Growing up, my dad was a joker, and so my sense of humor comes from him. One of the things he taught us is how to laugh at the unlaughable. I'm not going to tell you how we "look for the sunnyside" or any of that kind of crap. What we do is laugh at ourselves, and try not to take things too seriously.
When everything was happening last spring, it was really hard to find a way to laugh at any of it. Brain trauma is serious, and spending weeks not knowing if every day when the phone rang it would be the news that my sister died, was horrible. (There were other things adding to the horrible, but that's for a different day.)
So when my sister woke up, and was going to be released to do rehabilitation in our home town, it was time to start laughing. And getting her to laugh.
The first thing I did, before she was released from the hospital in Pittsburgh, was to draw smiley faces on her toes. I had "threatened" to draw on her earlier, and I meant to make good on that.
Also, she's diabetic, so drawing on her feet would drive my mother bananas.
Everyone at the hospital, and then the nursing home she was released to, knew about the faces on her toes. (Sharpies are good for A LOT of things!!!) Since she couldn't do much for herself those first few weeks, it was inevitable that the Gator would discover what I'd done.
One day, the Gator called and she did her usual "So what's new" bit, and I told her that a rainbow pack of Sharpies was on sale at Staples. At that point, she called me an asshole, and told me that if I didn't behave, she'd have me strip-searched every time I went to visit my sister.
I couldn't stop laughing.
She had been up to visit my sister, and noticed the "black" on her toes. Since my sister is diabetic, my mother's first thought was gangrene (or worse) and so, as she tried to get a better look, my sister kept her legs moving around. When my mom finally caught a foot, and got a look, she asked, "Just when did your sister do this?"
I don't know why the Gator immediately thought of me.
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Showing posts with label health. Show all posts
Friday, May 29, 2015
Thursday, May 28, 2015
Whole Lot of Stuff Goin' On
2014 was Hell. Starting in April, and ending Not Just Yet.
Long story short, my sister was sent by Life Flight with brain trauma. After life-saving surgery, she began having seizures, and was sedated and put on life-support. It took almost 2 weeks to get the seizures under control, and she woke up on Mother's Day last year. She couldn't speak, and couldn't walk...she was released to a nursing home a week before my 96 year old Grandmother died.
Since then, she has progressed to walking, sometimes with a cane, and now comes to my house to play practical jokes. Yay!
My mother is channeling her mother. It wouldn't be so bad, but Grandma wasn't all that nice.
It was also really great that my brother went batshit crazy and decided that the Howler was his arch-nemesis. That culminated at Easter, when he took a for reals tantrum. Since then, he's had it explained (not by me!) to him, and he is now behaving like a sane adult.
2015 is better. Busier, but better.
Long story short, my sister was sent by Life Flight with brain trauma. After life-saving surgery, she began having seizures, and was sedated and put on life-support. It took almost 2 weeks to get the seizures under control, and she woke up on Mother's Day last year. She couldn't speak, and couldn't walk...she was released to a nursing home a week before my 96 year old Grandmother died.
Since then, she has progressed to walking, sometimes with a cane, and now comes to my house to play practical jokes. Yay!
My mother is channeling her mother. It wouldn't be so bad, but Grandma wasn't all that nice.
It was also really great that my brother went batshit crazy and decided that the Howler was his arch-nemesis. That culminated at Easter, when he took a for reals tantrum. Since then, he's had it explained (not by me!) to him, and he is now behaving like a sane adult.
2015 is better. Busier, but better.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
Beggars Can't Be Choosers
Again with the Chaos.
Michelle shows up one day last week--she doesn't usually just "drop in"--so we knew something was up.
She begins the conversation with, "I was just hit on." there's a long pause, then, "at the soup kitchen!" And she's disgusted that this happened.
Apparently even the indigent & disabled have cellphones and are clamoring for her number. She has steadfastly refused all this guy's (gawd, I'm hoping it's a guy, although, now that I'm thinking about it, she was never actually stated that "he" was) advances. Even when "he's" tried to get her mother to stage a celibacy intervention.
Chaos loves to tell stories backwards--meaning she starts at the end and then works her way to the beginning. And then, it just gets stranger.
It's sloppy joe night at the soup kitchen, and Omi, who spawned this Chaos, donates cash so they can "eat out."
Chaos is a germophobe, so even the idea that she's eating in a church basement soup kitchen is laugh worthy. She also questions the contents of any meal not prepared at the local supermarket deli, and "loose meat" sammiches are always in the questionable content category.
So they find seats, and the soup kitchen helpers--who were all cafeteria ladies in previous lives--send over their sammiches. The lady plunks the plate in front of Chaos, Queen of Germophobes, and pats the sloppy joe. Yes, she manhandles a severe germophobe's sammich.
Later in the meal, the cafeteria lady offers coffee. Chaos accepts, thinking that scalding liquid will kill any lingering germs in her stomach....cafeteria lady pulls the coffee mug close enough to pour...with her finger entirely inside the mug.
Poor Chaos. Her one fancy meal of the month...covered in cafeteria lady cooties and illicit indigents.
Michelle shows up one day last week--she doesn't usually just "drop in"--so we knew something was up.
She begins the conversation with, "I was just hit on." there's a long pause, then, "at the soup kitchen!" And she's disgusted that this happened.
Apparently even the indigent & disabled have cellphones and are clamoring for her number. She has steadfastly refused all this guy's (gawd, I'm hoping it's a guy, although, now that I'm thinking about it, she was never actually stated that "he" was) advances. Even when "he's" tried to get her mother to stage a celibacy intervention.
Chaos loves to tell stories backwards--meaning she starts at the end and then works her way to the beginning. And then, it just gets stranger.
It's sloppy joe night at the soup kitchen, and Omi, who spawned this Chaos, donates cash so they can "eat out."
Chaos is a germophobe, so even the idea that she's eating in a church basement soup kitchen is laugh worthy. She also questions the contents of any meal not prepared at the local supermarket deli, and "loose meat" sammiches are always in the questionable content category.
So they find seats, and the soup kitchen helpers--who were all cafeteria ladies in previous lives--send over their sammiches. The lady plunks the plate in front of Chaos, Queen of Germophobes, and pats the sloppy joe. Yes, she manhandles a severe germophobe's sammich.
Later in the meal, the cafeteria lady offers coffee. Chaos accepts, thinking that scalding liquid will kill any lingering germs in her stomach....cafeteria lady pulls the coffee mug close enough to pour...with her finger entirely inside the mug.
Poor Chaos. Her one fancy meal of the month...covered in cafeteria lady cooties and illicit indigents.
Monday, August 29, 2011
Incompetence
I'm seriously pissed.
The Howler's school is being renovated. Renovations started back in March. Since it rained most of March, from the beginning, the renovation has been a clusterfuck. When the weather finally cleared enough to begin the work tearing out the parking lot & basketball court still took more time than expected...by the time school let out in June, the construction was well over a month behind. Efforts were not made to catch up. By the beginning of July, it was clear to everyone except the school board that the new gym would not be ready for school to begin in August.
Lovely. No arrangements beyond denial, and certainly the construction crews worked only as originally scheduled.
Today is the last day of summer vacation here.
With the Howler's asthma, I have to get a signature from her doc, and have the form and her rescue inhaler at the school before school begins tomorrow. This is, of course, slacker hell for me. I got it together last week, and planned to take it over to the school today.
My mother's neighbor is a teacher at the school, so I have a little bit of an inside track to know what's actually going on in the building. The health aide (nurse) was moved, and we have a new one this year. The old one, whatever her issues, at least knew my Howler, and my Howler's asthma. Luckily, her asthma is exercise induced/virus triggered, not due to allergies, as the dust being generated by the renovations is an issue.
