clickmom

life just threw us one loaded curve ball

So, where I have the past couple of weeks? Let's see if I can speed report the last two weeks.....

Husband gets what I think is a way worse version of Evan's 24 hour stomach bug. Husband goes to ER under protest on third day of fever

Diagnosis: Heart attack. Three days later they transfer hospitals for a cardiac catheterization

Hospital #2 keeps him 2 nights- first to make sure there is no viral infection and second because his oxygen levels are too low

but then magically they say "Come get him, we are kicking him out!"

I walk in and HELL NO! He does not look fine, unless you think one of those squeeze toys with the bulging eyes and pasty gray skin looks fine. I get nurse and doctor they insist eyes look fine to them and patronizing condescending (I could fucking clock this dude into the next century) doc states "This is not a cardiac issue. I am discharging him. He is stable."

I bring husband him back to the house (under duress) immediately call physician who says GO BACK TO ER, we are in the house approximately 6 minutes and then we go back to hospital #1 and diagnosis CONGESTIVE HEART FAILURE

Also, Doc at hospital #1 recognizes eye weirdness administers tests and orders MRI which finds 2 itty bitty strokes, and diagnosis: Progressive Supra Nuclear Palsy

Go aead and google it if you want to cry. We can cry together.

He's home now, along with an oxygen tank because oxygen saturation still poor (heart failure) and some kind of room air to oxygen converter which sounds like there is a gigantic olympic sized pool filter operating in my house, or maybe the motor of a long slow carnival ride. In any case, I am pretending it is going to be a soothing white noise which will lull me into my first good night's sleep since this whole ordeal started two weeks ago. (But the reality is that sleep will not be coming any easier now that the crisis seems to be over because the machine which makes oxygen is apparently a fire hazard, since the guy who delivered it told me keep a fire extinguisher handy and to make sure the kids know what the exit plan is incase of fire- I kid you not)

Oh, in the middle of all this chaos sweet pea starts sounding like she is hacking up fur balls which is the first time I ever heard the sound of dog with kennel cough, which she undoubtedly got at the doggy day care, which is located conveniently down the road from hospital #1. I walked in there with her and she made the noise and they yelled at us while chasing us out with 2 cans of spray disinfectant spraying every surface we came within 4 feet of including the pavement in the parking lot. I wanted to point out that in all likelihood she picked up the kennel cough 4 days earlier when she was there last, but I don't think they could hear me over the commotion and the double fisted pssshhhhhttt of the spray cans so I just hung my disease spreading head and slowly drove away.

The husband got sprung today, not to the rehab which the doctors recommended and which he refused to consider, to my unqualified care. Because I know NOTHING about all this stuff he's going through and no one seems to realize that I am in way over my head -except me. I did have to go to the pharmacy and pick up the 6 new prescriptions they put the husband on. Waiting in the always long and slow line for the drugs two men raced into the pharmacy calling out and asking where the bandage aisle was and where they could find butterfly bandages. The pharmacists were way too over whelmed to help these guys so I gave up my precious place in line saying "I have three sons, I am the band aid expert, I'll find them for you." but also somewhat selfishly because the woman behind me in line was bringing her demented husband home from his hospital stay and she was freaking out having left him alone in the car. I needed to get away from her. After I found the butterfly bandages and explained to the panicked and apparently completely inexperienced to men how to use the butterfly bandages I rejoined the back of the line and the first two ladies on the line told me I take the first place because I would have picked up my prescriptions already had I not given up my place to help the panicked men. Then we might have made fun of men in general.

So I was in a pretty good mood on my way home when I walked into the grocery store to pick up food for dinner. A woman came in wearing a heavy and dark floor length skirt, a long tunic and a head/face covering. it was all black and navy and I soon realized I was totally rudely staring at her because it just looked so freaking hot and today was in the high 80s and humid and I was wondering to what extent she was baking under all of those clothes. I realized I was staring and made myself look away but foolishly instead of turning towards my cart and away from the muslim lady, I looked behind her turning my head even father and more awkwardly around and looked straight into the eyes of a little person. It was like I was on a movie set of ways to be rude. I was just waiting for someone to stroll through with a chimpanzee and a music box. Sadly, that did not happen.

