Earlier this week, LG Smith at Bards and Prophets went into full mommy mode and told me to quit with the blogging already and get to work. It was just in a comment, but I could see her standing there giving me the same look I give my kids.
Instead of taking her advice, I consumed large amounts of coffee, did some of my homework, wrote a chapter, and read everyone's posts (I hope I got to everyone). I even cleaned my house and watched some TV. By bedtime last night, I was ahead of schedule with my homework for the week. I felt awesome and optimistic.
But because the universe needs balance and loves to mess with me, I woke up feeling incredibly sick.
So I did not do my homework.
I did not write.
I did not clean.
I honestly don't remember if I read a single blog post this morning.
I did let my mind work on my novel while watching a marathon of Say Yes to the Dress. I clarified my characters and worked out a few scenes. I'm going to count that as writing for 20 minutes even though I didn't write a word. Fingers crossed I remember it in the morning - maybe I should jot down some notes or something....
Now I'm super behind on my homework. I need to read one more very dense chapter of literary theory - it's about 25 pages. I've been getting through the chapters at the rate of about two pages in 30 minutes (yes, I'm paying money for this). Even though it's a hard read, I can see the benefit of it already - it's helping me look at my stories from new perspectives, which is cool.
Starting now I'll be taking LG's advice. I will drop out of the blogosphere until I get my homework done and get through the tough part of my novel (the actual writing of the words).
Feel free to scold me if I pop in. I probably will.
Actually, I do owe Julie Flanders a post to promote her novel - I will get to that next week. Promise. Meanwhile, just go to her site and check out her cover and blurb - it looks amazing.
Showing posts with label sickness. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sickness. Show all posts
Thursday, January 24, 2013
Monday, February 27, 2012
A Surprise at the Urgent Care
My little guy was sick over the weekend. He had an ear infection. We took him to the local urgent care that's run by the local children's hospital, the hospital my husband and I used to work for several years ago.
My humble opinion is that you never know what you're going to get with urgent care doctors. My assumption is that residents work at urgent care to pay back their student loans. I can't think of any reason an established doctor with superb skills would be motivated to work at an urgent care.
My son's urgent care random doctor of the day was the chief of surgery (or maybe medicine, but I think surgery). It's been about five years since I stopped working there; my assumption is he's semi-retired now or maybe just slumming it in the urgent care for fun on a Sunday morning.
The incongruence of the best doctor the place has ever seen checking my little man's ears strikes me as being an absurd anomaly. It also struck me as hilarious that he was so low key about who he was and that no other patients would know they had the best doctor ever looking down their kids' throats. I wanted to peek my head in the room of the kid whose mom I chatted with in the waiting room. She was worried about whether they were going to give her child a good diagnosis in an urgent care. I wanted to tell her who he was and that she could trust whatever he said. But I didn't - I let him carry on with his disguise as a normal doctor. Obviously, that was what he wanted or he would be home doing anything else.
So once again, I didn't write much this past weekend. I planned to write more this morning but got a migraine last night at ten o'clock. One thing that helps my migraines is fatty beef - so despite my veganism, I ate a whopper. Like magic, my headache is gone this morning, so I'm going to write while I can. Forgive me if I don't get to everyone's posts this morning. Migraines affect my vision; if it comes back, I'm done for the day.
My humble opinion is that you never know what you're going to get with urgent care doctors. My assumption is that residents work at urgent care to pay back their student loans. I can't think of any reason an established doctor with superb skills would be motivated to work at an urgent care.
My son's urgent care random doctor of the day was the chief of surgery (or maybe medicine, but I think surgery). It's been about five years since I stopped working there; my assumption is he's semi-retired now or maybe just slumming it in the urgent care for fun on a Sunday morning.
The incongruence of the best doctor the place has ever seen checking my little man's ears strikes me as being an absurd anomaly. It also struck me as hilarious that he was so low key about who he was and that no other patients would know they had the best doctor ever looking down their kids' throats. I wanted to peek my head in the room of the kid whose mom I chatted with in the waiting room. She was worried about whether they were going to give her child a good diagnosis in an urgent care. I wanted to tell her who he was and that she could trust whatever he said. But I didn't - I let him carry on with his disguise as a normal doctor. Obviously, that was what he wanted or he would be home doing anything else.
So once again, I didn't write much this past weekend. I planned to write more this morning but got a migraine last night at ten o'clock. One thing that helps my migraines is fatty beef - so despite my veganism, I ate a whopper. Like magic, my headache is gone this morning, so I'm going to write while I can. Forgive me if I don't get to everyone's posts this morning. Migraines affect my vision; if it comes back, I'm done for the day.
Monday, January 9, 2012
Getting the Writing Done With Sick Kids
I'm finally back in writing mode. Over the last week, I managed to write 2200 words of a short story and added 1000 words to my novel. Monday through Wednesday are mornings I have set aside to write and do nothing else. This week I was going to dive into my novel and get a huge chunk of it knocked out.
But the mommy gig comes first, and one of my kids is sick.
My immediate impulse this morning was to give up on writing for the day and try again tomorrow. But he's comfortable on the couch watching TV and resting, he isn't puking, he's been fed, and I'm right here at my desk if he needs me. So I'm going to write in half hour chunks this morning and see how it goes. I feel like I should be sitting next to him and feel incredibly guilty, but the fact is he's fine and isn't feeling neglected. I am probably annoying him by fussing over him instead of letting him sleep it off.
I know it's mostly mommy guilt that makes me want to walk away from my desk. We can never do enough especially when our kids are sick, even if we are doing everything. And maybe a little bit of what I'm feeling is procrastination - a sick kid is the most excellent excuse for not writing. But I know I'll feel great about myself if I write even a few pages, and I'll feel terrible if I don't. So I write.
