Over the 4th of July weekend, we painted the living room and hallway, back living room and bedroom. The following week we replaced the carpeting in all of those rooms too. I still haven't managed to get things put back together. Go ahead...talk to me about lack of motivation!

It doesn't help that mom is getting worse, and I've been working 6 days a week between my two offices. Not long days, necessary, since I'm still getting between 20 and 30 hours, but still...6 days where I am somewhere other than home all day, 6 days where I don't want to get anything started in the morning because I have to go to work later or don't want to do anything when I get home because I've been up since 5:30am.

However, I had to tell you what happened when I went to my parents house two weeks ago. My sister was there that same weekend (joy!) so I got to see her too (more joy!). My sister and I....well, we're different and yet the same. We're 10 years apart and weren't raised together. I was raised by both of my parents - she was raised mostly by her father and his series of women, and mom for the first few years and the last few of her teens. So...very different lives. I don't see her very often - maybe a few times a year - so she's not used to the way I act, or interact, with my husband. She doesn't give a rats ass about any of my medical issues, and claims to understand my infertility. I suppose she has a small right to that, since it took her a long while to get pregnant with both of my nephews...but she never went to a doc, never did treatments, never did a blessed thing but keep trying and get her endo cleared every few years. So while she's familiar with the "Dammit I want this" feeling, she still has no idea.

ANYWAYS: All day that Saturday my dearest, most wonderful husband had been poking me, pestering me, and being generally a literal pain in my (name a body part). No hard pokes, but I was hurting hard between the trip down, a lack of sleep and an abundance of stress...the heat didn't help either. This means it was painful to be touched and I'd repeatedly told him to STOP POKING ME all day. That night we were getting ready to watch fireworks and he poked me again, and I once again told him to stop poking me please. I saw the playful gleam in his eye and amended "And don't pinch me, tickle me, or lick me either." My sister EXPLODED. The words out of her mouth? "God you are SUCH a BITCH! No wonder you can't get pregnant if your husband can't even touch you."

.....

To my credit, I did not kill her. I spun to her and said "If it didn't hurt so much, I wouldn't tell him not to." What I should have said, and realized much later, was "huh. And you call ME a bitch."

I still have not spoken to my sister about this. My mom tried, telling her that husband obviously doesn't mind - he DID marry me, after all, and has stuck around. If he minded, he wouldn't do it. It's a form of play (sort of....) and it's just the way we are. My sister maintained that I'm just a bitch.

Huh....

Birthdays

Tomorrow is mine. I will be all of 31 - and I'm not sure what to do with that. Unlike Mel, I don't particularly like celebrating my birthdays anymore. I don't really hate them, but I'm not overly fond of them either. People keep asking me what I want - I don't really want anything and I don't really need anything either. I hate it when other people buy me clothes, which is usually what I "need" most often. I prefer gift certs, so i can go get my own stuff on my own time. Right now, I want gift certs to Lowe's or Home Depot so we can get paint for the house. Totally practical, I know, but no one seems to understand that THAT is one of the best things they can get me right now. THIS is what I want, to get the smoke and pee out of my house.

When I was growing up I always had birthday parties and I couldn't understand why my parents didn't have them. I remember asking mom about that one year and she said "Someday, honey, you'll realize that birthdays have lost their importance. You have so many that they just don't matter anymore." To my child brain, this made no sense - how could you NOT have a celebration and get lots of gifts and cake and stuff?! I think I understand. I don't want my friends and family to feel compelled to get me stuff - I know how rough money can be, how hard it can be to find time to go shopping, what a pain in the ass it can be to find the right gift. (Yet another reason why I like gift certs - the person can get what they want and I don't have to figure it out!)

I was thinking the other day about what I truly want (besides gift certs) for my birthday and realized that it's actually pretty simple, although not likely to happen:

I want my family and friends to remember it's my birthday without me having to remind them, for the umpteenth time this month.

I want them to listen to me when I tell them what's important - for me to get my house fixed.

I want to be able to enjoy my birthday for the first time in a long time - I'll actually be able to drink if I feel like it. And we're going to the beach...although it's supposed to rain all weekend. So I guess I want the weather to cooperate for once as well.

And now...although I DON'T want to...it's time for me to go to work. Blech.

"Best Day Ever"

Mel @ Stirrup Queens has asked for help on behalf of another blogger. Please clickOur Own Creationto head over to Allison's blog and help out. It doesn't take much, just a simple click. Can you help me help a fellow blogger? Please?

In Memorium

Methos went outside Thursday morning, never to return.