Today, when dropping off her inhaler, the nurse isn't available, and the principal was going to call us regarding the Howler's asthma & the renovation dust. (The Howler's teacher called last night, so I had a head's up.)
The principal offered THE DAY BEFORE SCHOOL STARTS to have the Howler & her asthma moved to ANY OTHER elementary school in the district. THE DAY BEFORE SCHOOL STARTS! When she fucking KNEW since at least the middle of July that the renovation was 2 fucking months behind schedule...and that if dust were an issue for the Howler, this was an option that should have been offered THEN.
We would not be able to move the Howler, unless absolutely necessary, due to transportation issues (they'd let her attend another school, but transportation would still be mine to deal with.)
And to offer it today is about 2 months too late. If it were something I had wanted to consider, giving me less than 24 hours to figure it out and get r dun really isn't the way to do it!
Jumping Jesus on the pogostick! This really is incompentence! It's not even fucking denial at this point!
Stupid fucktard school district.
The Howler's school is being renovated. Renovations started back in March. Since it rained most of March, from the beginning, the renovation has been a clusterfuck. When the weather finally cleared enough to begin the work tearing out the parking lot & basketball court still took more time than expected...by the time school let out in June, the construction was well over a month behind. Efforts were not made to catch up. By the beginning of July, it was clear to everyone except the school board that the new gym would not be ready for school to begin in August.
Lovely. No arrangements beyond denial, and certainly the construction crews worked only as originally scheduled.
Today is the last day of summer vacation here.
With the Howler's asthma, I have to get a signature from her doc, and have the form and her rescue inhaler at the school before school begins tomorrow. This is, of course, slacker hell for me. I got it together last week, and planned to take it over to the school today.
My mother's neighbor is a teacher at the school, so I have a little bit of an inside track to know what's actually going on in the building. The health aide (nurse) was moved, and we have a new one this year. The old one, whatever her issues, at least knew my Howler, and my Howler's asthma. Luckily, her asthma is exercise induced/virus triggered, not due to allergies, as the dust being generated by the renovations is an issue.
Today, when dropping off her inhaler, the nurse isn't available, and the principal was going to call us regarding the Howler's asthma & the renovation dust. (The Howler's teacher called last night, so I had a head's up.)
The principal offered THE DAY BEFORE SCHOOL STARTS to have the Howler & her asthma moved to ANY OTHER elementary school in the district. THE DAY BEFORE SCHOOL STARTS! When she fucking KNEW since at least the middle of July that the renovation was 2 fucking months behind schedule...and that if dust were an issue for the Howler, this was an option that should have been offered THEN.
We would not be able to move the Howler, unless absolutely necessary, due to transportation issues (they'd let her attend another school, but transportation would still be mine to deal with.)
And to offer it today is about 2 months too late. If it were something I had wanted to consider, giving me less than 24 hours to figure it out and get r dun really isn't the way to do it!
Jumping Jesus on the pogostick! This really is incompentence! It's not even fucking denial at this point!
Stupid fucktard school district.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Viral
If you hadn't noticed, it's cold & flu season. And that means, in Retail Hell, it's also paranoia time.
What that means is that every cash register, counter, and phone smells of Lysol, and that's not perfume, it's disinfectant hand sanitizer.
The Weasel has been coughing. And every time he coughed on Saturday, he also offered to lick a keyboard, a counter, a phone.
With one exception: Me. He coughed, and when I asked him if he was infectious, he offered to lick me to find out.
Er, uhm, NO.
When telling My Sweetie this little tale of modern healthy living, My Sweetie asked if the guy had been more specific...then offered his own services. But My Sweetie was specific with his offer.
'nuff said.
What that means is that every cash register, counter, and phone smells of Lysol, and that's not perfume, it's disinfectant hand sanitizer.
The Weasel has been coughing. And every time he coughed on Saturday, he also offered to lick a keyboard, a counter, a phone.
With one exception: Me. He coughed, and when I asked him if he was infectious, he offered to lick me to find out.
Er, uhm, NO.
When telling My Sweetie this little tale of modern healthy living, My Sweetie asked if the guy had been more specific...then offered his own services. But My Sweetie was specific with his offer.
'nuff said.
Sunday, November 07, 2010
A Slippery Slope
I've struggled with depression for most of my adult life. It sucks. My entire history of it is long, and boring, and filled with stories of ridiculous reactions to medications--side effects ranging from hair loss (Sasquatch showered at my house) to a terrifying loss of words (I couldn't answer the question, "So what does your husband do for a living?") Most recently, the Cymbalta for the fibromyalgia gave me insomnia for the first 10 days, then, when that wore off, I couldn't find the door to take my daughter to school (and yet, I got behind the wheel of my vehicle and took her to school.)
I've spent the better part of the last 18 months struggling to not get lost in the depression. It's occasionally made me weird, and the accompanying mood swings have been dizzying.
Mostly, the past 6 months or so have been a roller coaster, all inside my head. I'm sure the people I work with have enjoyed it--the preoccupation with keeping the crazy contained has kept me about 80% quiet and moderately subdued at work. I'm sure they'll agree that it's been a blessing.
The worst part of the past 6 months is that I hadn't realized I was worse than I was. And unfortunately, I kept it pretty well hidden--even from myself. That sucks, too, because, well, I got sucker-punched and I reacted very very badly. A lot in Old Mumple Character, and not so much in who I really am now. It was abundantly clear, though, when the Doc was really really serious when she said it was time to consider trying yet another antidepressant. Which, of course, being the stubborn thing I am, I refused. (Yeah, it certainly helped my "I'm OK" when I started crying in the office.)
It was then that I realized I was on that Slippery Slope, and seriously headed for an all-out attack of Crazy.
It bothers me that I let myself get to that point, and it bothers me that I didn't realize how much I was sucking at being a decent, self-aware person. I was being a self-involved spaz. I want to cower behind the depression, and the fact that, depression aside, I've never been very good at self-censoring what I say.
I'm not going to cower. I'm going to eat crow, and be the kind of person who says, "I was an ass. I'm sorry." Thank God the majority of those who deserve the apologies are still speaking to me.
I've spent the better part of the last 18 months struggling to not get lost in the depression. It's occasionally made me weird, and the accompanying mood swings have been dizzying.
Mostly, the past 6 months or so have been a roller coaster, all inside my head. I'm sure the people I work with have enjoyed it--the preoccupation with keeping the crazy contained has kept me about 80% quiet and moderately subdued at work. I'm sure they'll agree that it's been a blessing.
The worst part of the past 6 months is that I hadn't realized I was worse than I was. And unfortunately, I kept it pretty well hidden--even from myself. That sucks, too, because, well, I got sucker-punched and I reacted very very badly. A lot in Old Mumple Character, and not so much in who I really am now. It was abundantly clear, though, when the Doc was really really serious when she said it was time to consider trying yet another antidepressant. Which, of course, being the stubborn thing I am, I refused. (Yeah, it certainly helped my "I'm OK" when I started crying in the office.)
It was then that I realized I was on that Slippery Slope, and seriously headed for an all-out attack of Crazy.
It bothers me that I let myself get to that point, and it bothers me that I didn't realize how much I was sucking at being a decent, self-aware person. I was being a self-involved spaz. I want to cower behind the depression, and the fact that, depression aside, I've never been very good at self-censoring what I say.
I'm not going to cower. I'm going to eat crow, and be the kind of person who says, "I was an ass. I'm sorry." Thank God the majority of those who deserve the apologies are still speaking to me.
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Missing
This weekend is the Full Moon. Monday marks my return to the living.
I've been off work for 6 weeks, trying to be pain free, and clear headed. With available meds for fibromyalgia, the two are mutually exclusive. At least for me.