But anyway, that's where I've been in the past couple of weeks. I only sat down at my actual computer once during that whole time and anything else I did was on my phone, which means my single texting/phone swiping pointer finger feels numb on the tip from overuse. I'm not sure there are words to express how bone tired I am right now. I hate it when I don't get my usual good night's sleep.

possibilities

So, here is my exercise recap for the last three days: day 1: Core and More, Day 2: Yoga for All, Day 3: Qigong.  The core and more class was definitely the most physically reinvigorating, if by invigorating I mean: made me the most sore afterwards.  Yoga for all (who do not kneel, that is) came in a close second for the amazing ability to reawaken my once massive thigh muscles. Also, yoga for all was kind of hilarious since someone (thankfully not on my side of the room) kept farting, big juicy rolling farts and I was just so freaking thankful it was not coming from me. And qigong comes in a sad third for everything, but I suspect the instructor was not at her personal best today since she told me before class she had been suffering with lower back pain and had only recently been "cured" by an expensive traction treatment three times a week for a month.  In any case Qigong has this crazy ability to make me heat up even up when I don't realize I am making an effort.  It's kind of fascinating, and she did a ten minute meditation at the end, so I will for sure go back next week.  

Tomorrow I am possibly going to go to a pilates barre class.  It isn't my first (or second or third) choice but it's the only class which meets at the time I can make it to the Y. (because HELLO! I have to have my precious time the woods with sweet pea in the morning) There is something about the barre part of this which I find intimidating, though I will find it interesting for sure to see all of the new town princesses adjusting their over priced lululemon exercise clothes while giving me sideways hate glances. Yeah, I might go just to make the locals squirm with my joyful fatness. On Friday I figured I'd give hatha yoga a try, but if you happen to know that hatha yoga involves lots of kneeling feel free to warn me. If by some chance I get to the Y and do not feel compelled to take either one of these classes, rest assured I have also reawakened my desire for the expresso bike.  It's my plan B. I don't know why I didn't go for the expresso on day 1 when I biked a little.  That was a strange and unsatisfying move. 

I brought my camera to the woods this morning and was happily photographing in the lovely overcast light when BAM the sun came out.  You'll be happy to know I was able to switch gears and photograph in sunny conditions.  I'm kind of proud of myself and excited too because now ... possibilities!! 

Still broke-ish

Believe it or not my broke ass still pretty much hurts. I've been discouraged lately when I lose my breath walking up the big hills in the woods. So I decided to go back to the gym. Having not really been Gym committed for almost 5 years, which totally does not count that bizarre experience I had with the boxing troll, I figured I would need to take it easy for a while before I got myself back into any semblance of shape. Today I went to do a class and thought that since it was in the middle of the day and had a name like "core and more" it would be an old lady easy class. I was wrong. It was mostly a Pilates mat class and I could do pretty much everything though not as gracefully as I would've liked to have done everything. The only thing I was super sucky that was a section that was not Pilates moves which involved being on all fours because I cannot be on my knees. I know I need knee replacements but I don't want to face that reality anytime soon. After class I asked the instructor if it would be possible for me to do those exercises at the bar in the room and she showed me correct form for next week. Then I did some HIIT on a bike, but it wasn't my favorite, the expresso bike so I wasn't comfortable or effective. Next time I'll do more.

Tomorrow I'm taking a class called Yoga For All. We'll see if it by ALL they mean people who can't kneel on their knees.

So, my still broke ass. In Pilates there is this move where you sit on a mat with your legs bent knees up in front of you and slowly lower yourself down, one vertebrae at a time until you're lying on the mat with your knees bent. I did a hilarious imitation of myself slowly lowering down screaming "my ass my ass my ass" in my head the entire time. I'm hoping that if I just suck it up and exercise through the pain that somehow the pain will go away because the pain is actually something that needs to be squished and smooshed and exercised away.