Methos Trouble Underfoot came into our lives 2 1/2 years ago, when he was a 6 week old bundle of white fur. Within 3 hours of his arrival, he had the house completely under his control. He was fearless then, and he'd stayed that way. When yelled at, he didn't run...he'd just hunker down as small as possible and look up at you with those blue eyes and meow, as if to say "See me? I'm small and cute and cuddly and I purr really loud. You know you love me. Don't me mad. I'm cute!" I've always had trouble keeping him inside - he came from outside, and that's where he wanted to be. After a year of fighting him I started letting him go when he'd sneak out and in the past six months I've been letting him out when he asked. This...this was my downfall.

For you see, he went outside Thursday morning when the in-laws left. Before I went to bed that night, I went outside and called for him because I don't like him to be out all night. I also figured he was hungry, as he ALWAYS comes home to eat. There was no answer, but I didn't think much of it since he does sometimes stay out all night...but he comes in when FIL leaves in the morning. When I got up, he wasn't in. I called for him again, but no answer. A few hours later I tried again...and that's when I began to panic. Every hour I'd go out and call for him. When Aaron got home, we went to look for him. I just knew he'd be in the patch of tall weeds across the street and that he wouldn't be alive. I was right. He got clipped by a car, or at least that's the best we can figure.

Methos has a special place in my life. I guess you could say he's my infertility pet. When he showed up on my doorstep, I felt as if God was saying "I'm sorry you can't have children. I know you want a little boy...so here, have Methos." Methos was a very different kitty from Winnie, who I believe God gave me because I wanted a little girl. They are definitely as different as boys and girls. In human years I think Methos was reaching his whiny, angsty teen years recently. These two cats are more human that some people I know - so full of personality and love and talk. When Aaron told me that Methos was gone I felt a stab and twist deep in my body - as if my uterus had been stabbed. Not only have I lost a pet, I've lost my child. (This is not meant to be a direct comparison to the loss of a child - nothing equates that, nothing.)

I am back to living in the land of "what ifs" and wishing that I could have the innocence of my youth once again, when I could allow people to comfort me with platitudes and believing the lies we tell each other. "I'm sure it was quick and he didn't suffer" or "He's in a better place now" or "there's nothing you could have done." I'm busy tormenting myself with "did he get hit because he was running to me when I called him? Why didn't I hear his yowls of pain? Why didn't I know he was hurt? Why didn't I go looking for him Thursday night? If I had found him just after he was hit, could I have saved him? Who did this to him and why didn't they stop? Why did God take my boykitty away from me? Why did I let him go outside, especially when I knew the dangers?" I know that there are no answers and I expect none. I imagine I'll stop looking and listening for him eventually. But for now, the house is too quiet without Methos the Monster and his purring and talking.

Deep thoughts

This post on BlogHer that was written by Mel really got me thinking. Enough thinking that I actually signed up for an account just so I could comment. My comment almost turned itself into an entire blog entry, so I thought I'd bring it here and expand on it a bit.

My comment there reads:

When we first started TTC, I went shopping crazy. Well, crazy for me, anyhow. I bought anything and everything Tigger related I could find: toddler toothbrushes, crib and twin sheet sets, pillow to match the sets, bibs, a rocking tigger (like a rocking horse), a car window shade. If it was Tigger and I saw it, I bought it.

We're going on four years now with no luck. We're no longer actively ttcing. Two years ago I put all the Tigger items into a storage unit,for use at a later date (theoretically). After reading this article, I realized something that I have no answer for and that makes me slightly panicky: My inlaws are moving out, and all my things from the storage unit are going to be coming back into the house. That means that all that baby stuff I've stashed is coming back too. I have to find a place to hide it where I will never come across it again. Why don't I get rid of it? I can't bear to. If I do, I feel like I really AM giving up.

I can understand the no-longer-in-the-trenches women who feel hesitant to buy things. I can understand those who have and are now terrified. It's as if by purchasing something you're just tempting karma to come get you. But if you don't, then those who don't understand you guilt you. I really don't think there is a win on any side to this whole deal.

I thought about my comment the entire time I was taking my lab exam. I thought about it while I read the paper during lunch. I'm sitting here in the computer lab, thinking about it again. I read Mel's response to my comment and thought some more. I thought about all the room we're going to have when the in-laws move out and yet I don't seem to have a place to hide something. Having it in storage is one thing - I rarely go to our storage unit. Putting it somewhere in the house where it could leap out and get me at any moment, or cause me to look sideways at the closet where I put it every time I see it doesn't sound like a good idea to me. I can only think of one thing to do with it - use it.