I feel like I've totally lost 3 months of my life. November and December to the mind-killing full body pain, and January to the mind-numbing dumbness the take-way-my-pain meds give.
It's not funny. I feel like I've been marooned and have just recently been rescued. With little time for a debriefing, I am returning to the land of the living.
Just in time for PETA to go berserk in Punxsutawney, PA, over a rat.
I'm sorry, but it's an overgrown RAT. A very large, pampered, lives-better than most of the Jefferson County population RAT. And PETA has decided that because he will be dragged out of a pseudo stump for 20 minutes one day a year, he's got it bad. PETA needs to get a life, and adult supervision.
I've been off work for 6 weeks, trying to be pain free, and clear headed. With available meds for fibromyalgia, the two are mutually exclusive. At least for me.
I feel like I've totally lost 3 months of my life. November and December to the mind-killing full body pain, and January to the mind-numbing dumbness the take-way-my-pain meds give.
It's not funny. I feel like I've been marooned and have just recently been rescued. With little time for a debriefing, I am returning to the land of the living.
Just in time for PETA to go berserk in Punxsutawney, PA, over a rat.
I'm sorry, but it's an overgrown RAT. A very large, pampered, lives-better than most of the Jefferson County population RAT. And PETA has decided that because he will be dragged out of a pseudo stump for 20 minutes one day a year, he's got it bad. PETA needs to get a life, and adult supervision.
Monday, January 11, 2010
I Do Not Like It Sam I Am
At first, I loved the pain-free feeling of Cymbalta. I could deal with the nausea. I could deal with the goofiness I felt and the mild dizziness. It was no worse than hot flashes.
What I can't deal with is the groggy drugged feeling I get every morning waking up, the uncomfortable sleeping (my arms and hands fall asleep no matter what position I'm in) and the alternating not really sleeping at all.
I don't like it.
I don't like that I forgot to take it yesterday morning before church, and while I was kinda groggy getting up & moving, by 10am I was clear-headed and functional. I had a sense of humor again. I felt connected to my family again.
So, now I'm going to try taking it at night, and hope for the stupid/dead head feeling to occur when I'm sleeping, instead of during the day.
Wish me luck! (and if I don't get lucky, I don't think I'll be making sentences enough to continue to post.)
What I can't deal with is the groggy drugged feeling I get every morning waking up, the uncomfortable sleeping (my arms and hands fall asleep no matter what position I'm in) and the alternating not really sleeping at all.
I don't like it.
I don't like that I forgot to take it yesterday morning before church, and while I was kinda groggy getting up & moving, by 10am I was clear-headed and functional. I had a sense of humor again. I felt connected to my family again.
So, now I'm going to try taking it at night, and hope for the stupid/dead head feeling to occur when I'm sleeping, instead of during the day.
Wish me luck! (and if I don't get lucky, I don't think I'll be making sentences enough to continue to post.)
Saturday, January 09, 2010
Wednesday Morning
So, after dealing with increasing pain for months, I finally succumbed to it. It got to the point that I actually went to the doctor and asked for something to help it.
She gave me Cymbalta. And recommended physical therapy. And put me off work.
So, I hesitantly took the Cymbalta. Considering that the side effects I experience when taking meds, especially long-term meds, are varied, unusual, and after the fact, comical.
Ativan induces hallucinations. Various anti-depressants have caused hair loss (Chewbacca showered at my house); double raging ear infections; major confusion (couldn't tell you what my husband does for a living.) Some were just annoying when they occured, but that last one was scary!
I take the Cymbalta, without checking the side effects list--in part because I don't want to blow things out of proportion, and in part because if I get totally wigged out or something, it will be more noticable if I haven't been expecting it.
What I got started out with major nausea. Morning sickness couldn't hold a candle to this. I also didn't really sleep for about 8 days. I would rest, but not really sleep. So I could drag myself through each day, hoping that "tonight" would be when I could sleep. That faded into being so sleepy that I couldn't keep my eyes open at 9:30am after downing half a pot of coffee in 20 minutes. That's given way to being able to sleep, when normal people sleep, but waking up every morning confused.
Wednesday morning I was so confused I needed help to find the door. And then I got behind the wheel of my car to take the Howler to school (and we all know what a nightmare that is.) I'm not sure if it was that morning that I witnessed the mom get out of her car, root thru her trunk, THEN let her urchins out to go to school or not. Actually, I'm not entirely sure it happened at all.
Today, I just felt groggy and stupid.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring?
She gave me Cymbalta. And recommended physical therapy. And put me off work.
So, I hesitantly took the Cymbalta. Considering that the side effects I experience when taking meds, especially long-term meds, are varied, unusual, and after the fact, comical.
Ativan induces hallucinations. Various anti-depressants have caused hair loss (Chewbacca showered at my house); double raging ear infections; major confusion (couldn't tell you what my husband does for a living.) Some were just annoying when they occured, but that last one was scary!
I take the Cymbalta, without checking the side effects list--in part because I don't want to blow things out of proportion, and in part because if I get totally wigged out or something, it will be more noticable if I haven't been expecting it.
What I got started out with major nausea. Morning sickness couldn't hold a candle to this. I also didn't really sleep for about 8 days. I would rest, but not really sleep. So I could drag myself through each day, hoping that "tonight" would be when I could sleep. That faded into being so sleepy that I couldn't keep my eyes open at 9:30am after downing half a pot of coffee in 20 minutes. That's given way to being able to sleep, when normal people sleep, but waking up every morning confused.
Wednesday morning I was so confused I needed help to find the door. And then I got behind the wheel of my car to take the Howler to school (and we all know what a nightmare that is.) I'm not sure if it was that morning that I witnessed the mom get out of her car, root thru her trunk, THEN let her urchins out to go to school or not. Actually, I'm not entirely sure it happened at all.
Today, I just felt groggy and stupid.
Who knows what tomorrow will bring?
Monday, November 02, 2009
Life, in a Vacuum, Sucks
For the record, it sucks. Truly, Deeply Sucks.
So, with Saturday being Halloween, our town's Trick or Treat hours were on Saturday 5-7. Saturday was exhausting to think about: soccer game; end of season party immediately following; birthday party for a school friend; trick or treat. During T-0-T I also had to ensure that my Howler hit the neighborhood, AND made it across town (in two directions) visiting the older generation of demanding women. A plan was hatched...then rehatched.
It actually worked.
Until we got home afterwards.
She's still got the heeby-jeeby head lice. It'sbeen a migraine kind of week (with the call Monday at 3pm) and the daily hair picking (wich equals the daily hours long whinge and bitch session--HER, not me. Mine is all 100% reactionary.)
I'm trying to have a good sense of humor about this--honest, I am. But Tuesday, when she came home with 3 frisky adults AFTER I spent just over 2 hours on her head the night before (while my Sweetie spent and equal amount of time on her room and the house)
To discover on Saturday night that the 10+ hours I've already devoted to this was, effectively, useless, on top of discovering during the T-o-T route that the one aunt who gave my brother & sister in law such a hard time about THEIR dance with the lice last fall/winter (and that they were the ones that sold me down the river) had learned it.
The woman called me as soon as T-o-T was over and demanded to know if had gotten the shampoo.
What shampoo?
Did you go to the drug store and get the shampoo?
What shampoo?
To treat her head with!!!!!!!!
YES, I DID!
Don't yell at me.
To say I am hurt and angry--I mean, I know I'm lazy, and I'm not any kind of housekeeper, but to think that I would let my daughter (anyone in my house, really) have these bugs on their heads and NOT have gotten the stuff from the drugstore and treated heads ALREADY is very very insulting. The fact that she then told me to "not yell at her" when she was being this absolutely assinine-rude-insulting was too much.