But the mommy gig comes first, and one of my kids is sick.
My immediate impulse this morning was to give up on writing for the day and try again tomorrow. But he's comfortable on the couch watching TV and resting, he isn't puking, he's been fed, and I'm right here at my desk if he needs me. So I'm going to write in half hour chunks this morning and see how it goes. I feel like I should be sitting next to him and feel incredibly guilty, but the fact is he's fine and isn't feeling neglected. I am probably annoying him by fussing over him instead of letting him sleep it off.
I know it's mostly mommy guilt that makes me want to walk away from my desk. We can never do enough especially when our kids are sick, even if we are doing everything. And maybe a little bit of what I'm feeling is procrastination - a sick kid is the most excellent excuse for not writing. But I know I'll feel great about myself if I write even a few pages, and I'll feel terrible if I don't. So I write.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
Back on Track
I am very excited to get myself back on track with my writing projects.
This week, I somehow found the time to read the first three chapters of my new novel and mark up the edits. This morning, I was able to finalize the edits in my electronic version. I can't wait to share the chapters with my writing partner. I feel like these two chapters are as perfect I can get them. They are done (except for whatever suggestions my writing partner may offer). I can feel the excitement of this in my entire body, like an adrenaline rush. If I could jump up and down, I would.
This feeling, knowing I nailed it, is why I love to write and why I know I'll be successful at it. It's like heroine to me. I can't imagine feeling a more pleasurable high.
Back toward the end of winter, I wrote about how I did an extreme detailed design for this novel, the way I used to do detailed designs for software development projects that needed to be handed off in pieces to multiple developers. This novel needed it - I knew the ending and need to be careful to twist the plot and characterization just so.
The design sucked the fun out of writing for me initially, but I have to tell you it has saved me.
Life circumstances have caused me to put this novel down several times over. Because I mapped it out before I wrote the first word, I can pick it up and start right back where I left off. Moving forward, I will always do the detailed design up front for longer stories. My former boss will be very proud. We used to joke about how I should map out my ideas for stories using sequence diagrams. I didn't go to that extent on the design, but I did map out all the characters, setting, and starting lines for each chapter.
Initially after I did the design, I thought I had ruined it for myself, that I had sucked the creativity out of writing this novel, that I may never write the first word, but it hasn't ruined it at all. I love the feeling this story has a solid structure around it.
We are going on vacation soon unless my doctor visit today reveals something that makes me unable to do the drive, which is entirely possible. My husband was very sweet to offer that I can sit on the beach and write for the whole week. I can sit under an umbrella and breathe in the ocean air and write whatever I want for as long as I want.
My plan is to edit the next four chapters before we leave, bring a printed copy of it with me, a copy of the design, a notebook and a pen. I want to write as much of the rest of it as I can over the next few weeks, whether that is on the beach or here in my home. It seems like lately, as soon as I say these plans out loud or write them down, something out of my control happens that takes me off course again.
I sincerely hope we are done with the drama and the illnesses. I will have to work around the surgeries we have planned for two out of three kids, the attention they will need during the recovery time, and whatever therapies or additional tests my new doctor has in store for me after my appointment today. And my family needs fun this summer - we definitely need it more than ever - that's got to come first for me. I just need to find a few hours a week to write.
How do you manage to keep writing when life seems to be working against you?
This week, I somehow found the time to read the first three chapters of my new novel and mark up the edits. This morning, I was able to finalize the edits in my electronic version. I can't wait to share the chapters with my writing partner. I feel like these two chapters are as perfect I can get them. They are done (except for whatever suggestions my writing partner may offer). I can feel the excitement of this in my entire body, like an adrenaline rush. If I could jump up and down, I would.
This feeling, knowing I nailed it, is why I love to write and why I know I'll be successful at it. It's like heroine to me. I can't imagine feeling a more pleasurable high.
Back toward the end of winter, I wrote about how I did an extreme detailed design for this novel, the way I used to do detailed designs for software development projects that needed to be handed off in pieces to multiple developers. This novel needed it - I knew the ending and need to be careful to twist the plot and characterization just so.
The design sucked the fun out of writing for me initially, but I have to tell you it has saved me.
Life circumstances have caused me to put this novel down several times over. Because I mapped it out before I wrote the first word, I can pick it up and start right back where I left off. Moving forward, I will always do the detailed design up front for longer stories. My former boss will be very proud. We used to joke about how I should map out my ideas for stories using sequence diagrams. I didn't go to that extent on the design, but I did map out all the characters, setting, and starting lines for each chapter.
Initially after I did the design, I thought I had ruined it for myself, that I had sucked the creativity out of writing this novel, that I may never write the first word, but it hasn't ruined it at all. I love the feeling this story has a solid structure around it.
We are going on vacation soon unless my doctor visit today reveals something that makes me unable to do the drive, which is entirely possible. My husband was very sweet to offer that I can sit on the beach and write for the whole week. I can sit under an umbrella and breathe in the ocean air and write whatever I want for as long as I want.
My plan is to edit the next four chapters before we leave, bring a printed copy of it with me, a copy of the design, a notebook and a pen. I want to write as much of the rest of it as I can over the next few weeks, whether that is on the beach or here in my home. It seems like lately, as soon as I say these plans out loud or write them down, something out of my control happens that takes me off course again.
I sincerely hope we are done with the drama and the illnesses. I will have to work around the surgeries we have planned for two out of three kids, the attention they will need during the recovery time, and whatever therapies or additional tests my new doctor has in store for me after my appointment today. And my family needs fun this summer - we definitely need it more than ever - that's got to come first for me. I just need to find a few hours a week to write.