You see, the current space plan is this: Aaron and his friends are going to use the back living room as a place to game every Saturday. This means that Fred and Wilma will be coming over and bringing their children. Attached to the back living room is the room that MIL & FIL are using for their bedroom, complete with a closet. We're planning on putting the spare twin-sized bed back there and turning that room into a place for the children to play. It will give them a place to play, and they'll have to get past everyone to get into another part of the house - which is forbidden, because the house is not child-proofed and I have no plans to make it so. The bed will give them a place to crash if it's time for bed. So...perhaps I'll put the twin sheets on that bed, put the rocking tigger out for the oldest to play on.

Perhaps being confronted with things on a daily basis will make them lose some of their power. It's the fear of the unknown that gets us, I think. No matter how much we know, we still can't control or know everything and it scares us. We allow things to have power over us, such as I have with these toys. Yes, I bought them for my someday child. There might still be a someday child...but in the meantime, shouldn't these toys be loved for and used by children, even if it's not mine? Why am I so afraid of these items?

I knew a girl long ago on the WebMD JSO forums who used to try on all her clothes with one of the big salad/mixing bowls strapped to her tummy so she could see what the specific clothing item would look like when she was pregnant. I remember thinking "Why would you torture yourself that way?" and that was BEFORE I ever knew I was infertile (or subfertile, according to one doc). About a year ago or so, I went shopping for shirts and a comfortable bra. I knew that, given my body shape, maternity clothes are actually fairly flattering on me...so I went to Motherhood. When I went to try on a shirt, there was a foam "belly" in the dressing room...presumably so you could see what the clothes would look like when you started showing a little more. I debated with myself, and then put it on and tried on my shirt. I showed my husband, then took off the shirt and belly and left the store. Why did I torture myself that way, knowing what I do? I don't have an answer, except that my brain said "This is the only time you're going to see yourself this way."

Bitter much?

Some days I think I'm ok - and I think this is true for MOST days. I no longer have the urge to scream every time I see Wilma with her children. I no longer count the pregnant bellies I see in the store, or feel the need to point them out to Aaron by saying "Oh look...there's another one." This is not to say that I don't still look at babies wistfully, or get upset when I'm surrounded by child-talk.

Other days, however, I feel warped. I hide behind armor made of bitter and distilled anger and frustration. Case in point: We are currently studying the reproductive system in my physiology class. I could easily skip this section and probably still pass, but I'm going on the off-chance that I might actually learn something. Yesterday we were covering the female system. My professor (whom I dearly love) was trying to explain the ovarian cycle, and how ovaries and the oviduct work, and how they don't touch (which can lead to ectopic pregnancies and endo ending up in the body cavity). To demonstrate this, she had me make a fist and hold up my arm. Y'all - I got to be an ovary. My first thought? "Well, at least my ovary has SOME use." I was slightly shocked at my inner voice, but then thought "well, that's about normal for me these days."

You see, instead of getting angry or sad, I just turn sarcastic and bitter. It works for me - hide behind the flippancy that still has a ring of truth to it. I do this with everything else medical that bothers me. I still remember going to a neurologist about the pain in my spine, and how random bits of my legs and feet kept going to sleep. He said "well, you're awfully flippant. It doesn't seem to be bothering you much." Dude...if it didn't bother me I wouldn't be here. I just can't face it fully on, because I'll work myself into a frenzy and come apart at the seams. It appears I've done the same thing with being infertile. It still bothers me, but if I can deal with it through being flippant...I'm ok.

Now if you'll pardon me, I'm going to go find something to wash the bitter taste out of my mouth.

Entitlement

I have been thinking about this post since Saturday morning. There was an event that triggered it and I've just been mulling it over. I can almost guarantee that it isn't going to be popular with either the infertiles or the non-infertiles. If it bothers you, don't read.
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At my job, I proctor exams. I check people in, they read the policies/procedures and sign it, ask any questions they have and then I seat them. They test, they tell me when they're done, I score them and send them on their way. Easy. I usually get the same questions: What do I do if I need to use the restroom? Are we allowed gum? The answers are on the P&P if they'd just READ the damn thing, but that's an aside.

Saturday morning, as I was checking in a woman, I got the same questions. I told her if she needed to get up and go, go. She said "Okay, because I didn't sleep well last night and I don't feel very good. I'm also pregnant, so that doesn't help." Whatever lady - I don't really care if you're pregnant, had 12 cups of coffee this morning, have medication that makes you pee...whatever. Just go if you gotta go. Before I take people into the room, I make sure they use the restroom if they need to. I did the same for this one, and she came back chewing gum. I told her she needed to spit it out (people smack it when they're not paying attention, or nervous). She said "But I just put it in! I get dry mouth really bad now that I'm pregnant and this helps with that. It also helps with the nausea! If I don't chew it, can I keep it in?" I apologized but told her no.