The Howler was supposed to spend time at her house this week, especially over the weekend, as my Sweetie and I are going to church convention. My mom was stepped up, but it's still pissing me off--my cousin's two kids who also go to this school will end up with these thing, and the old woman is going to blame MINE, even though the Howler hasn't been near them in 3 weeks or longer.
When my Sweetie was talking to her yesterday, he said something about making sure their heads are getting checked--and I snappped. Nice and loud, and nasty, I said, "If they have 'em, she better remember they're in the school, and NOT around MY DAUGHTER."
My Sweetie is worried that I'll hold a grudge but this is different. This is just your usual, run-of-the-mill selling out by family members. I should have expected it--it's not like my brother doesn't accuse me of "telling" on him. (Once he accused me of telling a person I don't even KNOW, two days before he actually told ME anything.)
*eyeroll*
At this point, my family may actually be worse than the lice--at least with the lice, I know they don't really have any choice in being lousy.
So, with Saturday being Halloween, our town's Trick or Treat hours were on Saturday 5-7. Saturday was exhausting to think about: soccer game; end of season party immediately following; birthday party for a school friend; trick or treat. During T-0-T I also had to ensure that my Howler hit the neighborhood, AND made it across town (in two directions) visiting the older generation of demanding women. A plan was hatched...then rehatched.
It actually worked.
Until we got home afterwards.
She's still got the heeby-jeeby head lice. It'sbeen a migraine kind of week (with the call Monday at 3pm) and the daily hair picking (wich equals the daily hours long whinge and bitch session--HER, not me. Mine is all 100% reactionary.)
I'm trying to have a good sense of humor about this--honest, I am. But Tuesday, when she came home with 3 frisky adults AFTER I spent just over 2 hours on her head the night before (while my Sweetie spent and equal amount of time on her room and the house)
To discover on Saturday night that the 10+ hours I've already devoted to this was, effectively, useless, on top of discovering during the T-o-T route that the one aunt who gave my brother & sister in law such a hard time about THEIR dance with the lice last fall/winter (and that they were the ones that sold me down the river) had learned it.
The woman called me as soon as T-o-T was over and demanded to know if had gotten the shampoo.
What shampoo?
Did you go to the drug store and get the shampoo?
What shampoo?
To treat her head with!!!!!!!!
YES, I DID!
Don't yell at me.
To say I am hurt and angry--I mean, I know I'm lazy, and I'm not any kind of housekeeper, but to think that I would let my daughter (anyone in my house, really) have these bugs on their heads and NOT have gotten the stuff from the drugstore and treated heads ALREADY is very very insulting. The fact that she then told me to "not yell at her" when she was being this absolutely assinine-rude-insulting was too much.
The Howler was supposed to spend time at her house this week, especially over the weekend, as my Sweetie and I are going to church convention. My mom was stepped up, but it's still pissing me off--my cousin's two kids who also go to this school will end up with these thing, and the old woman is going to blame MINE, even though the Howler hasn't been near them in 3 weeks or longer.
When my Sweetie was talking to her yesterday, he said something about making sure their heads are getting checked--and I snappped. Nice and loud, and nasty, I said, "If they have 'em, she better remember they're in the school, and NOT around MY DAUGHTER."
My Sweetie is worried that I'll hold a grudge but this is different. This is just your usual, run-of-the-mill selling out by family members. I should have expected it--it's not like my brother doesn't accuse me of "telling" on him. (Once he accused me of telling a person I don't even KNOW, two days before he actually told ME anything.)
*eyeroll*
At this point, my family may actually be worse than the lice--at least with the lice, I know they don't really have any choice in being lousy.
Saturday, May 16, 2009
Mish Mash
So, this is what's been happening since I decided to lay down and die:
Ten days ago, I was fine.
Eight days ago, I was busy, but having fun. It was the PTA sponsored Spring Fling, and idea that, last September, seemed so far away as to be "doable." Especially considering that I was supposed to be 2nd chair, and someone else would be calling the shots. Hell, I just wanted to plant marigold seeds. Come January, the first chairperson knew she would be too busy to do it right, and admitted so. Everyone seemed to be so excited by the prospect of Spring Fling, I couldn't just say, "NO" either. I let myself be suckered. Anyway, thank the God of small miracles that another parent said he'd help. And by gum, he did help. He planned and dealt with fully 1/3 of what needed done (the first part was the marigolds, and the 2nd part was a make-yer-hat-at-home and we'll-have-a parade-at-school and with the principal's planning for the parade part, it took care of itself.) It was a blast and the kids loved it! Even getting briefly rained on.
Seven days ago, I felt like I'd been hit by a bus. Pain, exhaustion, and more pain.
Six days ago, I slept for most of Mother's day. And still felt like I'd been hit by a bus.
Five days ago, I was still tired, but not so much in pain.
Four days ago, I was still tired, but almost no pain.
Three days ago, I was so tired, I wanted to cry.
Two days ago, I was still gagging whenever I thought about the Howler's tongue. I should get pictures. Yeah, that would be "fun."
Yesterday, I was still tired and grossed out, but functional.
Today, I am tired, my feet hurt, but overall, I feel better than I've felt in a week. And I have pictures of the Howler's tongue to take.
Ten days ago, I was fine.
Eight days ago, I was busy, but having fun. It was the PTA sponsored Spring Fling, and idea that, last September, seemed so far away as to be "doable." Especially considering that I was supposed to be 2nd chair, and someone else would be calling the shots. Hell, I just wanted to plant marigold seeds. Come January, the first chairperson knew she would be too busy to do it right, and admitted so. Everyone seemed to be so excited by the prospect of Spring Fling, I couldn't just say, "NO" either. I let myself be suckered. Anyway, thank the God of small miracles that another parent said he'd help. And by gum, he did help. He planned and dealt with fully 1/3 of what needed done (the first part was the marigolds, and the 2nd part was a make-yer-hat-at-home and we'll-have-a parade-at-school and with the principal's planning for the parade part, it took care of itself.) It was a blast and the kids loved it! Even getting briefly rained on.
Seven days ago, I felt like I'd been hit by a bus. Pain, exhaustion, and more pain.
Six days ago, I slept for most of Mother's day. And still felt like I'd been hit by a bus.
Five days ago, I was still tired, but not so much in pain.
Four days ago, I was still tired, but almost no pain.
Three days ago, I was so tired, I wanted to cry.
Two days ago, I was still gagging whenever I thought about the Howler's tongue. I should get pictures. Yeah, that would be "fun."
Yesterday, I was still tired and grossed out, but functional.
Today, I am tired, my feet hurt, but overall, I feel better than I've felt in a week. And I have pictures of the Howler's tongue to take.
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Unorthodoxy
I have just been informed that I am "unorthodox."
Most specifically, this is what the pede told me yesterday about how we're dosing the Howler with her asthma preventatives. Good thing he's not the swearing-yelling kind, eh?
I knew I'd be told about it, but for an office whose attitude for violent reactions to meds is "So stop giving it to her." I really didn't feel like arguing with a nurse. Plus, my own investigations into options left me with inhalers (those things are POWDER, not aersol/mist) as preventatives, or the best options will not be available to her until further study or she's 12 years old.
And, in my un-medical school educated defense, it was working. With none of the side effects kicking in. With feedback from the school that she is rarely having to sit out in gym class, and most of that being her way of showing her unhappiness at the gym class activity, not because of asthma.
I do not have 6 years to wait. She was already missing out on some activities, or relying too heavily on the abuterol inhaler (that one IS a mist.) Or losing restful sleep. Or happiness.
If the Advair we were given yesterday doesn't work out, I think we may have to have the guideline that she use the albuterol before gym and/or outside recess. (Inside recess is more quiet play.)