How do you manage to keep writing when life seems to be working against you?
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Good News and Bad News From Doctor's Offices Today
Today was the first day of summer break for my older kids. We went to see the neurologist this morning for my son (had a concussion after maybe a seizure, maybe fainting). He agreed to postpone the seizure meds, which I know first-hand can alter your personality and make you more like a zombie than yourself.
When I fainted/seized in my early twenties, I had the pleasure of having a second job interview while on seizure meds. I had zero anxiety and wowed them with my calm demeanor in the face of what should have been an anxiety-provoking interview. I got the job on a day I wasn't me at all.
The neurologist agreed that we should watch him, get his blood-sugar monitored, and agreed to write a note to make sure he is allowed to eat a snack at his new school next year. His current school allows the kids to graze all day except on the day he cracked his head on the ground just before lunch and nearly four hours after breakfast. Better low blood sugar than epilepsy is my new motto.
This afternoon, I had to take my daughter to the dental surgeon. She has an impacted second molar that is messing with her first molar's root and apparently must be removed. It is a scary surgery - a rather important nerve has grown through the roots somehow like a weed run amok. Or maybe the root of the teeth have weaved their way around the nerve like a knitting project gone bad. Either way, it makes me nervous. She is sick thinking about it. We have a month before they do it. I told her to have as much fun as she wants with her friends for the next few weeks. Not that it's going to kill her, the surgery, or that it's going to turn out bad or ruin the rest of her summer. Just that fun will take her mind off of it.
So our first day of summer break really kind of sucked. Tomorrow we will have fun. We must.
And I need to make some time to write for me. Life is getting to be a bit much lately. I need to write my way out of it for sure.
When I fainted/seized in my early twenties, I had the pleasure of having a second job interview while on seizure meds. I had zero anxiety and wowed them with my calm demeanor in the face of what should have been an anxiety-provoking interview. I got the job on a day I wasn't me at all.
The neurologist agreed that we should watch him, get his blood-sugar monitored, and agreed to write a note to make sure he is allowed to eat a snack at his new school next year. His current school allows the kids to graze all day except on the day he cracked his head on the ground just before lunch and nearly four hours after breakfast. Better low blood sugar than epilepsy is my new motto.
This afternoon, I had to take my daughter to the dental surgeon. She has an impacted second molar that is messing with her first molar's root and apparently must be removed. It is a scary surgery - a rather important nerve has grown through the roots somehow like a weed run amok. Or maybe the root of the teeth have weaved their way around the nerve like a knitting project gone bad. Either way, it makes me nervous. She is sick thinking about it. We have a month before they do it. I told her to have as much fun as she wants with her friends for the next few weeks. Not that it's going to kill her, the surgery, or that it's going to turn out bad or ruin the rest of her summer. Just that fun will take her mind off of it.
So our first day of summer break really kind of sucked. Tomorrow we will have fun. We must.
And I need to make some time to write for me. Life is getting to be a bit much lately. I need to write my way out of it for sure.
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Unexpected Blessing
My ex-husband's wife has type 1 diabetes (the childhood kind). My son went to their house this weekend for the first time since he had the seizure and got the concussion. He's been doing OK this week, but oscillates between being normal and extremely out of it and tired. She remembered feeling the same way when she was about his age. They tested his blood sugar at various times over the weekend and found it to be completely whacked out (non-medical term).
I breathe a sigh of relief. Sort of. I know diabetes is bad, but it's controllable unlike these unpredictable seizures and fainting spells. Most of the episodes in the past have been after he didn't eat. I don't remember if anyone immediately checked his blood sugar. I remember no one talking to me about it if they did.
He has a neurology appointment on Tuesday. According to their guidelines, he could be looking at seizure meds after this appointment (he has had two in less than two years). I know seizure meds could be a blessing if he really has epilepsy, but I worry about the side-effects. I also worry about where he will be the next time he has a seizure - in a tree, on his bike, somewhere alone.
Today I wonder if my husband and I didn't get divorced and he didn't hook up with his now-wife, would anyone have checked his blood sugar this weekend? I think not.
My daughter thinks everything is a coincidence. I think the circuitous flow of events our lives have taken is a blessing.
I breathe a sigh of relief. Sort of. I know diabetes is bad, but it's controllable unlike these unpredictable seizures and fainting spells. Most of the episodes in the past have been after he didn't eat. I don't remember if anyone immediately checked his blood sugar. I remember no one talking to me about it if they did.
He has a neurology appointment on Tuesday. According to their guidelines, he could be looking at seizure meds after this appointment (he has had two in less than two years). I know seizure meds could be a blessing if he really has epilepsy, but I worry about the side-effects. I also worry about where he will be the next time he has a seizure - in a tree, on his bike, somewhere alone.
Today I wonder if my husband and I didn't get divorced and he didn't hook up with his now-wife, would anyone have checked his blood sugar this weekend? I think not.
My daughter thinks everything is a coincidence. I think the circuitous flow of events our lives have taken is a blessing.
Saturday, May 21, 2011
A Tear in My Eye Over My Foot
My title sounds to me like a Dr. Seuss parody, doesn't it?
Yesterday I went to the doctor with a list. My main issue was my foot.
My ex lost his job and filed for a child support adjustment - fair enough - I might do the same in the same situation. I needed a letter from my doctor for the child support people stating I am very limited in the money-making jobs I can do. I can work as long as I don't have to drive there, walk to my desk, wear normal shoes, or put my feet on the ground.
Apparently the child support people won't take your word for it, which is reasonable - there are a lot of dishonest people out there. It makes me feel bad that I have to justify my reason for not working a normal job. Maybe having a two year old at home plus two school-aged kids should be enough.
