Ineedagoddamnnap!

Vacation, bleeding dogs and missing pickles...

For some reason, my life is always filled to the brim with chaos. Sometimes I think I enjoy it that way, other times, I want to check myself into the nearest psych ward. I got married August 26, 2005. Every year since, we have vacationed at the beach the week of our wedding anniversary. Some of my family members generally come along for some of the trip, which is nice. Last year, with three small children in tow, our vacation was much like The Griswold's. Perhaps I should dig that post out.

This year was different, yet equally as full of insanity. We rented a house this year, rather than staying in a hotel. My sister, brother in law, one year old nephew, my Mom, younger brother and step father all joined us. Well, actually, my sister picked the house out and set everything up, but that isn't really relevant. I just wanted to point out that it isn't like we footed the bill for a house at the beach and then had all these visitors join us for a free ride. Anyway, the day we left started off with a bang as my husband decided to tell me he wanted to go get his eyes checked before we started off on our two hour journey. Um, no. You will not be getting your eyes checked the morning we are leaving for vacation, unless you want to get up early to do so without interrupting everyone else's plans. He wasn't happy. Oh well.

Once we arrived and carried half our house inside to our rooms, I realized I forgot the sheets I had carefully put on the chair to stick in the suitcase. Go figure. My Mom assured me she had enough for me to use, so I didn't get my panties in a wad about it. The kids were running around like wild animals, the adults were trying to figure out what the hell was going on and how we were going to prevent the many young children from breaking anything in the multi-million dollar home. In the meantime, back at home, my mother in law was given one of our cars and a key to our home to take care of our pets. As my luck would have it, our dog, Cali, went into heat the day before we left. Isn't that just lovely?

The week was beautiful, the weather was perfect, the house was amazing and the beach is my favorite place in the world. However, we had about a million and one arguments, children throwing temper tantrums, ants on the counter, more arguing, separate beds because the kids wouldn't sleep alone and minimal internet connection to feed my facebook gaming addiction. Our anniversary was spent largely not speaking, but I cannot remember what the hell we were arguing about. Pancakes maybe? Something stupid and unimportant, I'm sure. We were supposed to go out to dinner that night while my Mom watched the kids, but that didn't happen. At that point, part of me was ready to pack up and drive home and the other part was ready to go get a hotel room on my own and not give anyone the address!

Vacationing with a four year old, a two year old and two, one year olds is challenging. Especially when 3/4's of them belong to yours truly! The kids had a great time, plenty of rides on the boardwalk, funnel cake, stuffed animals to bring home for the dog to tear apart...you know, all that good stuff. There were 5 bathrooms in the house, but only one bathtub- the rest were showers. The tub was a jacuzzi and very difficult to bathe our children in. The baby slid all around, the older two thought it was a swimming pool and splashed buckets of bubbly water in the babies face, causing her to scream bloody murder. You couldn't exactly lean over this tub either, so by the time the bath was over- I was soaked and in desperate need of a back massage.

Despite slathering myself up with sunscreen and sitting under a jumbo tent on the beach, I still managed to get sunburn on my back the second day we were there. That felt great. Hot-cold-hot-cold. Couldn't wear a bra, couldn't sleep, couldn't stand the warmth of the shower touching my back. Just my luck. The bay and ocean were swarming with jelly fish, making it rather difficult for the kids to have much fun in the water. We bought kites, but damnit if any of us could get them to stay in the air for more than a few seconds. I played with my Mom's metal detector, but found nothing more than a rusty nickel. We paid a hundred dollars for a pirate ship ride, thinking the kids would have a blast, little did we know the younger two wanted to sit the entire time under the covered area- away from any action. Money well spent.

We did get the pleasure of watching the dolphins jump several times a day. We had a great water view from our balcony and Gianna, especially, got a kick out of watching the dolphins play in front of us. I got my nose pierced, something I had wanted to do for a really long time. My sister went into the shop with me, and before I had mine done, she decided she would do it as well. I went first and it appears as if the piercer hit a capillary or something because blood shot out my nose and dripped down my face, onto my chest. I didn't realize what was happening until my sister inhaled deeply and said "Yeah, you can rip that paper I signed up because I am not doing that!" She ended up doing it anyway, and didn't bleed at all. After 80 bucks and a giant needle through her nose, she took hers out less than a week after getting it done. I am still enjoying mine, although I am still trying to manage the art of picking my nose with a chunk of metal in there!

We decided to leave Friday night rather than Saturday morning. I figured it would be easier to have the kids in their own beds and we wouldn't have to rush in the morning. We walked in to a house that smelled rank like tuna fish, a ruined mattress in the kids playroom, a kitchen floor that desperately needed to be mopped and an 80 degree house. Awesome. We threw the mattress away as soon as we got the kids to bed, just what we felt like doing at 11:30 at night. I quickly mopped the floor and decided everything else could wait. All in all, I was glad to be home.