I don't think the pede liked that I questioned the approved usage of his first choice of a replacement. But then, he may not remember that a few years ago, he tried to give me an antibiotic for a virus, and I questioned that. He probably also thought that a nutjob parent who would dose their child in an "unorthodox" manner like I was, wouldn't be too concerned about age guidelines on other options.
He probably wrote in her chart that I am nuts. Which is fine, because that's not the only "permanent record" that has that diagnosis.
Most specifically, this is what the pede told me yesterday about how we're dosing the Howler with her asthma preventatives. Good thing he's not the swearing-yelling kind, eh?
I knew I'd be told about it, but for an office whose attitude for violent reactions to meds is "So stop giving it to her." I really didn't feel like arguing with a nurse. Plus, my own investigations into options left me with inhalers (those things are POWDER, not aersol/mist) as preventatives, or the best options will not be available to her until further study or she's 12 years old.
And, in my un-medical school educated defense, it was working. With none of the side effects kicking in. With feedback from the school that she is rarely having to sit out in gym class, and most of that being her way of showing her unhappiness at the gym class activity, not because of asthma.
I do not have 6 years to wait. She was already missing out on some activities, or relying too heavily on the abuterol inhaler (that one IS a mist.) Or losing restful sleep. Or happiness.
If the Advair we were given yesterday doesn't work out, I think we may have to have the guideline that she use the albuterol before gym and/or outside recess. (Inside recess is more quiet play.)
I don't think the pede liked that I questioned the approved usage of his first choice of a replacement. But then, he may not remember that a few years ago, he tried to give me an antibiotic for a virus, and I questioned that. He probably also thought that a nutjob parent who would dose their child in an "unorthodox" manner like I was, wouldn't be too concerned about age guidelines on other options.
He probably wrote in her chart that I am nuts. Which is fine, because that's not the only "permanent record" that has that diagnosis.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Sickos
For Christmas, my True Love blessed me with a cold. The Gift That Keeps On Giving.
Of course, what it means is that he gave me snot. Lots and lots of snot.
At this point, I'm tired. Tired of being sick. Tired of being tired. I'm TIRED. And sleep isn't something that I get much of, what with my Sweetie being who he is.
He'll be mortified (yet again) when I explain that he has been known to hump my leg in his sleep. He also touches me. And sometimes, when that's not annoying enough, he'll smack his lips and whimper in his sleep too. (In his defense, he likes me--really really really likes me, and that's good, but I'd prefer that he didn't like me so much when he's asleep. I feel guilty slugging him upside the head then.) He tells me I snore. Like that is justification for annoying the crap out of me when I'm sleeping.
Do you know how hard it is to sleep when someone is pawing at you? No? Well, it's really hard to get rest AND fight off the octopus, just so you know. And I'm grumpy when I wake up on a good morning--how grumpy, exactly can you imagine me? Yeah, well, add about 20 points to that, and that's what I am like on a not-good morning.
So, back to the Gift That Keeps On Giving. He gives me this cold. He starts to feel better, and we go to visit his parents. Mom the Saint and Dad of the Wood Burner and Sauna Temps. It's impossible for me to breathe there. And since I ain't breathing, I ain't sleeping well, either. So, I'm sick and miserable.
Then I start to feel better. And my True Love infects me again. Great, right? At least that means that I'm not ignoring him.
Yeah, well, I'm about to petition the courts for a reprieve. What crud do I have this time? Stuffed up head--mostly sinuses--that won't clear for DayQuil nor Robitussin. Cough that makes my stomach hurt and my eyes go blurry. My brain in a constant fog. And that's a good day. Vicks Vaporub is now my best friend.
This is about how much my True Love loves me.
Last night, I go to bed early (for me) and get comfy. I just start to drop off to sleep, and the stupid cat decides now is the time to come snuggle up. Once she gets settled, I start to drop off again. My True Love realizes in his sleep that I am there--and he rolls over, and ever-so-gently finds my face with his hand.
He gently places his hand over my one open sinus.
Sure, it doesn't last long (apparently his *DANGER* sensors work in his sleep, too.) But, my moment is now ruined.
I am awake.
So, I carefully shift positions (to not encourage above mentioned sleep touching) and I find that I have EXACTLY the amount of space my body, minus arms, would take up.
Between the cat, who ain't moving with a severe kick (and she'll be back, oh, yes, she will) and my True Love who has apparently decided that if the mucus doesn't suffocate me, he will.
He now has his boniest bone (and not the good one, btw) jammed into my spleen. To say I am uncomfortable is the epitome of understatement.
I get up. I wait 30 minutes, then stagger back up to bed.
He asks me if I'm okay. "Yes, I'm okay."
He asks me if I went to take something for my cold. "No. I did that before I came up to bed the first time."
"Were you looking for a stick to beat me with?"
"You AND the cat both, yes."
He tells me tonight that I am very bitchy.
Geez. I wonder why.
Of course, what it means is that he gave me snot. Lots and lots of snot.
At this point, I'm tired. Tired of being sick. Tired of being tired. I'm TIRED. And sleep isn't something that I get much of, what with my Sweetie being who he is.
He'll be mortified (yet again) when I explain that he has been known to hump my leg in his sleep. He also touches me. And sometimes, when that's not annoying enough, he'll smack his lips and whimper in his sleep too. (In his defense, he likes me--really really really likes me, and that's good, but I'd prefer that he didn't like me so much when he's asleep. I feel guilty slugging him upside the head then.) He tells me I snore. Like that is justification for annoying the crap out of me when I'm sleeping.
Do you know how hard it is to sleep when someone is pawing at you? No? Well, it's really hard to get rest AND fight off the octopus, just so you know. And I'm grumpy when I wake up on a good morning--how grumpy, exactly can you imagine me? Yeah, well, add about 20 points to that, and that's what I am like on a not-good morning.
So, back to the Gift That Keeps On Giving. He gives me this cold. He starts to feel better, and we go to visit his parents. Mom the Saint and Dad of the Wood Burner and Sauna Temps. It's impossible for me to breathe there. And since I ain't breathing, I ain't sleeping well, either. So, I'm sick and miserable.
Then I start to feel better. And my True Love infects me again. Great, right? At least that means that I'm not ignoring him.
Yeah, well, I'm about to petition the courts for a reprieve. What crud do I have this time? Stuffed up head--mostly sinuses--that won't clear for DayQuil nor Robitussin. Cough that makes my stomach hurt and my eyes go blurry. My brain in a constant fog. And that's a good day. Vicks Vaporub is now my best friend.
This is about how much my True Love loves me.
Last night, I go to bed early (for me) and get comfy. I just start to drop off to sleep, and the stupid cat decides now is the time to come snuggle up. Once she gets settled, I start to drop off again. My True Love realizes in his sleep that I am there--and he rolls over, and ever-so-gently finds my face with his hand.
He gently places his hand over my one open sinus.
Sure, it doesn't last long (apparently his *DANGER* sensors work in his sleep, too.) But, my moment is now ruined.
I am awake.
So, I carefully shift positions (to not encourage above mentioned sleep touching) and I find that I have EXACTLY the amount of space my body, minus arms, would take up.
Between the cat, who ain't moving with a severe kick (and she'll be back, oh, yes, she will) and my True Love who has apparently decided that if the mucus doesn't suffocate me, he will.
He now has his boniest bone (and not the good one, btw) jammed into my spleen. To say I am uncomfortable is the epitome of understatement.
I get up. I wait 30 minutes, then stagger back up to bed.
He asks me if I'm okay. "Yes, I'm okay."
He asks me if I went to take something for my cold. "No. I did that before I came up to bed the first time."
"Were you looking for a stick to beat me with?"
"You AND the cat both, yes."