As I got back to my desk I started thinking about that. It was essentially "I'm pregnant so the rules don't apply to me. I'm entitled to different things, because I'm pregnant. You should let me do what I want, because it helps me and I'm pregnant." Congratulations, lady, your uterus works. Your ovaries work. Your hormones work. Your husband has super-sperm. Woo for you.

No. Being a healthy individual with working parts does not entitle you to jack shit. To go a step further, it really doesn't matter HOW you got pregnant. It doesn't matter if you were on BCP, the shot, the condom broke, it was planned. It doesn't matter if you had to do IUI, IVF, DE, surrogacy. It doesn't matter if it took 6 weeks, 6 months, 6 years. Just because you managed to somehow, someway get pregnant it does not mean you are entitled to anything more than anyone else. You get the same treatment, and if you don't, you should.

In thinking about all this, I walked to the kitchen Sunday morning to get a drink and noticed the picture on the fridge that has bothered me for a while now. It's one of those magnetic picture frames and says "Grandchildren Make Memories". It's been up on the fridge forever, but didn't have any pictures in it. This past summer, her stepdaughter and her children came to visit us, at the same time that Giggles and Chuckles were moving in. Family photos were done, and the MIL put them up in the photo frame. There were pictures taken of MIL, FIL and all the kids. Pictures of Chuckles and Giggles and the MIL and FIL. You get the idea. The only one missing from any of those photos...is me. Aaron is in them, because he is one of the kids. Giggles is in there because she's carrying the first great-grandchild. I am the only one not there, because I am not one of the children or grandchildren, and I am not carrying any either. For several months I cringed and felt a stabbing pain every time I went to the fridge. the pics are at eye level for me, so there is no avoiding them. Over time it has stopped hurting. When I went to the fridge, I realized it no longer hurt and I got thinking about entitlement again.

As infertiles, we have our own sense of entitlement. We expect the world to be gentler with us, to try and understand us, simply because we can't (for whatever reason) conceive and carry a child to full term. This is not to say that people shouldn't be tactful - they should, as IF is a disease like any other and carries it's own set of problems. Along that vein, however, it would be akin to asking cancer survivors not to talk to cancer patients because it's too painful. The survivors speak to give hope, not to say "HA! I made it and you aren't." We expect so much more though; we expect people to understand when we don't want to be around pregnant people, when we don't attend church because we can't handle seeing babies. We lose friends because we can't reconcile ourselves to the fact that they have what we want. We break one of the commandments - "thou shalt not covet" - and expect everyone to pat us on the back and say "it's ok. We understand" and then get angry when they don't.

Yes, people are assholes. Yes, people are idiots who don't "get it". Yes, people are people. How many times before you found out you were pregnant did you say to someone "you just need to relax" or "you're so lucky you don't have kids; you can go anywhere you want" or any of the other things we get so furious about? We are no less guilty than anyone else, and to pretend otherwise is hypocritical. We are not entitled to jack shit, just like the non-infertiles.

As I was thinking about all this and talking to Aaron, i realized something else, and I know this is going to go over like a ton of bricks. We CHOOSE to be upset because we are infertile. That's right, I said we CHOOSE it. Instead of focusing on the good things in our lives, celebrating the joy around us, indulging in the babies we can be around, we choose to be angry, bitter, self-centered. We push people away, refuse to have anything to do with babies. We choose to be angry when our friends are pregnant, when people make stupid remarks, when our MIL's put photos up in our face that are missing us because we can't have children. Instead of being angry, smile. Know that the people who are making stupid comments are either lucky enough not to have to go through what we've been through, or that they just don't know what to say in response but feel the need to say something because society teaches us to do that. Know that your MIL is lucky to have people in her life who CAN have children, that she is blessed to have grandchildren from someone - she's a proud grandmother, just like every other grandmother out there. She's just unlucky enough to be related to you. :) Have joy that our friends have children that they will let us play with, take care of, spoil any time we want...and that if we ever get out of the trenches, they'll gladly reciprocate. Work in the nursery at church - indulge in the babies every week, knowing that these little lives are just beginning.

I won't say that I'm not still bitter, because in some ways I am. But I think I can see the light. I'm trying to learn to be happy with what I have, instead of throwing a hissy fit for what I can't have like a toddler would. So I can't have children - I have a husband who loves me, cats who love and annoy me, family who supports me. I would love to pass on everything my mother taught me to my child...but if I can't, maybe I can pass it on to my friends' children instead. But now, instead of telling people that we've been trying for 4 years to have a child, I simply tell them that we can't have them and leave it at that. It no longer matters how long we've been trying - we know the answer now. Someone said in response to that the other day "You shouldn't say that - you don't know for certain." She's right - I don't. But for now, I do. If I get proven wrong, it won't be the first time in my life and I'm sure it won't be the last. I said nothing in response, just smiled and thought "she's lucky she doesn't know."