It is very difficult today to face the fact that if I wanted to work again, I would have a seriously difficult time finding anything that I could do with these physical constraints. Today, I look this fact in the eye, and it sucks so much.
Another item on my list for the doctor was a renewal for the handicapped placard for my car. My orthopedic doctor (the second of two and the best in town) gave up on me and referred me to a pain management specialist. Then he only gave me temporary parking - only six months worth.
Picture this: If I go shopping at all, I take at least one of my kids. I can drive if I wear a special shoe that I invented to cushion my foot when I drive (which my hillbilly ancestors would be especially proud of). When we get to the store, they push me in a wheelchair, which sounds all good - but they are wild drivers and the aisles at stores tend to be narrow. I literally got stuck in the bra aisle at Kohl's. At the zoo, my son almost catapulted me onto the ground three times.
It's terrifying when they drive me around but sweet they are so enthusiastic trying to help me. If nothing else, I need a close parking spot if only to minimize our chances of geting killed in the parking lot. They are really great kids, but I may never give them car keys. They are crazy drivers for sure.
The doctor wholeheartedly agreed that I need handicapped parking and wrote me a script to take to the BMV. When I got home I read it. I cried a little, but nervous laughter prevailed over tears. The paper explained in detail how I would not be able to walk like a normal person for a minimum of five years. Five years.
I know my doctor and know he wouldn't write that if he didn't think it was true.
At work I always thought in terms of five year plans - what job I wanted to be doing in five years, how I wanted to improve my training so I could have more options in five years, how much money I wanted to make in five years. Now my five year plan is made for me. This is it.
I may seem a little down here some days (today for sure) but am normally a perpetual optimist. I wake up every day holding hope that it will be better next month or maybe in three months, maybe if I lose a few pounds, maybe if I stay off of my foot more. I always think somehow this is temporary.
Five years isn't at all temporary.
I desperately try to find the up side of this today, the thing that makes me be able to cope with this instead of crawling in bed and laying there as long as my family will let me.
The up side is this: I can give my kids my full attention for at least five more years. And I have five years to write novels full-time. In the last nine months, I have written two. In three more months I expect to finish one more. If I keep writing at the same rate while unable to do ordinary work, which seems to be a good pace for me, I could potentially write 15 novels in five years.
I think the only way I can deal with this today is to take control of my five year plan instead of letting it control me. I'm working on it....
Yesterday I went to the doctor with a list. My main issue was my foot.
My ex lost his job and filed for a child support adjustment - fair enough - I might do the same in the same situation. I needed a letter from my doctor for the child support people stating I am very limited in the money-making jobs I can do. I can work as long as I don't have to drive there, walk to my desk, wear normal shoes, or put my feet on the ground.
Apparently the child support people won't take your word for it, which is reasonable - there are a lot of dishonest people out there. It makes me feel bad that I have to justify my reason for not working a normal job. Maybe having a two year old at home plus two school-aged kids should be enough.
It is very difficult today to face the fact that if I wanted to work again, I would have a seriously difficult time finding anything that I could do with these physical constraints. Today, I look this fact in the eye, and it sucks so much.
Another item on my list for the doctor was a renewal for the handicapped placard for my car. My orthopedic doctor (the second of two and the best in town) gave up on me and referred me to a pain management specialist. Then he only gave me temporary parking - only six months worth.
Picture this: If I go shopping at all, I take at least one of my kids. I can drive if I wear a special shoe that I invented to cushion my foot when I drive (which my hillbilly ancestors would be especially proud of). When we get to the store, they push me in a wheelchair, which sounds all good - but they are wild drivers and the aisles at stores tend to be narrow. I literally got stuck in the bra aisle at Kohl's. At the zoo, my son almost catapulted me onto the ground three times.
It's terrifying when they drive me around but sweet they are so enthusiastic trying to help me. If nothing else, I need a close parking spot if only to minimize our chances of geting killed in the parking lot. They are really great kids, but I may never give them car keys. They are crazy drivers for sure.
The doctor wholeheartedly agreed that I need handicapped parking and wrote me a script to take to the BMV. When I got home I read it. I cried a little, but nervous laughter prevailed over tears. The paper explained in detail how I would not be able to walk like a normal person for a minimum of five years. Five years.
I know my doctor and know he wouldn't write that if he didn't think it was true.
At work I always thought in terms of five year plans - what job I wanted to be doing in five years, how I wanted to improve my training so I could have more options in five years, how much money I wanted to make in five years. Now my five year plan is made for me. This is it.
I may seem a little down here some days (today for sure) but am normally a perpetual optimist. I wake up every day holding hope that it will be better next month or maybe in three months, maybe if I lose a few pounds, maybe if I stay off of my foot more. I always think somehow this is temporary.
Five years isn't at all temporary.
I desperately try to find the up side of this today, the thing that makes me be able to cope with this instead of crawling in bed and laying there as long as my family will let me.
The up side is this: I can give my kids my full attention for at least five more years. And I have five years to write novels full-time. In the last nine months, I have written two. In three more months I expect to finish one more. If I keep writing at the same rate while unable to do ordinary work, which seems to be a good pace for me, I could potentially write 15 novels in five years.
I think the only way I can deal with this today is to take control of my five year plan instead of letting it control me. I'm working on it....
Friday, May 20, 2011
Getting Old...Or Just Feeling Old
Today I have a doctor's appointment. I have a 7 point list of things that I need to talk to him about. I need a list because I have a terribly bad memory. I'm only 42. I can't imagine how badly broken and worn out my body will be at 52.
On the up side, I lost 4 pounds over the last two or three weeks. Four pounds is four percent of the first ten I have to lose to potentially (hopefully) feel healthy again. (It's only a tiny percentage of the total but I'm not saying that out loud.)