I miss that

Lil sis texted me in regards to that last post and she informed me that our mother was not as horrible as I made her out to be, which I agreed with.  So, in defense of our mother (also I would like to admit to feeling somewhat uneasy of trashing the dead who cannot defend herself) I thought I would share a happy memory (memories) with you.  Also, it's mom's birthday today.  So, happy birthday, Mom. You would have been 76.  Fucking cancer.

We grew up in a 2 bedroom apartment.  The main area of the apartment was a long rectangle space.  You entered on one end and walked directly to the dining area which had a round dining table under a chandelier on the other end of that main space was the living area with the couches and TV.  The two bedrooms were located on either side of the dining area.  Each bedroom had a bathroom, though my parents bathroom was in their bedroom and separated from the dining are and the one lil sis and I used was not closed off to the living space because it was for guests also. 

Normally my mom would feed lil sis and I (I will refrain from any insults upon her cooking here) at 5PM in the eat-in kitchen.  This is apartment life, so "eat-in" in apartment life means something different than "eat-in" in house life, so while 4 of us technically could have sat at (squeezed together as if to conserve body heat) the table, it was only if we all were having a good enough day that you didn't mind rubbing thighs or knocking knees and elbows with the rest of the family. When my Dad got home at 6PM mom and dad would have their dinner together alone in the kitchen.

However, on holidays mom would drag the table boards out of the closet, expand the otherwise round for decoration purposes only table into a long oval and we, the 4 of us and usually grandma and any other family that might be around, would eat in the dining "room." It was always kind of special when we did that.  The food didn't matter, what mattered was that dinner was more than just me and little sis mindlessly eating while staring at a little black and white tv watching Brady Bunch reruns for the millionth time.  Holidays meant conversation!  And holiday conversation meant a special kind of challenge too.  Some how lil sis, mom and me had some kind of thing going on, a special kind of thing, where we could crack each other up.  But not just any kind of crack up.  I mean roll on the floor, pee in your pants, cramps on your side, turning blue crack up and our target was always mom.  No one howled (literally) louder than mom and no family dinner was considered completed until we got laughing so hard that mom had to run into her bathroom, knees pressed together, howling in laughter.  Once both the bedroom door and the bathroom door clicked closed we'd sit there snickering and wait.  It was only once we heard mom's "Hoo hoo hoo!!!" hysterics roaring from behind two closed doors echoing off the bathroom's tiled walls that we would erupt into the giggles again and the family dinner was considered a success.

I wish I could tell you what we ever found so funny, but considering the O.R. nurses had to threaten to kick lil sis and me out of the staging area when my terminally ill mom was going in for her big peritoneal mesothelioma de-bulking surgery because our laughter was upsetting the other patients who were waiting for their surgeries, I'd say that it could have been anything.  A-N-Y-T-H-I-N-G

Yeah.  We were funny together, the three of us.  I miss that.

happy freaking mother's day

It's my least favorite holiday.  Ok, if I am going to be totally honest I'm not a fan of father's day either.  But mother's day is particularly painful for me, and I'm gonna tell you why.

My mother did not want to be a mother and that was pretty fucking clear to me even before she got drunk one night and told me her biggest regret was not choosing to be a career woman over motherhood.  Thanks Mom.

I always knew it was much more important to my mother to be a wife first, she lived in fear that my father (technically: step father but my father in my heart and in his) would abandon her if she paid too much attention to her kids or spent too much money on us.  She was idiot for thinking that was true.  That would have never happened, my mother chose as responsibly for her second husband as she did irresponsibly for her first.  She was a woman of extremes, because my biological father was a train wreck of a human being and my step father (considered my REAL dad since he did all the fathering) was a total mensch who was as in love with my mother as a man can be in love with a woman. I know a guy who raised his step kids when his wife ran away because he and the biological father thought it was in the best interest of the kids not have their whole entire everything existence rocked, and that is the kind of guy my step father (the real dad) would have been if my mother had run away.  But, my mother stopped short of leaving, at least on a permanent basis.  