He tells me tonight that I am very bitchy.
Geez. I wonder why.
Sunday, October 26, 2008
'Splain Please
My birthday was at the beginning of the month. Now, for those who know me, they know that I don't make a big deal of my birthday, simply because there have been too many not-so-fun things that usually occur on that particular day. (I also decided that if I wanted to not make such a big deal out of other people's birthdays--therefore *getting off cheap* to quote my mother--I needed to have much the same attitude towards mine.
Most of the background, though, involves stories of plans made and broken due to: projectile vomiting; sparking appliances; and/or expensive car repair. None of it was worth it (and none of it--the fancy plans OR the minor disasters--made those birthdays more memorable.) I decided after the projectile vomiting that skipping the *specialness* of the day was way better for morale and bank accounts than trying to make my birthday worth the effort.
This year, my yearly exams were scheduled for the week following. Two doctors, two days. Lovely. Especially when that 2nd night, I started getting sick. Yeah, baby. So worth it.
But that's not what I need to have 'splained to me.
This is: On Monday, Doc #1 told me, and I quote, "You're young yet." But on Tuesday, Doc #2 tells me, and I quote, "You're not so young anymore, you know."
So, who do I believe? Doc-man, who is, himself, in his mid- to late-forties, or Doc-chick, who is probably all of 28?
In all honesty, the two biggest age related issues I have is that I just wish with all my might that this aging-as-woman thing would get the hell started (and therefore, OVER) and, at the exact same time, my brain needs to stop spinning at the thought that the songs I danced to at my senior prom are now considered "Oldies." I also would very much like to stop saying (Yes, out loud) "Holy CRAP! It was TWENTY FREAKING YEARS AGO! Am I old enough to be thinking in decades?"
Somebody 'splain WHO, ezzacktedly I'm supposed to believe on this young-old thing. And, somebody, please get these two docs together on their diagnosis.
Most of the background, though, involves stories of plans made and broken due to: projectile vomiting; sparking appliances; and/or expensive car repair. None of it was worth it (and none of it--the fancy plans OR the minor disasters--made those birthdays more memorable.) I decided after the projectile vomiting that skipping the *specialness* of the day was way better for morale and bank accounts than trying to make my birthday worth the effort.
This year, my yearly exams were scheduled for the week following. Two doctors, two days. Lovely. Especially when that 2nd night, I started getting sick. Yeah, baby. So worth it.
But that's not what I need to have 'splained to me.
This is: On Monday, Doc #1 told me, and I quote, "You're young yet." But on Tuesday, Doc #2 tells me, and I quote, "You're not so young anymore, you know."
So, who do I believe? Doc-man, who is, himself, in his mid- to late-forties, or Doc-chick, who is probably all of 28?
In all honesty, the two biggest age related issues I have is that I just wish with all my might that this aging-as-woman thing would get the hell started (and therefore, OVER) and, at the exact same time, my brain needs to stop spinning at the thought that the songs I danced to at my senior prom are now considered "Oldies." I also would very much like to stop saying (Yes, out loud) "Holy CRAP! It was TWENTY FREAKING YEARS AGO! Am I old enough to be thinking in decades?"
Somebody 'splain WHO, ezzacktedly I'm supposed to believe on this young-old thing. And, somebody, please get these two docs together on their diagnosis.
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Little Buggers
Before I begin, if you're of the Old School Opinion that head lice is a *dirty* thing--skip this. I don't need to hear it.
This is apparently the Summer of the Bugs.
First, the Howler and her friends were collecting them. Creepy, and the only thing that saved me from having the house infested with some of them was the many-uttered edict "NOT IN MY HOUSE!" and violent heaving out the door of anything bug-like.
Second, there's head lice going around. Joy. As if that's not ewwww enough, I have to know people whose children have gotten them. Those people whose children have played with mine in the preceding three days before discovery. Double Joy.
Like I want the stress and inconvenience of it all.
But this rant is more about the absolute dysfunction of some of the people around me. I've ranted enough about OPK, now let me explain about OPKP (Other People's Kids' Parents).
It sucks to be a sane, rational person in a neighborhood with a Village Idiot. Seriously.
These people, who respectively, have one daughter each, are morons, and prove, yet again, that most people should be tested and approved before conceiving.
In the past 3 months, Loser Boy/Village Idiot #1 has, for no reason whatsoever, called me a "slut." My responses (as no one else has heard him) kept to the *sweet smile* "Like your loser opinion matters to me." It's not snappy, but there were children around, and I was not going to have him thinking that HE has any power in my life-I also knew that no one else could hear him, and making a big deal of it would make ME look like some sort of nutjob. Ignoring everything he has to say thereafter seemed to drive the point home. I can tell you that if it happens again, he's getting the full Mumple treatment--and I guarantee you, he's not gonna like it.
Village Idiot #2, his *wife*--she's not much better, parenting wise, than Loser Boy. Lazy about it. Counts on the compassion of others to help her take care of her children. She's hauled her daughter, or his, to work with her, and had them duck down behind the counter or into the back room because neither of them could figure out how to get a freaking babysitter. I ended up with HIS daughter one afternoon because my husband stopped in, felt bad for the little girl, and called me to help out. I said, "OK" but made sure that I repeated, many times, what time I had to leave for work that day. I would not be late, nor would I call off--not to cover their asses. They tried, though--I ended up taking their child back to work on my way to work. I also told my husband that I would NEVER AGAIN agree.
I don't like kids, and, rude as it sounds, this wasn't MY daughter. I make sure MY daughter has supervision and care when I need to go to work, and it doesn't involve locking her out of the house and hoping that the neighbors cover for me. (Yeah, they've done this one, too.)
Considering that Loser Boy's Squirrel Bait mother lives right next door and refuses to babysit these little girls for them, it's most definitely NOT my problem.
But on with my rant: One neighbor & friend calls us last night to tell us that Village Idiot #2's daughter has head lice. They called HER, wanting HER to do something about it. She called to warn us.
Next thing I know, I get a call from Village Idiot #2, not to tell me to check my daughter and be prepared, but to mention repeatedly how she was at work, Squirrel Bait has the victim, and Loser Boy is at home. Between these geniuses, they have 2 cars and all 3 are capable of driving. NONE of them can go get the RID to treat this little girl's head. VI#2 says she's a work and *can't* on top of the fact that she has no money with her besides.
Loser Boy and Squirrel Bait can't go either. I assume they're both using the "It's not my daughter" excuse. Never mind that there's a little girl, who is part of their chosen family, infested with the buggers.
None of them can "figure out" where she got them, either. My Sweetie knows--Loser Boy's Psycho Sister's kids had them two weeks ago--and they spent a few days visiting Squirrel Bait. Psycho Sister is a vindictive, selfish wench, and she's sent the kids to school and babysitter with infectious things before, so I would guess that head lice and MY neighborhood wouldn't be that much of a problem for her.
So, they drop hints at me--like I'm going to ensure my family's vermin exposure to be the grown up they need. These people are supposedly adults. And they're calling me to come play "Mommy" for them, and to them. He was in the Marines. She was in the service also--Army, I believe. Squirrel Bait raised children. Like I said, supposedly adults. She even dropped hints that she needed someone she could trust to wash the girl's hair for her.
I am astounded that these people think that I'm going to drop everything and rescue them. I apparently strike these people as a *mother hen* type--or a rescuer. Or something along the lines of a doormat, who will do whatever it takes to help them out. They're obviously not paying attention.
I'm so hoping they ASK me about it...oooo. Yes, I am.
This is apparently the Summer of the Bugs.
First, the Howler and her friends were collecting them. Creepy, and the only thing that saved me from having the house infested with some of them was the many-uttered edict "NOT IN MY HOUSE!" and violent heaving out the door of anything bug-like.