Chuckles and Giggles Saga, Chapter 3036

As promised, here is the latest in that saga.

We've always known that Giggles' mom is batshit insane. She's been telling Giggles since she got pregnant that she was going to take the baby and raise it, because she always wanted more babies. Aaron and I have suspected since first hearing this that she was serious. She even bought an entire nursery for her home "just in case they decided to come back and live with her and for when they visit".

Well...I'm sure you can guess what I'm going to tell you. Chuckles and Giggles took the baby over to her mother's house for her to babysit. Mom then refused to give the baby back. One would think they'd call the cops, but no. Apparently they decided to bide their time, because the roommates that they had did drugs and they didn't want to cops to take the baby away from them. They also knew that her parents were going out of town, so they decided they'd get the baby back then. Sure enough, parents went out of town and left the baby with grandma. Grandma ALSO refused to give the baby back. Chuckles' parents drove over and the four of them went to take the baby back. Grandma...punched Chuckles in the face. Cops were called then, who basically said "Why are you not giving these people their baby back? You have no right to do that. Give them their baby back!" Chuckles and Giggles have now moved to another state and are living with Chuckles' parents.

And the kicker? Giggles is pregnant again.

I'm so glad they don't live with us anymore.

Karma is a bitch

If you look at my last post, you will see that I said "things are relatively calm". Karma was apparently waiting for me to hit publish and when I did, she popped out and said "gotcha, bitch!"

Thursday night I ended up getting into another fight with my drunken brother. Drunk AND stoned, I should say. It started with a text message that said "Nobody want2 talk2 a drunklove?!" I sent one back asking him what in the hell he was talking about. I received a message back that said "UNO what the fuck? So thanku 4 the knowledge & the hello. HIGH" He then called me. I asked him if he'd been drinking and he said yes. I told him I didn't want to talk to him because he was unreasonable when drunk and he told me that it didn't matter, he was the same sober and drunk. Bear in mind that it was 11:10pm when this started. I told him I didn't have time for this, that I had class in the morning and needed to go to bed. Goodnight, Bro. He kept saying "sis, sis...wait." I repeated goodnight a few times, and hung up. I then got the next series of message in a row. First was "I still love U, butt c u at a later, still c U again!Goodness" followed by "Yes! I am drunk stones along & missing my seed of Missoree" (his daughter is in Missouri) and then "Suck it easy & loose my number! Feeling is mute", a repeat of the UNO text and ended with "Talk later when u get a grip on life & death, love & loss in life. Still love U throughout!" I have decided that I am no longer speaking to my brother when he's had anything to drink...and it is the first question I am going to ask him when he calls from now on. He no longer calls our sister when he's drunk because she lays into him...and I'm not going to either.

I am torn on the subject, though. On the one hand, he's my brother. Granted that he's been missing for 2/3 of my life, but he's still my brother. I want to try and help him, let him know that he has a support system. On the other hand...SO not my problem. He's 37 years old for pete's sake. He needs to grow up. You play the hand that life dealt you and you do the best you can with it. Yes, he had it rough growing up and yes, I had it easy comparatively speaking and so really I don't have room to talk. But I ALSO know that you can't live as a victim your whole life and you have to take responsibility for your actions. As my counselor told me "Things happen. What matters is not that they did, but how we react to them. No one can make you do things - it is your choice." I agree. I don't need my brother in my life, I don't want to put up with his shit and I don't have to...so I won't. I just hope I can stick to that.

Major update on the inlaws: They're MOVING OUT! WAHOO! JUMP FOR JOY! Everyone come on! Jump around! Dance in your living room! WOOT!!!! YEEHAW! Ok, now that I have THAT could of my system I suppose you want details. The bank finally got back to them, saying that they could not accept their bid but would accept $100K. I think I posted earlier that they originally thought they couldn't work that. Well, they have now gotten the loan approved through their bank and the payments are workable for them. Saturday they went and accepted the banks offer and signed papers. :) ROCK ON! I don't know how long until they move out - depends on the bank and the sellers. The house is currently occupied so I don't know how big of a time frame that gives us. But there is a light at the end of the tunnel and it isn't a train!

There is more for me to tell you, as there is another chapter in the Chuckles and Giggles saga...but I have to go to class. I will also be making an update on Colorful Medication later on - a good update. :)

Blogoversary

Once again I have let my blogoversary slip by me without a word. I have been writing here sporadically for 2 years as of March 31. Yay me?