The next day, I was doing laundry and as I went to pour the laundry soap into the cap- out came water. Uh huh, classy. Mother in law took it upon herself to use up all the laundry soap, then fill the bottle with water like I wouldn't notice! Come the hell on. Jackass. As if that weren't bad enough, the next day, as I was looking for some homemade pickles my lovely neighbor made for me before we left- I realized they were missing. There was two plastic containers of said pickles on the top shelf of the fridge. I looked everywhere- gone. I asked my husband to call his mother and ask her what she did with them. Of course, she denied taking the pickles. I don't care if she ate some of the pickles, but Christ, there were two containers, she could have left me some. After she lied about taking the pickles, she proceeded to call back about 6 times leaving messages about the pickles. "Raannn, call me back about the pickles. I DID NOT take the pickles." -click. Shut up you ass hat, you took the fucking pickles and used up all my laundry soap and let my dog bleed on a mattress and were out cruising in my car...so just shut up about the pickles already.

We never did find them, obviously, but my sister did ask me if I had any pickles at the Labor Day cookout we had Monday. Once I caught on, I dared her to go outside, where mother in law was sitting, and ask my husband. She wouldn't do it. I was tempted myself after watching mother in law fill up four giant plates of food (she is a diabetic, for the record. And also brought nothing to the gathering when everyone else in attendance did...just sayin)...and then she blew up the downstairs bathroom like some sort of sickly man. Jesus, my guests were found wandering the hallway upstairs looking for a bathroom that didn't smell like something just died in it. Couldn't she have taken her giant dump upstairs and spared us all? "Well, I opened the window and you didn't have no spray" was what she said about the filth she left behind, right outside the kitchen, for us all to enjoy. Classy!

Oh well, enough complaining for the day. I should probably drag myself to the grocery store before I change my mind all together. I am fighting a bad case or writers block, both on here and with the book I have been writing. Hoping it ends soon, I miss writing.

MckDrama

I started blogging about a year ago. Back then, my blogs consisted largely of me bitching about my husband or how stressful my life was with three little ones. After several months, I ended up deleting the entire blog (hindsight being 20/20, I wish I would have saved the posts first) because my husband and I went through a period of separation. I enjoy blogging, it is a good stress reliever and a way for me to put my sarcasm to good use. I have 3 young children, 4, 2 and 1. I have 5 cats, 2 dogs, an African Grey parrot and a goldfish. I am a nurse and went back to work, part time, in March. I am busy and my life is full of chaos. I don't have the time to blog daily, let alone several times a day.

I have been following a blog called MyCharmingKids for about a year now. I have been pretty sucked in as the blog is written by the mother of a little boy with a heart condition. He was supposed to die in utero, but was born "healthy." He has suffered with his heart condition on and off since he was four months old. When I first started reading this blog, I felt the writers intentions were good. I felt she enjoyed blogging and was using her blog as an outlet for support because of what was going on with her unborn child. But, the more readers she got, the more vain she seemed to become. She started advertising on her blog, which, okay...who doesn't want to make a little extra money?- I just think it's annoying. She started hinting around for things she wished she had when her little boy was in the hospital. Her readers apparently sent her gifts, money, put her up in hotel rooms, etc.

Then she started having "live chats." I think that is what really started to turn me off. What goes through a persons mind to make them feel important enough to do a live chat? I would be so embarrassed! "Hey guys, come talk to me live because I am special." Come the hell on. As if the live chats weren't enough, she also plans picnics for strangers to attend and meet her "famous family" as well as a cruise of some sort that her family will be going on with other strangers. Yes, what a brilliant idea- lets expose our entire family to the idiotic maniacs of the world. I don't get it, really.

And of course, she isn't religious...but knows Jesus. She isn't religious, but goes to church. She isn't religious, but trusts that God has a plan. She isn't religious, but asks her readers to pray. She isn't religious, but posted numerous posts about God, Jesus and quotes from the Bible. Sounds a tad religious to me?? Just sayin.

She claims she doesn't swear- come on! She makes her own hummus and some other kinds of nasty health foods that sound completely unappealing. She takes a million and a half pictures of her kids, many of them half dressed, covered in dirt or eating a filthy cracker with filthy hands. Hey, to each their own...but, um...ew.

While her son was hospitalized, she was on twitter about a bazillion times a day. She took pictures of her lunch, her feet, her baby getting injected with medication to stop his heart. She refers to her husband as "Prince Charming" but doesn't keep it real enough to admit that her hubby is so charming she had to call the police on him not only once, but twice. Yikes! If you don't want to air your dirty laundry, I completely understand, but let's not paint an unrealistic picture either. When the truth comes out, you sort of end up looking like a smacked ass to anyone with half a brain.

But what really sealed the deal for me with this MckDrama is her latest shenanigans with the "secret" trip they recently took. She is posting a series of pictures, trying to leave clues, asking her readers to guess where they went, stating that big changes are coming, yet she leaves everyone hanging in suspense for days and days. It dawned on me a couple days ago- who the fuck cares? Who the hell is this lady? Some wanna be looking for her 5 minutes of fame and subjecting her children to a bunch of lunatics in the meantime? Why did I bother following her blog for so long when she had made it about fame rather than her ill son? I have always, and will continue to pray for her little boy. I cannot imagine having a sick child and I thank God for my families health every single day. I also cannot imagine using my child's health condition as a way to make myself famous.