Second, there's head lice going around. Joy. As if that's not ewwww enough, I have to know people whose children have gotten them. Those people whose children have played with mine in the preceding three days before discovery. Double Joy.
Like I want the stress and inconvenience of it all.
But this rant is more about the absolute dysfunction of some of the people around me. I've ranted enough about OPK, now let me explain about OPKP (Other People's Kids' Parents).
It sucks to be a sane, rational person in a neighborhood with a Village Idiot. Seriously.
These people, who respectively, have one daughter each, are morons, and prove, yet again, that most people should be tested and approved before conceiving.
In the past 3 months, Loser Boy/Village Idiot #1 has, for no reason whatsoever, called me a "slut." My responses (as no one else has heard him) kept to the *sweet smile* "Like your loser opinion matters to me." It's not snappy, but there were children around, and I was not going to have him thinking that HE has any power in my life-I also knew that no one else could hear him, and making a big deal of it would make ME look like some sort of nutjob. Ignoring everything he has to say thereafter seemed to drive the point home. I can tell you that if it happens again, he's getting the full Mumple treatment--and I guarantee you, he's not gonna like it.
Village Idiot #2, his *wife*--she's not much better, parenting wise, than Loser Boy. Lazy about it. Counts on the compassion of others to help her take care of her children. She's hauled her daughter, or his, to work with her, and had them duck down behind the counter or into the back room because neither of them could figure out how to get a freaking babysitter. I ended up with HIS daughter one afternoon because my husband stopped in, felt bad for the little girl, and called me to help out. I said, "OK" but made sure that I repeated, many times, what time I had to leave for work that day. I would not be late, nor would I call off--not to cover their asses. They tried, though--I ended up taking their child back to work on my way to work. I also told my husband that I would NEVER AGAIN agree.
I don't like kids, and, rude as it sounds, this wasn't MY daughter. I make sure MY daughter has supervision and care when I need to go to work, and it doesn't involve locking her out of the house and hoping that the neighbors cover for me. (Yeah, they've done this one, too.)
Considering that Loser Boy's Squirrel Bait mother lives right next door and refuses to babysit these little girls for them, it's most definitely NOT my problem.
But on with my rant: One neighbor & friend calls us last night to tell us that Village Idiot #2's daughter has head lice. They called HER, wanting HER to do something about it. She called to warn us.
Next thing I know, I get a call from Village Idiot #2, not to tell me to check my daughter and be prepared, but to mention repeatedly how she was at work, Squirrel Bait has the victim, and Loser Boy is at home. Between these geniuses, they have 2 cars and all 3 are capable of driving. NONE of them can go get the RID to treat this little girl's head. VI#2 says she's a work and *can't* on top of the fact that she has no money with her besides.
Loser Boy and Squirrel Bait can't go either. I assume they're both using the "It's not my daughter" excuse. Never mind that there's a little girl, who is part of their chosen family, infested with the buggers.
None of them can "figure out" where she got them, either. My Sweetie knows--Loser Boy's Psycho Sister's kids had them two weeks ago--and they spent a few days visiting Squirrel Bait. Psycho Sister is a vindictive, selfish wench, and she's sent the kids to school and babysitter with infectious things before, so I would guess that head lice and MY neighborhood wouldn't be that much of a problem for her.
So, they drop hints at me--like I'm going to ensure my family's vermin exposure to be the grown up they need. These people are supposedly adults. And they're calling me to come play "Mommy" for them, and to them. He was in the Marines. She was in the service also--Army, I believe. Squirrel Bait raised children. Like I said, supposedly adults. She even dropped hints that she needed someone she could trust to wash the girl's hair for her.
I am astounded that these people think that I'm going to drop everything and rescue them. I apparently strike these people as a *mother hen* type--or a rescuer. Or something along the lines of a doormat, who will do whatever it takes to help them out. They're obviously not paying attention.
I'm so hoping they ASK me about it...oooo. Yes, I am.
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
OW!
My back decided that today would be a good day to seize--apparently, the response, "Upright and breathing" when asked "How are you?" needed to be stopped.
I am, for the record, mostly upright. And that is thanks to pity on the part of the managers at work. No way I would've been able to stay at work, even for those paltry 6 hours, without a chair. Although, to be fair, it also had to do with the need to cut hours and not having a body to stand in my place.
And still, I'd forget and move the wrong way. OWie!
I'm currently a little buzzed from the muscle relaxers. Niiiiiice. I walk funny, and I actually say, out loud, "Owie." How sad...
Except that I, at least, am not the woman who came in tonight in her pajamas. Maybe she thought it was a dress, but I swear it looked like the nightshirt that Wee Willie Winkie is wearing in EVERY illustation I've ever seen of him.
I am, for the record, mostly upright. And that is thanks to pity on the part of the managers at work. No way I would've been able to stay at work, even for those paltry 6 hours, without a chair. Although, to be fair, it also had to do with the need to cut hours and not having a body to stand in my place.
And still, I'd forget and move the wrong way. OWie!
I'm currently a little buzzed from the muscle relaxers. Niiiiiice. I walk funny, and I actually say, out loud, "Owie." How sad...
Except that I, at least, am not the woman who came in tonight in her pajamas. Maybe she thought it was a dress, but I swear it looked like the nightshirt that Wee Willie Winkie is wearing in EVERY illustation I've ever seen of him.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Quarantine
The Mumples should be, by this time next week, on a full-fledged government crackdown--we should be forcibly quarantined.
The Howler started puking AGAIN this morning at 4:30am. I got to hold her little body as it was wracked with the spasms. I got to hold back her hair. I got to talk to ButtCrack at 5:30am to inform them that I was, yet again, not coming to work due to copious amounts of vomit.
While I'm sure they're happy that I'm not actively infecting others, I'm sure they're sitting around doubting that we're bringing it all up. That I am, in fact, making it all up. I wish I were. I'd rather get sleep during the hours of 4am and 6am. I'd rather not be holding anyone's head in the bucket (or toilet). I'd really, truly, honestly, rather be at work--even if it's Freak Day and they're bussing them in.
I'd also rather not argue with the 5 year old about whether or not she's taking the meds; I'd rather not listen to 2 solid hours of whinging about how her tummy hurts and whyyyyyyyyyyyy can't she have milk and cereal for breakfast.
I'd rather have dental work sans novacaine. I'd rather have an internal exam by a guy who hates women. I'd rather gouge my own eyes out; chew my own leg off; watch Wonder Pets for 6 hours with no commercial breaks.
Can a person actually apply for a quarantine?
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Typhoid Teddy
He finally managed to infect me.
He decided, after months of nagging, to actually start brushing his teeth. And gargling.
I told him repeatedly that he needed to get the disposable cups (screw the environment right now--you'll see in a minute why) and to NOT leave them EVER just sitting on the sink. I didn't care if he threw them out immediately after using them, but if they hung out on the sink, the Howler would use 'em and then SHE'd be sick. Which means my Sweetie and I being infected would happen within days, also.
So what does the stupid f* of a Toad do? He uses non-disposable, plastic cups; and PUTS THEM IN THE CUP HOLDER.
Being 1/2 awake at 3am getting a drink of water means that I don't focus, I simply pick up the cup and USE it.
And now, my eyes feel as if they are shrinking (while my sinuses are expanding) my head hurts enough to make me want to cut it off, sleep doesn't help much, the nasal drip is annoying and disgusting, and at one point this morning, my throat tried to crawl out of my body.
And he can't figure out why I'm totally pissed off.
It's like he's the only person on the entire freaking planet.
I've got enough crap from work without adding infecting all of them and missing more work because of illness. (I don't sweat any body the time/pay if I am sick and miss, but they sure get their knickers in knots over my calling off--even if I haven't in months.) He's the most selfish asshole on the planet. I want to beat him more senseless than he already is.