As I came her today I realized it had been over a month since I'd written. Why? I don't know. Perhaps I don't have much to say these days, or I have so much going that I don't have time to write, or I'm just too lazy to remember. The truth is all three.

There really isn't much going on in my life at the moment. Everything is calm for once; I'm not stressing over anything too much. Mom is relatively stable - and I will post more on that on the blog I have dedicated to that scene. My inlaws are still living with us, although they have put a bid in on a house and are just waiting on the sellers bank to approve it. THAT'S a nightmare in the making - I'll get back to it in a second. I'm doing ok, despite having my first colonoscopy this past Tuesday. I'd had some bleeding that didn't want to quit for a few months so I got checked out. Tuesday was the day, and it took them 9 tries to finally get an IV in me, and they ended up putting in my foot after blowing out two veins in my hands. Blech. The semester is more than halfway over - I think I only have about 6 weeks left. I've got an A in my documenting class, will probably pass my health management class, and will be content if I manage to yank a C+ out of physiology.

Inlaws: The sale is a "short sale", meaning the sellers are willing to sell the house for less than they owe. They, however, do not get to make the decision - the bank down. I don't know what the house was going for, but they offered $93K. The got the approval on the loan from their bank last week. The sellers' bank is now 2 weeks late getting the inlaws an answer. Technically the bank has broken the contract, but my inlaws really want this house and so are willing to wait. MIL says "Well, at least they haven't declined us; rejections are swift" and she has a point. The bank has approved one short sale on this house before, for $108K, but they took so long that the buyers found another place. MIL and FIL won't be finding another place...this is what they want. I just can't believe that MIL isn't on their case about this - God knows I would be!

I'm sorry about the lack of updates - there's nothing exciting going on, so I don't really have anything to post. I keep promising myself I'll get better, but I don't. Eh - maybe someday, but don't hold your breath.

Not an actual person

I have come to the conclusion that I am not an actual person. You may be saying "What do you mean, not an actual person?" Well, let me take this chance to explain it to you.

While I was going through all the injections and whatnot for my back last year, the option of a spinal cord stimulation pack surgery was suggested by one of the docs in the pain care center I was going to. Essentially, they figure out which nerves are firing inappropriately and insert an electrical blocker to those nerves. When I brought it up to the main doc, he told me that it was more for people with "actual injuries" such as those sustained by a break.

A few weeks ago, I went to see a doc on campus about getting a referral for a medical massage. One of the girls who works at the rec center told me about them and that they were good for people with fibromyalgia. My regular school doc (who also happens to be the medical director here...am I spoiled or what?!) isn't currently seeing any students because they have a new computer system and he's trying to work out the bugs. So...I had to see a new doc. I hate that, because they never listen. At any rate, he agreed to give me the referral but cautioned me "not to use the 2/month that insurance will pay for unless I absolutely need it because if I do then the therapists aren't available for use by people with 'actual pain'."

I have been trying since Friday to get back in to see this same doc (hell, if I have to see one I may as well see the same one - he'll learn eventually) about getting on an anti-depressant. I don't feel like I can keep dealing with all of this and school and work without a little help. I'm feeling pretty fragile and scary. For some reason the stupid people at the stupid medical center think it will take 45 minutes for a stupid appointment to get stupid anti-depressants even though they've prescribed the stupid things for me before. Yes, things are stupid. So that makes it hard to make the appointment, as they usually schedule appointments in 15 minute blocks. Add to this the fact that they do scheduling weird (call Friday afternoon for an appt Monday morning, Monday morning for Monday afternoon, Monday after 1pm for Tuesday morning...you get the idea) and it's even worse. I have class until 1:30 and by the time I call, they're full. I complained about that to the girl who answered the phone yesterday and she said "well, it is flu season so there are a lot of people who actually need to see the doc and we're short handed".

Lady, I ACTUALLY need to see the doc or I am ACTUALLY going to cause someone some ACTUAL pain! I did manage to get her to make me an appt for this afternoon. Now I just have to hope that the stupid doctor listens to me. If he won't I may have to get my counselor involved and I really don't want to do that. I also don't really want to be in my head anymore. I don't like it there - it's scary and unstable.

Speaking of pain, I wish whoever keeps beating me with a stick in my sleep would take a long walk off a very tall cliff into a deep lake and they can't swim. The fibro is kicking my ass again, only in a different way. Yeah, my hips and back still hurt like a mf'er, but I think i'm getting used to that. The constant ache of my muscles, the inability to stretch without feeling like my ribs have been beaten, not being able to scratch an itch without feeling like I used a razor blade to do it, and feeling like I've been stabbed if I happen to walk into something - that's really getting bad. It even hurts to scratch my head, which it didn't used to do. Goosebumps are a bitch. I feel like a punching bag. I know it's probably the cold and the stress that are doing it, but I'm done. Something somewhere has to give but I don't know what.