I started looking around the web and found there are hundreds of people who feel the same way I do about this woman. It made me feel much better to know that it wasn't all in my head- that this lady has some serious something going on! And what blows my mind even more is where she finds the time to write several blog posts a day. Christ, I am constantly pulling my hair out with my three little ones...I can't even take a dump by myself! She has four children, under the age of four, and manages to blog her heart out. Um, what are the kids doing? Just wonderin' ?

Anyway, I just wanted to vent about that for a sec. It has been on my mind lately, you know, between changing diapers, making my own, organic, baby food, milking the cows and cleaning up puppy poo. Just thought I would share my thoughts...not that anyone cares, but hey, it made me feel a little better.

Happy Birthday Nicholas

I remember calling my brother around 9:30 at night one time. He had just gotten done work. I was complaining about how bad my back was hurting and how I wished I could get a massage. My brother drove to my house and rubbed my back for me. No complaints. He was more than happy to help me anytime he could.

I remember one time my brother and I were out early in the morning riding our bikes. As we wheeled back into our driveway, he stopped a little too fast and somehow, his leg got caught in between the chain on his bike. I had to go wake our Dad up, who wasn't happy about being disturbed so early in the morning! But once I told him what happened, he rushed outside with a tub of butter to help my brother get his leg unstuck.

I remember one time my brother thought it would be a good idea to put a piece of cardboard over his skateboard and sit down on it while riding down what we called "acorn hill." It was a pretty long, twisty road in our neighborhood. Inevitably, the cardboard slid off the skateboard and my brother slid half way down the hill on his ass. He walked around for a good week with a patch of his red Umbra shorts stuck to his butt. He refused to pull them off the wound and made my Dad cut the shorts off, leaving the patch of red shorts stuck to his buttocks for at least a week!

I remember when my brother got out of the shower one afternoon and walked into my room looking like he was going to cry. I asked him what was wrong and he replied "I need you to look at something for me." I said okay and asked what he wanted me to look at. He said, "I think I have hemorrhoids." I protested, telling him I was NOT going to look at any hemorrhoids on my own brother. We have boundaries! But he begged me. He said it hurt him so bad he couldn't sit down and he didn't know what else to do. Finally, I gave in. He lifted his towel a slight bit to expose just the edge of his butt cheek. I got hysterical laughing when I realized what he thought was a hemorrhoid was nothing more than a pimple on his lower butt cheek! He was mortified and made me promise not to tell. I never did...well, at least not while he was alive.

I remember one night watching the 11 o'clock news and seeing a tornado warning flash across the screen. I am a compulsive worrier and immediately grabbed my pillow and blanket and headed downstairs to the basement where my brothers room was. He was trying to sleep when I barged in with my bedding-ready to bunker down. He asked what I was doing and I told him I was sleeping down there incase a tornado came. He was annoyed and expressed how ridiculous he thought I was, but after he was done, he slid over and let me sleep there, in the basement, where I felt safe.

I remember one day when my brother was visiting me, after I had moved out of our family home. I had a few cats at that time and their litter box was in the downstairs bathroom. I remember him opening the bathroom door and looking back at me with a look on his face that told me it was time to scoop the litter. Then turned around and as he was closing the door behind him, he said "I'm gonna give you cats some competition!"

I remember his smile, his laugh and his bright blue eyes. I remember his kindness, his compassion and his gentle nature. I remember his flair for life and his desire to be positive and have fun. I remember his lectures to me about loosening up and worrying less. He would tell me to listen more and argue less. His advice was wise beyond his years. I remember his very last phone call to me. It was a Sunday afternoon and I was cleaning my bedroom. I talked to my brother every day, but I always called him unless there was something specific he needed. But that day, he called me out of the blue. We talked for a good hour before I asked him if he called for any specific reason. He said, "Nah, just wanted to talk." My brother, Nick, was killed the next day.

Today is his birthday. He would be celebrating turning 31 right now, instead, his life was cut short because of a careless drunk driver and no seat belt. I miss my brother Nick with all my heart and soul. He was my best friend and I often feel lost without him here. There isn't a day that passes that I don't think of him, wish he was still here with us and hope he is "somewhere" looking out for those of us who were left behind. Happy Birthday Nick. I love you from the depths of my soul and hope and pray you are able to celebrate the day you entered this world where ever you may be.

xoxoxo~
Mandy

Fed up with worrying

I am a worrier. Always have been, hope someday that changes. Not that I don't think some amount of worry is healthy, I do. What good would a person be if they wandered through life not giving a shit about anything? It's just that I take things to an extreme.

For example, childbirth. While most women look forward to meeting their new bundle of joy, or stress out about the pain of contractions, I am convinced I am going to die. Of course I pick the rarest thing out there to die from, an amniotic fluid embolism. I have a better chance of perishing on my way to the hospital to give birth, and rationally, I know that. But some part of my brain misfires way too often and I obsess over whatever thing I happen to be worried about. Doctors love me. Family has learned to ignore me.