That doesn't mean that she didn't leave periodically with my step father for a week here and there and of course she left us absolutely every single Friday and Saturday evening (until they took up gold and joined country club and then it was every single all day and evening Saturday and Sunday too)  and there and leave complete strangers in charge of lil sis and me.  Every single teenager that lived in our apartment building sat for us when we were little but the all time oddest baby sitting situation was when mom had arranged for our housekeeper of the time to stay with us and when the housekeeper cancelled at the last second she said she had a friend who could cover for her. The friend rang out doorbell, mom asked her name, introduced her to us kids, picked up her suitcase and left.  The friend was a nice lady, so nothing bad happened, but even as a kid I knew that leaving you kids for a week with someone you have never even spoken to on the phone before was a totally fucked up thing to do.  And I'll just say that if you were to leave your kids alone for the day at the same age my mom started to leave us alone for the day the state would come in and take you kids away and put your kids in foster care.  The seventies, so dangerously fun! I could go on, but I'm not going to list every single one of her mothering infractions.  At least not today.

This is why mother's day is so hard for me.  Despite knowing my mother had zero interest in being a mother (as an adult she saw me just enough to keep up appearances among her friends) I always held out hope that my mom would step up and be a fabulous grandmother the way my grandma had been for me.  Maybe somewhere deep down I had accepted the fact that I was not lovable enough to show up but my kids were incredible and amazing little brilliant miracles of goodness and happiness.  No one could possibly be indifferent about my kids! I guess I convinced myself that it was possible for my mom to step up, even though it was incredibly obvious that my mother was the same kind of grandmother that she was a mother.  The bare minimum, just enough so as to appear like everyone else.  Then somewhere along the line I thought that perhaps when my mom became a widow (which was what everyone including my parents assumed would happen since dad was 21 years her senior) then my mom could finally be the grandmother I wanted my kids to have.  But in the end they both got terminal cancer, and mom died first.  When my dad came to utopia for 6 weeks after mom died I had this incredible realization.  That was that my dad had taken all of his parenting cues from my mom because without my mom around he was so much more engaged and involved and interested in my kids!  For one summer my kids had a really good thing with my dad, their fabulous grandfather.  And I am thankful for that because if the tables had turned the other way they would have just had another summer without their distant uninterested grandmother because I'm pretty sure she wouldn't have come.

in heaven

Josh is recovered and went back to school for a half day yesterday and an entire day today.  Last Friday,  aka: the day Josh got super sick, Josh was supposed to host a little role playing party at our house.  Needless to say he was snap chatting photos of his temperature readings and that get together never happened.  

Until tonight!  Four young men came over and they played games on my kitchen table for a few hours and I hung out in the next room, with my headphones on watching all the most watched clips from any country's "got talent" shows and sometimes during the quiet parts of the videos hearing their young men not-quite-fully-changed (except for one baritone kid) voices joking and laughing with each other from the next room.  Basically, I'm in heaven.

Also, I got a foot massage today (they call it "reflexology" here , but it is most definitely not actual reflexology) and I think the foot massager managed to rub my ankle back into place.  The last few days I've been grimacing around on an ankle that felt like it had undergone an ankle jam and needed to be unjammed.  It's funny how whenever I get brave enough to let some stranger massage any part of me they always seem to find the part that hurts the most and work that painful part.  Today the foot massager was rubbing the jammed spot like crazy.  I wonder what it felt like over there?  I'm always too chicken to rub things that hurt.  My instincts say "don't touch it if it hurts" but I think in this instance my instinct might be wrong.