What to do?

I know I haven't been writing here a lot lately. I could make excuses for myself, blame school and what's going on with my mother, but the truth is...I'm lazy. Beth's post gave me the courage to say that, even if it did bring to mind this song. :)

I'm lazy. I also don't have a lot to say lately. I have started a new blog called Colorufl Medication. Why a new blog when I don't keep up with this one? Well, that one details my attempt at dealing with moms cancer. This one has become less about IF and more about my life in general...but right now, I don't have a life in general. I have school, I have work, and I have mom's cancer. Soon I hope to post a little about the mess school has been and how it's all fixed now, but I don't have the mental attention right now. I'll get off on a tangent, I'm sure.

As of this moment I'm still not sure if I want to keep this blog open. Like I said, and I'm sure you've noticed, I don't blog in all that much any more. I like having it though, so I have a place to put random things, updates, etc. It gives me a place to remember things that have happened and how I felt about them and when they happened. If any of you want to follow me over to the other blog as well, you are more than welcome. Thank you for all of your comment on my post below - they've meant a lot. Comments give me the warm fuzzies. :) Thank you, for always being here for me to talk to.

Snow and other rants

I hate the snow. I mean, I really hate it. I sit in my house and I look out the window and I curse at the evil snow that is falling from the sky. When it's not snowing, but there's snow on the ground, I look out my window and I curse the snow that's on the ground. Leaving the house when there's snow involves lots of cursing and grumbling and whining. Need I mention that my house is full of cuss words right now? It's been snowing all month! The 30-year average for the month of January is 4.2 inches...so far this year we've had 11.2!!! THERE'S SO MUCH GOD DAMNED FUCKING SNOW ON THE GROUND!

There is no end in sight.

According to the weather forecasters it's going to snow all week. As a matter of fact, they won't be at all surprised if this trend continues through February. I can't take it. It's cold and wet and slippery and cold and messy and did I mention cold? And evil? According to weather.com, it's currently 31* but feels like 17*, with winds from 25-30 mph gusts. IT'S COLD! It feels every degree of 17* and even that's warm compared to what I feel like it feels.

It's funny how life changes us. As a kid I loved the snow. LOVED it. Go outside and make snow forts and angels and have snowball fights. Even as a teen, impromptu snowball fights were common. I didn't mind the cold and often didn't wear gloves. Now...I hate the snow with an equal amount of fervor. Even a small bit of snow is enough to make me grumble, even when it doesn't make the road slick. I hate the cold - I hate being cold. I can never get warm in the winter. I'm afraid of falling; falling hurts a lot. All I want to do is sleep...I'm beginning to think I'm part bear. I'd like to hibernate for the whole winter.

Aaron says I'm depressed. With all this snow, who wouldn't be? (except you crazy people who actually LIKE this stuff) But even before the snow started falling I was evincing some major signs. All I want to do is sleep - and when I'm not sleeping, I want to be locked in my computer room playing games. Just leave me alone. I haven't seen our friends in almost a month...mostly because that would require me to leave the house. They WERE gaming over at our place on Sundays, before break, but Fred and Wilma decided THEY wanted to play again too...and that means gaming at their place because of the kids. Saturday nights are the only time that works for everyone, so Aaron goes over around 9pm (when Fred gets off work) and doesn't come home until about 2:30am. I get up at 5:30 Saturday mornings to go to work - the last thing I want to do is stay up until 3:00am Sunday! So I haven't been going. I"m going to start though - I need to get out of the house more. I miss my friends, I miss Wilma's son, I have to force myself to go out. I'm also exhausted all the time. Not sleepy-tired, just exhausted feeling. I guess that's a sign too.

I don't know what I'm going to do about my bio lab. I spent two hours in class this morning not understanding half of what was said. I have to go, to take a quiz. I can't afford to miss them. But it feels like a waste of my precious sleeping time to go where I'm not learning. If I go in and just take the quiz, then I have 4 hours before my next class. More wasting of time. I tried to see if there was a later lab available but I can't unless I drop my class and re-add it...which I don't want to do because I could get locked out. I'm just at a loss and might have to go talk to my advisor, who I believe to be a waste of the skin she's made of. Her brain cells (what few she has) could benefit someone who might actually use them.

Ok...enough ranting for now. My hands are frozen and it hurts to keep typing. I have typing class in an hour or so - maybe I'll go early and get the work done then. :)

My world

I hope someone is still checking on me from time to time. I know it's been over a month since my last post, but perhaps when you read this you'll understand why.