My oldest daughter, Gianna, is suffering from many of the same symptoms I have and it scares me to death. I can remember worrying as a young child. I would sit on the edge of my bed and look out my window watching for my Dad to get home from work. Or give myself a stomach ache when we were left with a babysitter because I was afraid my Mom and Dad wouldn't come back. I remember findingwhat was probably a bug bite, on my arm while showering one afternoon. It scared me so bad, I jumped out of the shower, threw a towel around me and ran on to the backyard where my step-mom was hanging clothes on the line. I insisted she look at my "bump" right away. I knew it was something awful and I was sure to die from it. She marched me back into the house, quickly, and tried to reason with me about how ridiculous I sounded.

Gianna worries about everything. She used to be an overly happy four year old. Over the last 9 months or so, she has become more and more concerned about things that she should pay no mind to. She worries about police officers, and if they are going to come get her if she spills something on herself. She worries about having children someday because she doesn't want to get any needles. She worries about future doctors appointments, for herself and her sisters. She worries about foxes getting into the house and attacking her in her bedroom at night. She worries when she coughs that she will throw up. She worries when her sisters cough that they will throw up. I hate all her worry. I worry about her worry.

My husband and I tried homeopathic therapy, much to my Mom's insistence, but it has done nothing for her. I hate the thought of putting her in therapy, but it looks like it is coming to that. I cannot stand the thought that my little girl may suffer through life like I did. I have spent years and years struggling with anxiety attacks and anxiety medication just to make it through the day. Of course, as I got older, I learned to better deal with my anxiety. But, it took me a long time and a lot of wasted days.

Anxiety sucks. Worrying sucks. Watching your children suffer sucks. Life isn't always easy, but when you love someone more than you love yourself, like any mother should, it makes life a million times harder watching them struggle. I hope my first born learns to put the worry behind her and live in the moment. I hope she wakes each day with excitement for what the new day will bring. I hope she laughs her heart and and brightens entire rooms with her smiles. And after all that is done, I hope she teaches me a little of what she learned.

I've learned that...

I've learned that there aren't enough hours in the day.

I've learned that, too often, I appreciate my kids more when they are sleeping.

I've learned that I will never be a perfect Mother. I will never even come close to that status. But, I love my kids with all my heart and try to learn from my mistakes.

I've learned that four and a half year olds love to be the boss. They also master the art of talking back.

I've learned that sometimes, I find myself defeated by my four and a half year old!

I've learned that two year olds can be bull headed and throw a mean temper tantrum.

I've learned that two year olds prefer to live off of fruit snacks and chicken nuggets.

I've learned that sometimes it is easier for me to give in and let my two year old eat fruit snacks for breakfast, than it is for me to argue with her.

I've learned that one year olds quickly pick up on the bad habits of their two and four year old sister's.

I've learned that once my one year old realize she could scream, she decided to make a habit of it.

I've learned that I should invest in earplugs...today.

I've learned that one should NEVER buy a puppy two days before surgery. No matter how cute he is.

I've learned that I am impulsive and while I have attempted to improve my bad behavior, it doesn't seem like it will ever go away completely.

I've learned that I make mountains out of molehills.

I've learned that I need to worry less, laugh more and appreciate what I have.

I've learned that money is necessary to live, but it doesn't bring a person happiness.

I've learned that you cannot change people. You can lead a horse to water, but you can never, ever make it drink.

I've learned that no matter how much it hurts you to see another person making the wrong choices in life, they are their choices to make.

I've learned that I make a lot of mistakes myself. Sometimes I learn from them, sometimes I pretend they never happened.

I've learned that I love writing and wish my "writers block" would go away so I could get back to writing my book.

I've learned that I secretly hope my book will be a huge hit and will eventually get published.

I've learned I am very much a dreamer! Go figure, I'm a Pieces.

I've learned my passion for being a nurse isn't what it used to be. At this point, I would be happy never to work as a nurse again.

I've learned that taking care of people at the end of their lives isn't easy, and takes a toll on you. Despite not knowing the person outside of a work atmosphere, it is hard to watch as each breath they take is one closer to their last.

I've learned that when my four and a half year old decides she wants her name to be "Taylor" rather than Gianna...it is easiest to agree. Taylor it is!

I've learned that marriage is hard work. The work never ends and both people must be dedicated to the work, or else the marriage will fail.

I've learned that you never stop learning about your spouse, no matter how long you are together.

I've learned that I can be a spiteful person when I want to be. I can hurt a person in ways that are shameful.

I've learned that changing that behavior is hard as hell to do. But, I keep trying.

I've learned that mother in laws can be giant pains in the ass.

I've learned to choose my battles.

I've learned to appreciate every single person involved in the making, producing and stocking the drug Xanax. Without it, I would very certainly be spending a lot of time institutionalized.

I've learned that my family is everything to me.

I've learned that I am truly blessed to have such a wonderful family. It saddens me to see other people with a family dynamic that just stinks. They miss out on so much without the happiness and love a good family brings into your life.

I've learned to take nothing for granted.