He decided, after months of nagging, to actually start brushing his teeth. And gargling.
I told him repeatedly that he needed to get the disposable cups (screw the environment right now--you'll see in a minute why) and to NOT leave them EVER just sitting on the sink. I didn't care if he threw them out immediately after using them, but if they hung out on the sink, the Howler would use 'em and then SHE'd be sick. Which means my Sweetie and I being infected would happen within days, also.
So what does the stupid f* of a Toad do? He uses non-disposable, plastic cups; and PUTS THEM IN THE CUP HOLDER.
Being 1/2 awake at 3am getting a drink of water means that I don't focus, I simply pick up the cup and USE it.
And now, my eyes feel as if they are shrinking (while my sinuses are expanding) my head hurts enough to make me want to cut it off, sleep doesn't help much, the nasal drip is annoying and disgusting, and at one point this morning, my throat tried to crawl out of my body.
And he can't figure out why I'm totally pissed off.
It's like he's the only person on the entire freaking planet.
I've got enough crap from work without adding infecting all of them and missing more work because of illness. (I don't sweat any body the time/pay if I am sick and miss, but they sure get their knickers in knots over my calling off--even if I haven't in months.) He's the most selfish asshole on the planet. I want to beat him more senseless than he already is.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
My 2 Cents
I've read (and re-read) MommyK's blog about Pregnancy & Violence.
I have no personal history with violent relationships (came close a few times--close enough to make me wonder what it is about me that kept these jerks from actually hitting me), and the one time I truly felt stalked was back in college, in the late 80's. Unfortunately, that asshole had done this enough times that the mutual friends we had thought nothing of it--and advised me to "just let him have his way" so he'd leave me alone. (No, those *friendships* didn't last long, especially after my sister offered to beat the living hell out of him AND all those mutual *friends*--thank you, so much, sis, for that. I didn't fully understand then, but I do now.)
Anyway, here's why I'm thinking on this.
I work with a young girl--a girl who could be, literally, my daughter. She graduated with the Toad. The Toad has told me some things about her--what she was like, and when I put that together with the stories I've heard at work from some of the guys who worked with her mother at one point, I honestly don't think this girl has anyone who cares for her, just for her. (Even the worst things I've said about the Toad don't even come close to what this woman said about her daughter.)
Whatever else the girl is, she doesn't deserve to have HER MOTHER saying these things about her. And I worry that she deserves better, but that she doesn't even KNOW that there is better out there.
The girl is pregnant, and I wonder, even for the way she talks about her BF, if he doesn't treat her shabbily. I wonder if he may push or slap at her. She has questions about what's happening with her body, but doesn't have anyone she can ask.
One night in December, after the store closed at 9pm, we were leaving--it was already after 9:30pm, and her mother was coming from a town about 15-20 minutes drive to pick her up. She called her mom to see how soon she'd be there--her mother hadn't even started the car to warm it up yet! Now, this is on a night when the temps her freezing and the windchill factor (the store sits on a very windy hill!) were very much well-below freezing.
My heart breaks for her--because, in all honesty, I was barely out of my teens when I was unmarried and pregnant with the Toad.
What can I do to make a difference? Our jobs do not allow for more than "hi" and "bye" really. How do I talk to this young woman about these things--without seeming preachy and know-it-all?
It's not always a clear-cut case of stepping in or giving out a number. It's not always as simple as dialing 911, or *being there*--sometimes, it's gut feeling and a hope that you can make contact and get through.
I have no personal history with violent relationships (came close a few times--close enough to make me wonder what it is about me that kept these jerks from actually hitting me), and the one time I truly felt stalked was back in college, in the late 80's. Unfortunately, that asshole had done this enough times that the mutual friends we had thought nothing of it--and advised me to "just let him have his way" so he'd leave me alone. (No, those *friendships* didn't last long, especially after my sister offered to beat the living hell out of him AND all those mutual *friends*--thank you, so much, sis, for that. I didn't fully understand then, but I do now.)
Anyway, here's why I'm thinking on this.
I work with a young girl--a girl who could be, literally, my daughter. She graduated with the Toad. The Toad has told me some things about her--what she was like, and when I put that together with the stories I've heard at work from some of the guys who worked with her mother at one point, I honestly don't think this girl has anyone who cares for her, just for her. (Even the worst things I've said about the Toad don't even come close to what this woman said about her daughter.)
Whatever else the girl is, she doesn't deserve to have HER MOTHER saying these things about her. And I worry that she deserves better, but that she doesn't even KNOW that there is better out there.
The girl is pregnant, and I wonder, even for the way she talks about her BF, if he doesn't treat her shabbily. I wonder if he may push or slap at her. She has questions about what's happening with her body, but doesn't have anyone she can ask.
One night in December, after the store closed at 9pm, we were leaving--it was already after 9:30pm, and her mother was coming from a town about 15-20 minutes drive to pick her up. She called her mom to see how soon she'd be there--her mother hadn't even started the car to warm it up yet! Now, this is on a night when the temps her freezing and the windchill factor (the store sits on a very windy hill!) were very much well-below freezing.
My heart breaks for her--because, in all honesty, I was barely out of my teens when I was unmarried and pregnant with the Toad.
What can I do to make a difference? Our jobs do not allow for more than "hi" and "bye" really. How do I talk to this young woman about these things--without seeming preachy and know-it-all?
It's not always a clear-cut case of stepping in or giving out a number. It's not always as simple as dialing 911, or *being there*--sometimes, it's gut feeling and a hope that you can make contact and get through.
Monday, January 07, 2008
But I Play One On TV
Toadwort is sick. He had strep before Christmas. He took the antibiotic, religiously. I know it's hard to believe, but he did. Apparently, he is afraid of strep. Good Boy.
Now, he's complaining of a sore throat again, and I've looked at it. Bleck. It's disgusting again. It turned the nurse and the PA green before Christmas, and it's not looking too good now.
It's bad enough that he actually called the doc's today and got another appointment to see them. He stopped here briefly, to tell me that they did culture it and sent it to the lab to see if there's something else besides the strep growing in there. Now, that's a comforting thought! NOT!
Anyway, my mother is now on a jag that he needs to have his tonsils out. Never mind that he rarely got sick as a child (even though he was exposed to just about everything that came down the pike). Nevermind that he's had, including this round of strep, 2 cases of strep throat. He was more susceptible to sinus infections.
Then, again, this is a woman who insisted that he had an ear infection because as an older infant he would hold his ear as he drank a bottle when he was sleepy.
Of course, she went to NBC Medical School--you know, that school where you watch ER whether your friends would all be talking about it the next day or not.
*sigh* She's not a doctor, but she watches them on TV.
Now, he's complaining of a sore throat again, and I've looked at it. Bleck. It's disgusting again. It turned the nurse and the PA green before Christmas, and it's not looking too good now.
It's bad enough that he actually called the doc's today and got another appointment to see them. He stopped here briefly, to tell me that they did culture it and sent it to the lab to see if there's something else besides the strep growing in there. Now, that's a comforting thought! NOT!
Anyway, my mother is now on a jag that he needs to have his tonsils out. Never mind that he rarely got sick as a child (even though he was exposed to just about everything that came down the pike). Nevermind that he's had, including this round of strep, 2 cases of strep throat. He was more susceptible to sinus infections.
Then, again, this is a woman who insisted that he had an ear infection because as an older infant he would hold his ear as he drank a bottle when he was sleepy.
Of course, she went to NBC Medical School--you know, that school where you watch ER whether your friends would all be talking about it the next day or not.
*sigh* She's not a doctor, but she watches them on TV.
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