I had finals the week before Christmas. I managed to pull an A- in my Medical Terminology class, B+ in Intro to Computers (Access kicked my ass), a C+ in Business Communications (despite not doing 2 major projects) and a C in my Anatomy class. Not too shabby, all things considered.

The day after finals were completed we left to go to my parents house to celebrate Christmas over the weekend. That Saturday we met my sister in Jackpot, NV and she brought my brother with her. I had paid for his bus ticket to her house and the ticket from my parents' house back to his place in Vegas. The first words out of my brother's mouth were "Look at that end table ass!" to which I replied "and look who's going to get his ribs broken if he doesn't watch his mouth". Lovely greeting for siblings who haven't seen each other in about 7 years, huh? The visit with my brother actually went pretty well. He's changing for the better, I think. We've been in contact since then, a few phone calls and text messages. Mom's happy.

Mom had another treatment the day after Christmas. She had a major allergic reaction to the chemo, which I guess they've been anticipating a bit. Apparently a lot of people have allergic reactions to it and when they do, it's usually around treatment 7 or 8...and that was mom's 7th treatment that year. She hadn't quite recovered from it before she had her next one, which was on the 16th of this month. She had to have a blood transfusion of 2 units because she was anemic. Dad was going to be busy between work and meetings and stuff for 4 days after her treatment so I went down on Thursday to take care of her. Good thing I did, I guess. I spent 4 lovely days cleaning up poop and puke, as well as doing dishes and laundry for her.

I came home on Sunday, because school started Tuesday. Monday mom called me and said I had to come back down to take care of her - she'd just thrown up all over herself and was rather upset. I guess throwing up from chemo is different than throwing up when you're sick - you don't have any warning. Monday night she got a bloody nose that they couldn't get to stop - they even tried shoving cotton balls up her nose! She laid down, but that didn't work - she started coughing up blood from it all draining. Dad took her to the ER Tuesday morning and she was anemic again. Her kidney function was also down to 15%, from 50% last Wednesday. She was supposed to get another transfusion but they didn't have the blood/platelets she needed, so they scheduled it for Wednesday morning. After that transfusion she had to go see the oncologist. The onco did a scan of kidney/spleen/bladder and didn't find anything, but she has to go in today, Friday, and Monday/Tuesday/Wednesday for saline infusions to try and jumpstart her kidneys.

Classes started Tuesday. I'm only taking 3 classes this semester for a total of 8 credits. I have Physiology (and lab), Document Processing, and Weight Management. After last semester I needed a light load. It's good, too, because it means I can go take care of mom after her treatments. My classes are relatively easy, so I can skip them if I need to. The only hard one is Physiology, and I've already made arrangements to get notes. I've talked with 2 of my professors and let them know what's going on with mom, and both have been understanding about me potentially missing classes and will work with me. One of them (my favorite, Dr. Lonsdale) suggested I go talk to one of the school counselors to help me, so I have an appointment on Monday with the one she recommended to me.

I started going to a new pain care doc in December. He was willing to switch me from Lyrica/Welbutrin back to the Cymbalta. I gained 20 pounds on the Lyrica in just a few months - I can't handle that, and I can't afford the meds. The doc is slowly upping my Cymbalta to the correct 120mg dosage to handle fibromyalgia. If I can remember to take them, I'll be doing good. I'm not so good at that part - but if I go more than a few days without, I hurt like an SOB. Like today. Today is a bad day - hip is killing me and I have weight management class this afternoon. I don't know what's going to be involved, but I'm really hoping it's not exercise today. I don't want to have to get a docs note saying I have fibro and have limitations, especially since he seems to think that doing group activities (such as swimming classes) or a lot of walking will help. I've ranted about that before - today just reaffirms my beliefs.

In between all this, I've been playing WoW and trying to function. I'm depressed to the point where I'm having a hard time getting out of bed, and when I DO manage to get up I don't want to do anything. I don't want to get dressed, take a shower, eat, leave the house...nothing. I just want to shut myself in my computer room and stay there. I promise I'll try to do better at writing again, especially now that I'm back in school and there are things going on. I have been a very bad friend - I apologize to those who write blogs, as I haven't been reading them for the past several weeks. I"m working on getting caught up, but if you'd all do me a favor and just leave a comment letting me know any major (or minor/exciting) developments in your life (good and bad) perhaps it will be a bit easier. If you're still here, thanks for sticking around. If you've stumbled over to me from Mel's Creme de la Creme, welcome to my place - I don't write regularly, but I try. I"m sorry this post is rambly - I hope it makes sense. It's a bit like my head these days.