We have gotten some serious rain this week, which is great because it's too dry lately, however, my request for rain during the night time hours only has been ignored and I am missing my long dry walks with sweet pea.  She is too!  This morning I thought I was a hero for taking her to a local park for an hour in the rain which bothers me a bit but her not at all, but an hour is not enough for a puppy who is used to 2 or 3 hours per walk.  She looked at me like I was nuts when I told her to get back in the car.  According to my highly inaccurate phone weather app it is supposed to be dry through the night and then chance of rain begins at 8 AM with 30 percent, moving between 30 and 50 percent until 1 PM.  I'm hoping to jump out of bed nice and early and maybe get in a solid walk before the rain begins.  Fingers crossed.

dammit

Every day I hear myself thinking this: I am sooo cranky! To be honest, it's getting old.  I'm tired of thinking that thought but in the end I have one truth and it is: I am cranky as shit.  

Dammit.

Josh ended up with influenza type B.  I know it was type B because that is what they diagnosed him with after swabbing his nostrils at the local urgent care center.  His fever went up two 104 and I got a little panicked. The doctor couldn't believe I hadn't given my kid who is never really sick beyond faking a stomach ache to get out of school a flu shot.  I hate that urgent care center and anyone who questions my abilities as a parent.  I'm cranky and I'm angry and I feel like the next person who opens their big fat mouth is going to get it from me. Dammit.

I was a bit harsh with Matt the other night. (cranky)  I had to reach out to him because there were some weird charges on the husband's credit card.  Turns out people in philadelphia can make you pay for a credit report if you want to lease their apartment.  That sounds scandalous to me.  They should have to pay.  Jerks.  I got on Matt's case about his appearance because I think he is pretending to be not from a family where his his every want and desire has been automatically fulfilled.  Also, I hate this insane gender crap that's going on.  Pretty much my feeling is if it has nothing to do with me than it's none of my damned business and all I care about at the end of the day is if I made it through the day without bringing anything bad upon the world and then I am happy.  But I feel like Matt is trying to so hard to be a sensitive guy that he is posing as someone with gender issues that he doesn't actually have, which doesn't help anyone.  I smell something insincere and he is too young to know it.  I suggested there might be ways to support the cause without having the issue.  I'm annoyed with him and I am annoyed with hipster college for turning him into someone who pretends to have problems he doesn't have.  I don't think that helps anyone.  I think it's more helpful to be the straight guy who was born a guy who preaches tolerance than to be a poser.  Sorry Matt.  Grow up. Dammit.

I had an idea for a photo project which involved interviewing people about aliens and abductions etc...  Then my Danish friend told me I should check out her friend's kick starter project because it sounds like something I would like.  They had my idea and they did it first. I bought their book. Dammit.

Sweet pea, after that day she found a deer leg in the woods and after the other night when the husband brought her in from the backyard with something which appeared to be rib bone, after an incident where she picked up a dead mouse in her mouth yesterday found more bones in the woods this morning.   And she ate them.  It's as if she has been challenged to catch some kind of forest animal disease and she wants to win the grand prize.  The little forest animal poop muncher (a daily occurrence) is going to be the death of me.  One: I love her so much I can't stand the thought of anything making her sick and Two: I let her sleep on my bed, I would appreciate a lack of cooties in my bed each night.  Dammit

Yesterday I might have been eating gummy bears when I tripped going up the stairs and ended up blowing a gummy bear out of right nostril a couple of minutes later.  Today it's bleeding a little bit.  Seriously?  It was only in there for maybe two minutes! Dammit.

And, the thing that really has me pissed beyond belief is that I submitted one of my hand made books to a museum last fall and they emailed to ask if I wanted it mailed back to me.  I said I would like it mailed back to me and then I never got it so I tried to call.  I was told that there was no one in that job at the time.  I emailed back and the snot nosed little 22 year old curator's assistant (this is how i imagine her to be) told me they cleaned up and "tossed" my limited edition hand made photo book.  I am preparing to write the angriest letter ever to every single administrator as well as any board director I can find for this fucking museum. I  wouldn't even sell them a photo now.  On my list for when I get famous is to mention this devastating incident in an interview.  Fucking idiots!!!  God Dammit.  I am never letting another hand made book out of my sight.  Seriously! I did not need this.  Mother fucking c-word curator's assistant.  I want to kick her. Dammit dammit dammit.