And at least I am keeping a sense of humor about it. By the way, I just added one more think to my list of maladies - now there's eight.
On the up side, I lost 4 pounds over the last two or three weeks. Four pounds is four percent of the first ten I have to lose to potentially (hopefully) feel healthy again. (It's only a tiny percentage of the total but I'm not saying that out loud.)
And at least I am keeping a sense of humor about it. By the way, I just added one more think to my list of maladies - now there's eight.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Trade-Offs
In exchange for a mere six hours a week of productive time for me, four out of five people in my family are sick. Little snotty noses from daycare have taken us all down. My husband isn't sick, but is taking off work to help out. I hope he doesn't run out of sick days before he gets it too.
On the up side, after just twelve hours spread out over two weeks, I have been able to accomplish an extraordinary amount of work. I wrote a few chapters (I am actually too fuzzy to remember how many) and have revised all but three of the ten or so chapters. The first draft of my book is almost done - started only four weeks ago.
I always felt guilty having to send my older kids to all-day daycare when I worked a normal full-time job when they were younger. I have no guilt over sending my little guy to school now. It is a little Montessori school - the teachers are sweet, even-tempered, and happy to be there. The kids get to play in a wonderful indoor gym on bitterly cold days like today. They give the children jobs to do so they feel big - they get to pour their own snacks (better there than here!) and do independent activities. Yesterday, my two year old made a bird's nest and told us how he did it - he really liked digging the hole and dumping in the eggs. The best thing of all is the morning ends in music class, my son's absolute favorite thing in the world. Every day he comes home singing a new song over lunch.
This experience is priceless for him and is just what I need - not time away from him, but time for me to write and accomplish my goals so I can be a better mommy.
Now that I have painted that happy picture and have convinced myself the sore throats and snotty noses are worth it, I need to take a nap while I can. Today absolutely sucks.
On the up side, after just twelve hours spread out over two weeks, I have been able to accomplish an extraordinary amount of work. I wrote a few chapters (I am actually too fuzzy to remember how many) and have revised all but three of the ten or so chapters. The first draft of my book is almost done - started only four weeks ago.
I always felt guilty having to send my older kids to all-day daycare when I worked a normal full-time job when they were younger. I have no guilt over sending my little guy to school now. It is a little Montessori school - the teachers are sweet, even-tempered, and happy to be there. The kids get to play in a wonderful indoor gym on bitterly cold days like today. They give the children jobs to do so they feel big - they get to pour their own snacks (better there than here!) and do independent activities. Yesterday, my two year old made a bird's nest and told us how he did it - he really liked digging the hole and dumping in the eggs. The best thing of all is the morning ends in music class, my son's absolute favorite thing in the world. Every day he comes home singing a new song over lunch.
This experience is priceless for him and is just what I need - not time away from him, but time for me to write and accomplish my goals so I can be a better mommy.
Now that I have painted that happy picture and have convinced myself the sore throats and snotty noses are worth it, I need to take a nap while I can. Today absolutely sucks.
Thursday, December 23, 2010
Strange Mother-Daughter Thing...
My mom and I definitely have a really strange relationship. I think she would agree, but I'm not sure.
She called me two days after my biopsy to see if I was OK. I actually could have used some help with my toddler during and after the biopsy. We had to bring my little guy with us to the hospital, so basically I was alone waiting while my husband entertained my little guy. Luckily there was a huge train display in the lobby for Christmas, which kept him busy for the two and a half hours we were there - a very long wait for me alone and an even worse one for a toddler. My husband had to take off work to hang with the babes. She is at home and lives nearby but never offered to stop over to help take care of him - she typically declines if asked, so I didn't. Even an hour or two of help would have made a world of difference.
Yesterday, she called to find out how the biopsy went and was sobbing hysterically, saying with extreme melodrama that she was so worried about me and so relieved I was OK. It would have been so devastating for her if I had cancer.
I am very confused. If you really care, don't you offer up some help or concern for the person who is sick? Don't you call before the biopsy to ask the other person if they are handling it OK? How did it turn out to be about her? How did it happen that I ended up consoling her? I can't see how it could suddenly impact her if I had cancer - there are no phone calls unless I call, no visits, no nothing unless I initiate it, which I honestly am tired of doing. I have literally gone more than a year without talking to her in the past with no phone calls from her. Why suddenly all the emotion that I may be sick?
I'm very annoyed with the fake compassion. Is it possible this is as good as it gets? Is it possible that after 42 years, I continue to expect more? Apparently so....
Today is our family Christmas thing. I am going to try to take a deep breath, liquor up if necessary, and try to be invisible or at least calmly pleasant.
She called me two days after my biopsy to see if I was OK. I actually could have used some help with my toddler during and after the biopsy. We had to bring my little guy with us to the hospital, so basically I was alone waiting while my husband entertained my little guy. Luckily there was a huge train display in the lobby for Christmas, which kept him busy for the two and a half hours we were there - a very long wait for me alone and an even worse one for a toddler. My husband had to take off work to hang with the babes. She is at home and lives nearby but never offered to stop over to help take care of him - she typically declines if asked, so I didn't. Even an hour or two of help would have made a world of difference.
Yesterday, she called to find out how the biopsy went and was sobbing hysterically, saying with extreme melodrama that she was so worried about me and so relieved I was OK. It would have been so devastating for her if I had cancer.