I've learned that the pain and hurt from losing someone you love never goes away. It becomes bearable, but remains intact, ready to haunt you at any given moment.

I've learned that the concept of life and death can be very scary and overwhelming.

I've learned that trying to figure it all out is impossible.

I've learned that the best I can do is strengthen my beliefs, maintain some sort of relationship with my higher power and pray that there is more to it than we can understand.

I've learned that there have been an awful lot of unexplainable things that have happened to me in life that bring me much comfort.

I've learned that I never stop looking for those "signs"...my eyes are always open.

I've learned that I will try most things once. Most things.

I've learned that I will never try caviar, veal or several other types of animal meat many people consider delicacies. I will never jump from an airplane. I will never learn to like spiders.

I've learned that losing weight is hard as hell to do.

I've learned that a small part of me secretly hates thin girls that can eat whatever they want.

I've learned that I have a hang up on vampires.

I've learned that Vicodin and me don't mix.

I've learned that I am tired of thinking of things I've learned.

What in the...???

For the love of all that's ...loved?
Honestly, I have no idea what the hell has been happening lately. Perhaps the planets are out of alignment, as my Mother often reminds me that can screw with communication and whatnot. Or, perhaps the Vicodin I took a little while ago is kicking in, and I really have no idea what I am even typing. Why am I typing anyway? It has been a while. A lot of shit is going on.

I was busy writing a book. I am still in the process of writing and editing, but, was rudely interrupted a few weeks ago. I went for my routine ob/gyn appointment and mentioned a few issues I had been having. Mid-cycle bleeding, mood swings, hair loss...all things I thought my doctor would tell me were perfectly normal and send me on my way. Instead, he mentioned the word "surgery." SURGERY??? No, no...see, I don't do surgery. I had emergency surgery once, in 2002, and it wasn't a good situation. I am a nurse with an anxiety disorder and a hypochondriac! I don't fair well with surgery.

Worse yet, he tells me he wants to do this surgery to make sure I don't have "some sort of freaky endometrial cancer." Uh-huh...soothing. I could hardly think straight when he read the word "bump" off my nicely written list of issues I wanted to discuss with him. He was holding my list in his hand and asked me where the bump was. Since I was a little girl, I have had a freckle in my pelvic area, near my hip bone. After my third child was born, I noticed a skin tag-like thing grew on top of the freckle and I wanted him to check it out. He took one look at it and said, "Oh, that's a wart." WHAT??

But, before I could start screaming profanities and telling him I have been married for 4 years with no possibility of having warts, his phone rang. He answered it. I was sitting, undressed and alone on the table scared to death about endometrial cancer and furious that my husband was a cheater. I don't remember much more of the visit with my doctor. He told me to schedule an appointment to have my "wart" removed, that someone would call me with a surgery date for my hysteroscopy and when I nervously asked him if I might be dying...he told me he couldn't answer that until he got my biopsy results back.

I walked to my car, shaking, and called my husband as soon as I got inside. I asked him to come home right away as I didn't think I could be alone with the kids after everything I had just heard. Thankfully, he was home before me and I didn't have to suffer alone. Long story short...

I had an ultrasound a few days later. I was told I had four uterine fibroids, but everything else looked good. I felt better about that. I got a letter in the mail the day of the ultrasound with a surgery date of 7/13, which took all my reassurance away. They told me in the office they scheduled six weeks out, but my surgery was less than two weeks away. It must be bad. I had my pre-op testing last Tuesday in my doctors office, and he mentioned there was some other "spot" on my ultrasound and that he hoped it was just a polyp. I was scared out of my mind, and drove pretty much everyone in my family insane with my worry. I had to return to my doctors office last Friday to have my "wart" removed. This is how that visit went down.

I arrived, waited about a half hour before getting called back into my room. I got undressed from the waste down and sat on the table, waiting for the good ol doc to come remove my "wart." He enters the room and we exchange greetings, for the second time that week. His nurse is with him and as he is talking to me, casually, he takes my legs and places them in the stirrups. I am sort of confused, thinking the stirrups are going to be rather uncomfortable to be in while he removes something from my pelvic region, but whatever, he is the boss. Before I knew what was happening, he starts doing my pap test.
ME: Um, doc...you do realize the thing you are supposed to be removing is on the outside of my vagina, right?
HIM: Oh, geez...what am I doing? I am doing your pap! I forgot you were having something removed.
ME: Yeah, ok well, I am having surgery on Tuesday. Are you going to forget anything while that's going on? I mean, I would like to keep my uterus if possible, you know?
HIM: (Laughing) Yes, I don't know what I was thinking. Of course you will keep your uterus. Tell me again why we are removing this? This is just a skin tag.
ME: (Seriously, about to go postal...a fucking skin tag, like I thought to begin with. But then he went and scared me into thinking I had some nasty virus that caused me to get warts.Fuck!) Um, doctor, I told you I thought it was a skin tag, but you said it was a wart??
HIM: Hmm, yeah, you didn't need to have this taken off. I will send it to pathology anyway, but it's just a skin tag.