I am very confused. If you really care, don't you offer up some help or concern for the person who is sick? Don't you call before the biopsy to ask the other person if they are handling it OK? How did it turn out to be about her? How did it happen that I ended up consoling her? I can't see how it could suddenly impact her if I had cancer - there are no phone calls unless I call, no visits, no nothing unless I initiate it, which I honestly am tired of doing. I have literally gone more than a year without talking to her in the past with no phone calls from her. Why suddenly all the emotion that I may be sick?
I'm very annoyed with the fake compassion. Is it possible this is as good as it gets? Is it possible that after 42 years, I continue to expect more? Apparently so....
Today is our family Christmas thing. I am going to try to take a deep breath, liquor up if necessary, and try to be invisible or at least calmly pleasant.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Worry is Setting In...
It is difficult waiting for biopsy results, more than I thought. I am a planner, always have been. I can't seem to stop my mind from contingency planning what we will do in each of the possible scenarios from the biopsy. There are four possibilities according to the doctor, one for each of his fingers minus his thumb: benign, cancer, questionable, and inconclusive. All but the first require cutting out my thyroid gland.
I don't like the idea of surgery, and I would like to keep my parts for as long as possible. Quite honestly, I am still trying to recover from the botched blood draw from a week ago.
The doctor says the surgery will put me out of business for a week. When he said that, I thought, "I can still write in bed." Then I thought, "Oh no," at precisely the same moment my husband had the same thought. I work for my two year old, and my husband is out of vacation time.
Yesterday and today I am worrying more and more about what my kids will eat and how we will get the laundry done if I have to have surgery. To be honest, I am really tired and am having a hard time keeping up with all of that on a normal day. I envision Lean Cuisines for every meal and powering through all of the laundry before the surgery. I didn't think I would be worrying about this and really thought I could set these thoughts aside, but it's not that easy.
The funny thing is that no one in my direct family that knows about the biopsy has bothered to call to ask how I'm doing and ask if I'm worried or give me an opportunity to talk about it. When I called them initially to let them know about the biopsy and potential for cancer, all but my dad changed the subject very quickly. My dad got confused and called back the next day to ask if I was worried about breast cancer, which his mother had recently - this confusion left me more worried about him than about my biopsy results. My mom informed me that no one in my dad's side of the family has had any kind of cancer. I reminded her they have been divorced for thirty years - perhaps someone has been sick since she dropped out of their family. In fact both of my dad's parents and most of their siblings have had cancer, but no thyroid cancer, which is a good sign.
I am certain I will get through this one way or the other, and when I do I am definitely going to write a short story about the experience - not the medical stuff, but the reaction and lack thereof from my parents and siblings.
I don't like the idea of surgery, and I would like to keep my parts for as long as possible. Quite honestly, I am still trying to recover from the botched blood draw from a week ago.
The doctor says the surgery will put me out of business for a week. When he said that, I thought, "I can still write in bed." Then I thought, "Oh no," at precisely the same moment my husband had the same thought. I work for my two year old, and my husband is out of vacation time.
Yesterday and today I am worrying more and more about what my kids will eat and how we will get the laundry done if I have to have surgery. To be honest, I am really tired and am having a hard time keeping up with all of that on a normal day. I envision Lean Cuisines for every meal and powering through all of the laundry before the surgery. I didn't think I would be worrying about this and really thought I could set these thoughts aside, but it's not that easy.
The funny thing is that no one in my direct family that knows about the biopsy has bothered to call to ask how I'm doing and ask if I'm worried or give me an opportunity to talk about it. When I called them initially to let them know about the biopsy and potential for cancer, all but my dad changed the subject very quickly. My dad got confused and called back the next day to ask if I was worried about breast cancer, which his mother had recently - this confusion left me more worried about him than about my biopsy results. My mom informed me that no one in my dad's side of the family has had any kind of cancer. I reminded her they have been divorced for thirty years - perhaps someone has been sick since she dropped out of their family. In fact both of my dad's parents and most of their siblings have had cancer, but no thyroid cancer, which is a good sign.
I am certain I will get through this one way or the other, and when I do I am definitely going to write a short story about the experience - not the medical stuff, but the reaction and lack thereof from my parents and siblings.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Thyroid Biopsy
Yesterday I had a thyroid biopsy, which everyone assured me would be not nearly as bad as being on the receiving end of a cortisone shot in the foot delivered in a giant needle long enough to impale your foot all the way through like a shish kabob, which I have endured three times.
Before the biopsy, they did blood work and completely butchered my arm. I had my eyes closed so I don't know what the phlebotomist did exactly, but my arm hurt worse than my neck. I have a huge raised purple spot that is quite a bit larger than a quarter on the bend of my elbow. My nine year old is very impressed.
Just before the doctor came in to do the biopsy, I was informed that this particular doctor does not believe in local anesthetics. When he came in, he convinced me it would be better without pain meds because it would take less time. I agreed and appreciated that mindset - let's get it over and quick. In retrospect, maybe that wasn't the best choice.
From my discussion with my ENT earlier this week, I had imagined a fine needle biopsy would involve sticking a very thin needle into my neck, sucking out some tissue and sending me on my merry way. Instead, the doctor performing the test said he would be doing three needle sticks guided by the ultrasound so they would be sure to poke the larger of the several nodules in the gland. Not only did he do three, but he dug and poked the needle around in me for about 30 seconds at a time. I counted the seconds so I could cope with being tortured. If you have ever seen a liposuction done on tv, it was like that, repeated random shoving of a needle in and out. The lack of control and having to hold still without swallowing while having a needle gouging me repeatedly was way worse than the pain.
When it was over, the nurse showed me the blood in the very large sample of fluid they sucked out of me. "See, there's a lot of blood," she told me as if that could possibly make me feel better. Then the two nurses chatted about Christmas baking, blocking my exit until I asked if I could leave. How could they not see that I needed to get out of there rather urgently?