Communication is just wonderful, really! As much as I enjoy giant holes in my pelvic region and fleeing thoughts of a cheating spouse, I could have done without all that nonsense. Regardless, it was done and over with and I left the office with serious doubts about letting this man operate on me! I like my doctor, truly. But, he seemed off and it obviously concerned me. Nevertheless, I showed up for my surgery Monday morning with my husband and sister in tow. I was filled with anxiety and wanted to run in the opposite direction, but figured I had been bleeding for twenty some days at that point...how much more could I really take before needing a transfusion? Before long I was doped up and laughing on the operating table without a care in the world. I woke to my sister and husband sitting next to me, both reassuring me everything went well and my doctor didn't think I had cancer. He removed two polyps from my uterus and said they looked normal, but would have them sent to pathology to be sure.

I felt drugged and foggy and wasn't paying much attention to anything anyone was saying. I managed to hear "doesn't look like cancer" and that's about it! I set the monitors off several times when my heart rate dipped into the 40's. Despite feeling heart palpitations and mentioning them to the nurse, she scurried in and turned the alarm off each time it sounded. I was released with a prescription for Vicodin and orders not to put anything in my vagina for two weeks. I was happy to be home, and looking forward to a couple days in bed to rest. Except that didn't happen.

My heart rate remained low, the heart palpitations didn't stop and I was worried something was wrong. Around 1 in the morning, I called the on call doctor to seek some reassurance, and he tells me to go to the er. Oh, fucking goody! Off I went, alone, in the middle of the night. Of course my husband offered to take me, but I didn't want to bother family to come babysit...so I broke my discharge instructions and drove myself. Another waste of time, the er did pretty much nothing. Five hours and an EKG later, and I was on my way home with instructions to follow up with my cardiologist. Ok, am I 94? Or 33?

I am assuming it was all the drugs in my system that made my heart rate low, but I do see my cardiologist tomorrow to be on the safe side. My uterus hurts and I have cramps, but whatever, I probably don't have cancer...so YAY! I also don't have warts, but I do have a gaping hole that hurts a lot in a sensitive area. I bought a puppy last Friday, because I am a jackass, and along with chasing my three energetic children around...I also have a puppy to deal with. He is awfully cute, however. I don't really remember the point of this post. The Vicodin is definitely working...and I am going to stop writing now. Time to enjoy the moment, the silence...because way too soon, it will be over and I will be pulling my hair out again. Please excuse the babbling...I will return in the next few days with something that makes sense.

Busy with books

I have been using all my free time to work on writing a book. After many years of thinking writing would be something I would like to attempt to do, the idea for my book became so clear to me the other day that I just started writing and haven't exactly stopped since!

 

So, to any of you who check in from time to time, excuse my absense please. I will share more as I feel comfortable. But if anyone reading this has any experience with book writing, feel free to share. I would love to hear it.

Iterruptions

Yeah, I know, life is full of interruptions...except that I think someone may have ordered more than the normal amount for me. When I blogged back in September/October, I seemed to have plenty of time to write something most days. But now, it seems like everything I attempt to do gets only half done, because of all the stinking interruptions!

Seriously, I can't even use the bathroom without at least one child, dog or cat accompanying me. It doesn't matter if I shut and lock the door, they will pound on it until I can take no more, and let them in. I don't like trying to poop with company!...but, I have learned to adjust.

I attempt to clean something, only to get distracted by something I find along the way, someone getting bit, someone needing a new diaper, the phone ringing, etc...and then, three days later, when my husband asks me if I am ever going to clean off the kitchen counter, I am interrupted by a child asking me for a juice cup before I can answer him! It is nuts...really.

It took me all morning to wear the two little ones out enough so they would nap, and then I attempted a shower. (A much needed shower, mind you!) But, that too, was interrupted because Gianna decided she needed to sing, at the top of her lungs, and that was the end of Gracie's nap. So, my shower was half assed, my hair never got dried and I may or may not be wearing underwear. Instead of the peaceful shower I was hoping for, I threw some clothes on and decided to fill up the kids swimming pool and let them play. I got it half way filled before I realized it was filling completely unevenly, because it was on too much of an incline. Yes, I realize I should have taken note to this fact before I started filling it, but my mind doesn't work well these days! I filled it anyway...who cares. As I was trying to turn the hose off, I dropped the phone down the, erm, "hose hole area?"...(well, we have an area cut out in our deck and you have to remove the wood to reach in and turn the hose on and off, if that makes sense?) Of course the phone started ringing as soon as I dropped it down there. Come to think of it, I still haven't checked to see who was calling, but I am pretty sure it wasn't Ed Mc Mann calling to tell me I won the lottery! Before I could get the phone out, the girl's were carrying on for me to get their bathing suits on so the could go play, so I stopped what I was doing and helped them. Off they went to their pool. I grabbed the tongs from the grill, got down on my hands and knees and fished the phone out of the hose hole area. Feeling content for a second, I sat down and lit a cigarette. I glanced over at the girls playing in their pool happily, and was hit on the nose with a raindrop. I shook my head, and tried to convince myself it was nothing...bug pee, bird shit...I really didn't care! Just not rain. Not my luck, however, as the massive downpour began. My kids were screaming because they didn't give a rats ass if it was raining, they were getting their pool on! I had to drag them in the house, collect up all the stuff I had brought outside with me before it was thoroughly soaked and then undress them from their soaking wet bathing suits. 30% chance of showers my ass!

I am getting interrupted right this moment by an eyelash that decided to make its way into my eye ball, causing me just enough discomfort to piss me the hell off. My entire weekend was interrupted thanks to our mortgage company, who decided on Friday, to inform us they would be sending someone out at 9am Monday morning to appraise our home. So, instead of doing fun things with our children, much of our weekend was consumed trying to clean and fix things that needed to be done around the house before this ya-hoo came out. I went to bed, exhausted, Sunday evening. My sleep was interrupted several times throughout the night because Emma didn't want to go to bed, and Gracie ended up with a fever in the middle of the night. So, when I woke up Monday morning, as my children continued to sleep peacefully, to wait for the appraiser man to arrive...I was more than pissed when 9 o'clock passed, 9:30 passed, 10 o'clock passed, 10:30 passed and finally, I asked my husband to call and find out what the hell was going on. Our lovely mortgage company kindly informed him that the appraisal was no longer needed because they did an auto one instead. Are.You.Fucking.Kidding.Me.

I am in dire need of a vacation, without children. Just 24 hours of peace is all I am asking for! No interruptions, just a nice, calm environment with a beach, some drinks with umbrellas in them and a doctor to preform liposuction before I leave! That's surely not too much to ask for??

How boring

I used to be really good at "blogging." Well, maybe not good at it, but good about it! I always had something to write, eh-hem, complain about! I am not sure if I am suffering writers block, living a more boring life or just don't have the time to write as often these days. I think about posting a new blog, everyday...but I just can't come up with anything to write about. Or, I have a ton of good ideas in my mind and when I sit down to post, I can't remember any of them. Of course I have facebook and my latest "True Blood" addiction to keep me busy.

My Dad is suffering greatly from 3 herniated discs in his cervical spine. Medication isn't helping, chiropractic care isn't helping, anti-inflammatories aren't helping, rest doesn't help...it seems nothing is working for him. He is also scheduled to have brain surgery a week from tomorrow. He hasa tumor on his pituitary gland that isn't responding to medication, so, they need to remove it. My Dad is an otherwise healthy, 64 year old man. He has always been fairly active, in good shape, an avid golfer and very involved in his children's lives. Recently, he has been staying in bed because the pain is so bad. A few days ago, he called his primary care physician to ask for something for the pain. Mind you, my Father has never asked for pain medication, nor is he a complainer. The doctor had the receptionist call him back and tell him to go see an orthopedic surgeon. Oh, okay then...you fucking dip shit. Yeah, because you can just pick one of them out of the phone book and get an appointment for sometime later that afternoon! How insulting, negligent and cruel. Sometimes, I really hate doctors.

He ended up going to the emergency room a couple days later. The doctor there didn't even bother to lay a hand on him! He gave him a pamphlet of information on herniated discs and a script for Vicodin. Uh-huh...our health care system is fabulous! As mentioned above, the Vicodin don't work. Neither does the Flexeril, the 750mg of Relafin he is taking twice a day or the Percocet. He went back to his doctor this morning to ask for an MRI, they told him they would call him once the referral was ready and refilled his Vicodin script. Seriously, I would like to unleash the fury on someone.

I worry about other people, a lot. It often consumes me actually. Right now, it seems like most everyone in my life has something going on that I am worried about. Well, maybe not worried...but thinking about, or something. My mind is all fucking filled up! That's what I am trying to say. On top of my worries, for other people, I have my own worries about my children, my job that has canceled quite a few of my shifts lately due to a low census, money, my dirty house, starting school in the fall, the future, the lump on my dogs head, whether or not I have cancer, etc. Seriously, I need a vacation. Only it would really be a vacation because I have three small children that require A LOT of time and attention. Perhaps, I need a vacation and a nanny! That sounds pretty good to me. A beach, a good book, the sound of the waves, a fruity drink, a nanny and no stress! Oh, and a tummy tuck and a little liposuction prior to leaving, of course.

I don't suppose this post really has a point. I just wanted to complain a little, and let everyone know that I am well aware of the fact that my blog SUCKS these days! I am working on it, really.

And so this is life...

I often think about my life, and all the crap I complain about on a daily basis. Headaches, backaches, sick kids, work, money, stress, cooking, cleaning, etc...I do my share of bitching about these things that we all deal with at some point. Some days, it seems like my life is spinning out of control. Some days I want to rip my hair out, run for the hills (where ever they may be!) and be care-free. And then, there are days that make me appreciate all that I have in my life. Today was one of those days.

I had to work today. My alarm beeped way too early, and while everyone else in the house remained asleep, I got up, brushed my teeth, put my makeup on, got dressed and left for work. I was sort of excited for the drive there because I burned a new CD last night, and was able to listen to it all by myself in the car...as loud as I wanted to. I could also sing along without worrying I would offend anyone! I worked with a friend today, another reason work didn't seem too bad. And you, not to mention that I get paid for it! Yet, somewhere, in the back of my mind, I was wishing I was still snuggled in bed...in Hawaii!