Today I am doing better and can move my neck around much more. My arm is hurting a little less when I type. Hopefully that is all that I will need to be done. Hopefully they will tell me in nine days that I do not have cancer and will wish me a merry Christmas and apologize for the inconvenience.
Before the biopsy, they did blood work and completely butchered my arm. I had my eyes closed so I don't know what the phlebotomist did exactly, but my arm hurt worse than my neck. I have a huge raised purple spot that is quite a bit larger than a quarter on the bend of my elbow. My nine year old is very impressed.
Just before the doctor came in to do the biopsy, I was informed that this particular doctor does not believe in local anesthetics. When he came in, he convinced me it would be better without pain meds because it would take less time. I agreed and appreciated that mindset - let's get it over and quick. In retrospect, maybe that wasn't the best choice.
From my discussion with my ENT earlier this week, I had imagined a fine needle biopsy would involve sticking a very thin needle into my neck, sucking out some tissue and sending me on my merry way. Instead, the doctor performing the test said he would be doing three needle sticks guided by the ultrasound so they would be sure to poke the larger of the several nodules in the gland. Not only did he do three, but he dug and poked the needle around in me for about 30 seconds at a time. I counted the seconds so I could cope with being tortured. If you have ever seen a liposuction done on tv, it was like that, repeated random shoving of a needle in and out. The lack of control and having to hold still without swallowing while having a needle gouging me repeatedly was way worse than the pain.
When it was over, the nurse showed me the blood in the very large sample of fluid they sucked out of me. "See, there's a lot of blood," she told me as if that could possibly make me feel better. Then the two nurses chatted about Christmas baking, blocking my exit until I asked if I could leave. How could they not see that I needed to get out of there rather urgently?
Today I am doing better and can move my neck around much more. My arm is hurting a little less when I type. Hopefully that is all that I will need to be done. Hopefully they will tell me in nine days that I do not have cancer and will wish me a merry Christmas and apologize for the inconvenience.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Bad, Bad, Terrible Day
I am warning you now to look away from this rant about my terrible day. My toddler stayed up too late and woke up quite early. By 11 a.m., he was a hysterical mess. By noon (still awake), he couldn't decide if he wanted to be rocked or lay in his bed - so he cried. Just when I thought he was asleep, I heard him tell me he needed a diaper change, which was like hitting a big reset button on the nap routine that was already going terribly bad.
Yesterday I gave my mom a hug and quietly asked her if she was good with God. Her surgery is tomorrow afternoon - a very risky surgery that she definitely needs. Her surgeon has a 5 out of 6 success rate (literally, he has only done this surgery six times and lost one patient), which doesn't make me feel comfortable at all.
My foot hurts from the combination of my doctor squeezing it to make sure it was still inflamed and the inevitable standing on it while cooking and washing what seemed like 30 loads of dishes over the week of Thanksgiving. My husband volunteered to do the dishes and had good intentions - he just never got to it, so I did. I stood on layers of rubber mats to cushion my foot and I did dishes.
After school today, just as I got done whining to my older daughter about the terrible toddler nap time, the phone rang (threatening to awaken the finally-asleep toddler). I picked it up quickly and maybe cussed first. It was my doctor's office calling to give me the results from a test. They said it wasn't great and I asked me to get a pen and paper to write down all the steps I need to do next. I need a biopsy. They didn't said cancer, but one can infer that's what they are checking for when there's a tumor and a biopsy to be done with some apparent urgency.
At least steps to take make you have a sense of control when there's really no control to be had. I suppose it really is a miracle every time we take our next breath, and we take that too much for granted. I told my daughter what was going on since she heard the conversation. I told her it would be fine for sure.
Now I feel very tired and just want to sleep and wake up feeling better. I am overwhelmed with a sense that it is unfair that I have had so many medical issues in just one lifetime. On the other hand, I have lived such a wonderful life, maybe this is how the universe gives you balance whether you want it or not.
If it turns out that the next steps bring even worse news, I think I want to rent a summer house at the beach if we can afford it - even something in the general vicinity of our favorite beach in North Carolina. I want to spend a month or the summer with my kids sitting on the sand, dodging seagulls, and watching them run in the water as the waves crash on the shore over and over and over again with simultaneous force and tranquility. I want to laugh and not worry. I want to put up a canopy for the month and rub my sweet baby's back while he lays in the shade in the open air to take his nap. I want to build big wet, ridiculously hilarious sandcastles with my kids and sit on a beach towel as the tide comes in and watch the water melt them away and back out to sea. I want to walk out to the pier with giant ice cream cones in hand, smelling like sunscreen, with silly giant beach hats on our heads and sunglasses on our faces while we check out the catch of the day and watch a lone surfer doing his best in the weak waves as the sun sets on the horizon.
I want to go on vacation now. I want to feel that sense of complete peace, serenity, and happiness now. Maybe we all do. That's the place that I want to go for as long as I can afford it. Hopefully that will be more than five days.
Yesterday I gave my mom a hug and quietly asked her if she was good with God. Her surgery is tomorrow afternoon - a very risky surgery that she definitely needs. Her surgeon has a 5 out of 6 success rate (literally, he has only done this surgery six times and lost one patient), which doesn't make me feel comfortable at all.
My foot hurts from the combination of my doctor squeezing it to make sure it was still inflamed and the inevitable standing on it while cooking and washing what seemed like 30 loads of dishes over the week of Thanksgiving. My husband volunteered to do the dishes and had good intentions - he just never got to it, so I did. I stood on layers of rubber mats to cushion my foot and I did dishes.