One of my patients today is actively dying. By actively dying, I mean her body is literally shutting down, she is pretty much unresponsive and has a fever. I took care of this women last Friday as well, and she was able to speak to me and enjoy music that a kind gentleman from her hospice provider played for her. Her entire family arrived this morning to be by her bedside, including her grandson, who was supposed to graduate from college today. This woman hasn't eaten food for a long time, her nutrition provided through a tube feeding...but today, even that was stopped. I gave her medication for pain and anxiety, put her "favorite" CD on for her, repositioned her for comfort and said a prayer for her. One of the hardest parts about being a nurse is knowing that there are times when there is little you can do to help a person.

Another one of my patients lost her husband last week. They would have been married 75 years in July! Seventy-five years!! Wow. They shared a room together, separate beds, yet side by side. She sat and did her "Word Finds" and he frequently napped, read and watched tv. I sat down with her for a while today, and talked with her about how she was doing since her husband's passing. She cried, she smiled, she laughed and she shared memories of her life with me.

This brave woman told me that when she was just 3 years old, her mother got sick with Tuberculosis and died. The same year that her mother passed away, FOUR of her siblings died from the flu. Hearing about the tragic events in her life in just 3 short years was enough to make my heart break for her...but she went on. Her baby sister was adopted by a lady who helped to take care of them, and her older brother stayed with her father. She was sent to orphanage after orphanage, bounced from home to home. When she was 9, she was taken in by a couple who, she said, had 5 children that died in Italy. She went on to tell me how mean this woman was to her. Her adoptive mother would beat her, verbally abuse her, tried to force her to change her last name...her identity, her past, her mother and father. She said her father came to visit her once and she told him what was happening to her, but he left her there anyway. She told me about her friend across the street, the days they spent playing together and how she met her husband. She was 14 and he was 20. They married two years later and started their new life together.

They had children, 5 of them, and the story started to sound like it had a happy ending. Then, she told me about her youngest daughter getting cancer, losing her leg, walking with a wooden leg for a year only to have the cancer return and take her life. She told me about her other daughter, who religiously visits her mother, and father before he passed, every single day, and how her husband recently died of cancer. She told me she wasn't able to go to her husbands funeral because she cannot get in and out of bed without the help of a mechanical lift. She cried and I held her hand. She told me her husband loved to coach the kids baseball and football teams when they were younger, and that a "boy" he coached stayed in touch with him throughout his life, and spoke at his funeral. The "boy", now a grown man, referred to my patient's husband as his "other father" and told everyone how wonderfully he treated him and how special he was. I am glad she has that memory to hold on to.

She thanked me for talking with her, apologized for taking up so much of my time and smiled as if a weight were lifted off her chest. I told her it was my pleasure to listen to her, thanked her for sharing her life with me and smiled back, happy I was able to be a part of it. As bittersweet as it was, making a difference in a person's life is the most rewarding part of nursing, and the reason I do what I do. Being a nurse is more than just giving medication, taking doctor's orders and helping to save lives...it is also about caring about the person inside the chart. It is about listening to the voice in room 324, bed B. It is about putting yourself in someone else's shoes, just for a moment, and treat them as you would want to be treated.  Room 324, bed B has a whole lifetime of happiness and sorrow that comes along with her...she is so much more than just a patient and she helped me put some things in perspective.

Yes, I had to get up early to go to work...so what! I am alive, healthy (I hope!), have 3 wonderful little girls, a great husband and a loving family.
Yes, said husband was in a car accident this afternoon...but so what! He is ok. Yeah, we will have to pay our deductible to have the car fixed, but no one died, no one was beaten or verbally abused.
Yes, I got canceled for a shift I was scheduled to work next Tuesday...but really, will I remember that in a few months? I still have a home, a car, cable television and food in the pantry!
Yes, I came home to 3 filthy children (and I mean filthy!) ...Oh well. I have a bath tub to wash them in, they are all alive and well and I am physically able to bathe my children. What is there to complain about?
Yes, I just went to get myself a diet coke out of the refrigerator, and realized my mother-in-law drank the last one. Ok, who the fuck drinks someone's last soda? Yes, this one I am pissed about! Bitch even left the empty soda pack on the shelf, in the fridge. Better go check my underwear drawer!

Anyway, my point is, someone always has it worse than you. Today, I appreciate what I have in my life a little more. Today, I hugged my babies a little tighter, rocked them a little longer and kissed them a lot more. Today, I called my parents (wait, who am I kidding, I do that everyday anyway!)...I didn't get upset over stupid things my wonderful husband does that drive me bat shit and I even forgave which ever cat took a dump in my hallway (little bastard!) Ok, maybe I am holding on to the cat shit a little...but not as much as my mother-in-law creepin' on my last diet coke!

Whatever...just stop whining and live. Live now, because tomorrow, it may be gone.