After school today, just as I got done whining to my older daughter about the terrible toddler nap time, the phone rang (threatening to awaken the finally-asleep toddler). I picked it up quickly and maybe cussed first. It was my doctor's office calling to give me the results from a test. They said it wasn't great and I asked me to get a pen and paper to write down all the steps I need to do next. I need a biopsy. They didn't said cancer, but one can infer that's what they are checking for when there's a tumor and a biopsy to be done with some apparent urgency.
At least steps to take make you have a sense of control when there's really no control to be had. I suppose it really is a miracle every time we take our next breath, and we take that too much for granted. I told my daughter what was going on since she heard the conversation. I told her it would be fine for sure.
Now I feel very tired and just want to sleep and wake up feeling better. I am overwhelmed with a sense that it is unfair that I have had so many medical issues in just one lifetime. On the other hand, I have lived such a wonderful life, maybe this is how the universe gives you balance whether you want it or not.
If it turns out that the next steps bring even worse news, I think I want to rent a summer house at the beach if we can afford it - even something in the general vicinity of our favorite beach in North Carolina. I want to spend a month or the summer with my kids sitting on the sand, dodging seagulls, and watching them run in the water as the waves crash on the shore over and over and over again with simultaneous force and tranquility. I want to laugh and not worry. I want to put up a canopy for the month and rub my sweet baby's back while he lays in the shade in the open air to take his nap. I want to build big wet, ridiculously hilarious sandcastles with my kids and sit on a beach towel as the tide comes in and watch the water melt them away and back out to sea. I want to walk out to the pier with giant ice cream cones in hand, smelling like sunscreen, with silly giant beach hats on our heads and sunglasses on our faces while we check out the catch of the day and watch a lone surfer doing his best in the weak waves as the sun sets on the horizon.
I want to go on vacation now. I want to feel that sense of complete peace, serenity, and happiness now. Maybe we all do. That's the place that I want to go for as long as I can afford it. Hopefully that will be more than five days.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Be Careful What You Ask For
In one of my entries this week, entitled Funny, I stated how satisfied I am with my life, how I have been able to find the humor in the worst times of my life, but rarely feel the urge to be funny in my writing lately. Well, be careful what you ask for - God has a sense of humor.
I went to the doctor yesterday since I've been unable to shake a virus. Turns out there's something else wrong. The doctor told me not to worry and to just go to the hospital to get some tests done when I'm feeling up to it. I wasn't worried, but was definitely surprised that they found something totally unexpected during a fairly routine office visit.
The funny thing is that the doctor got so excited he found something during the exam that he does to every patient that he forgot to listen to my lungs until I asked. (I have asthma, so the goal of my appointment was for him to listen to my lungs.) He was really pleased that he finally found someone with that one problem he's been looking for every day for twenty years. How nice for him.
While sitting in traffic, I called my husband and told him. I told him I'm assuming the tests are to see if it's cancer. He got worried and googled it. He called me back and told me this cancer is very rare. I asked him if he has noticed that I am a magnet for rare disorders. He said he did.
When we got home, he said in a sweet, sincere little boy voice, "Please don't die."
While he was gone to the pharmacy to get my meds, I did an internet search as well. It looks like there are several ways this could go, depending on the test results, none of them very good. I have about 20 symptoms of the worst case scenario (the one worse than cancer). This still wasn't funny.
What was funny was the discussion I had with my daughter in the car later that evening. I told her what was going on, that cancer was rare, but the treatment for the other possibilities was going to make me wish I were dead. I told her what her stepdad said. She said, "Aaaaawwww" and thought he was adorable, which is true. I told her about the 20 bizarre symptoms I have that when put together match the one scenario. She said, "What about the memory loss?" I told her I forgot about that one and forgot to mention that to the doctor too. That is how it is with memory loss.... She thought that was hilarious as well and offered to go to the doctor with me next time (I think she did - maybe I thought it - I seriously cannot remember).
I think when you have kids and need to talk to them about bad things, it helps to have a sense of humor about it. It helps them and it helps me.
I went to the doctor yesterday since I've been unable to shake a virus. Turns out there's something else wrong. The doctor told me not to worry and to just go to the hospital to get some tests done when I'm feeling up to it. I wasn't worried, but was definitely surprised that they found something totally unexpected during a fairly routine office visit.
The funny thing is that the doctor got so excited he found something during the exam that he does to every patient that he forgot to listen to my lungs until I asked. (I have asthma, so the goal of my appointment was for him to listen to my lungs.) He was really pleased that he finally found someone with that one problem he's been looking for every day for twenty years. How nice for him.
While sitting in traffic, I called my husband and told him. I told him I'm assuming the tests are to see if it's cancer. He got worried and googled it. He called me back and told me this cancer is very rare. I asked him if he has noticed that I am a magnet for rare disorders. He said he did.
When we got home, he said in a sweet, sincere little boy voice, "Please don't die."
While he was gone to the pharmacy to get my meds, I did an internet search as well. It looks like there are several ways this could go, depending on the test results, none of them very good. I have about 20 symptoms of the worst case scenario (the one worse than cancer). This still wasn't funny.
What was funny was the discussion I had with my daughter in the car later that evening. I told her what was going on, that cancer was rare, but the treatment for the other possibilities was going to make me wish I were dead. I told her what her stepdad said. She said, "Aaaaawwww" and thought he was adorable, which is true. I told her about the 20 bizarre symptoms I have that when put together match the one scenario. She said, "What about the memory loss?" I told her I forgot about that one and forgot to mention that to the doctor too. That is how it is with memory loss.... She thought that was hilarious as well and offered to go to the doctor with me next time (I think she did - maybe I thought it - I seriously cannot remember).
I think when you have kids and need to talk to them about bad things, it helps to have a sense of humor about it. It helps them and it helps me.
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