Getting Through It

I never meant to stop posting for so long. Not to worry nothing to serious happened. I just felt...well like I didn't have anything to say. I did have some adventures and the kids were cute, but the general theme of January was: get through it and don't look back. The more I thought about it the more I realized how much of my life I spend getting through it. Big stuff like major surgery, moving and having both cars broken down at the same time as well as small stuff like registering my kids for school, planning and packing for a trip and going to the dentist. All off which occurred this month except major surgery (knock on wood) and moving (at least for us, someone close to me moved though).

I plot a determined and unyielding path from difficult but necessary objectives and I keep on truckin'. That is not at all to suggest I don't have fun along the way. I tend to enjoy myself more often than not. I just can't let those goals/problems hang over me like dark clouds or pile up like laundry. When I'm excited they happen quickly and I feel accomplished. Lately, I was in a rut. The world kept turning as I eternally shuffled things from the mountainous inbox to the completed projects file only to have them sneak back in to the inbox. The engine lights, deadlines, missing paperwork, broken things, early morning fits and endless logistics got heavy. Like baby elephant on my chest heavy not buried alive heavy. At least baby elephants are cute.

I was functioning, getting through it, but not so much enjoying myself. I needed something to look forward to on the other side of all my getting trough it. A silver lining, light at end of the tunnel, a reward. A birthday trip to Disney without the kids ought to do it. Now, I had some gratitude and excitement for fuel!

I still found myself...not as sunshine-y as usual. So, I started giving myself reasons to take care of myself. Doing little things for myself and speaking up. Now, your probably saying "Speaking up? When has THAT ever been your problem." I'm incredibly assertive, but if I want but don't need something I don't tell anyone. So, the other day after a long hot weekend morning shower I told Mike I really wanted a pre-birthday pedicure. Guess what? I got one. Even better I found Riley's new tap shoes ($5 at a consignment store) and then went a few doors down feeling accomplished and had my toes done. It was heaven sitting in the massage chair with my feet in the warm bubbly water.

Not only was Mike perfectly willing to fork over the cash for what we've dubbed "my yearly pedicure", but he asked why I don't do that more often. Now, I have a renewed vigor in everything I do from errand running to getting dressed in the morning. I feel more like myself. I'm so looking forward to an insanely fun and busy February!

However, I do think overachievers need to cool their jets now and then. Sometimes an illness or rut is a great chance to lower my expectations for myself, take a breath and reevaluate. Separating internal and external pressures can be confusing sometimes. I often feel the world will end if I do not find my stamps or get Roo to school 10min early. The truth is both of those thing happened and the world didn't end. It's ok to borrow and stamp for the important letter and be exactly on time or (GASP!) two minutes late. I'm still doing my best so even though the outcome changes I can be proud of myself.

Cleaning Sucks

I have two kids, an extremely messy husband and pets...and oh yeah a physical disability. Sweeping, mopping, vacuuming cause back pain and hip dislocation. Bath tub scrubbing makes my knees swell. Dish washing hurts my ankles. You get the idea. Don't worry this is not a complain/vent. It's another post in which I attempt to cut myself some slack. Before kids I did all the necessary cleaning and then I was "done for the day". Now, I recover from cleaning the way I recover from illness...I don't.

That is a REAL picture of the actual sink/counter/kitchen full of dirty dishes I woke up to on my 28th birthday (aka first birthday after I had Riley). I'll leave the condition of the rest of house to your imagination. Yes, I woke up on that post-partum birthday and wept at the massive mess. Then I whipped out my camera and documented it like an insane person. I think I wanted proof of what I'd done all day on my birthday while tending to a 7yr old and 5mo old. Truth is I can never be sure with all the hormones and sleep deprivation why I took 20+ pictures of my trashed house. As I started trying to deal with the situation I got mad, I mean really! Today?!? So, I decided I needed professional help (Yes, probably that kind too). I called a cleaning service. It would be Mike's birthday present to me, I'd inform him of his generous birthday gift later.

That was the first time I asked for help, but not the last. Like most moms keeping the house clean is a constant source of stress. Soon after that birthday I had a major back surgery and I started paying my friend to come once a week and help me. I was essentially stationary on the couch. A stack of diapers and a drink beside me, a baby gate encircling a patch of living room floor, and Riley climbing on and off my lap. I got up to use the bathroom and make our lunch. It was some rough times. $20 for someone to come run the vacuum and clean my bathrooms was well worth it. As time passed and different surgeries and recoveries happened the person helping, rates and tasks I needed them for changed, but I had weekly help whenever we could swing it.

Since our move it went from weekly to once a month. For awhile now I've been going it completely alone sending up the bat signal on special occasions. Before you get all "cry me a river" you have to clean your own house all the time. I live with an amazing slob (I love him and he's great at many things, but being aware of the wreckage of his presence is not one of them), a fused spine, two kids, pets and unpredictable physicality. I do my best, I ask the kids for help and I try to remember how much better things are now than in the old days. I feel like I'm pretty on the ball, but I'm not a miracle worker and I can only do so much. Recently I stumbled on this post: What Normal Looks Like. Some of it was accurate, some of it didn't apply, but the spirit of it gave me a moment of relief. I forgot that it's not just me struggling.

I hate it when the house gets out of control, it is literally hard for me to get around in it. I am doing my best at any given moment to keep things pleasant and functional. Note: I did not say "to impress people." I just want to be comfortable and relaxed in my house. If my physical abilities ever caught up with my expectations of myself this place would be immaculate! Short of the nano technology my husband swears will be the end of all my orthopedic issues someday I don't really see that happening.

Imagine if cleaning didn't just exhaust and frustrate you, but actually caused you physical pain. Are you sympathizing? Good! Now with that in mind, call before you drop by so I have time to tidy up.

Mother's Intuition

It is real and it should be listened too. Most of the worst mom guilt I've suffered has been because I didn't listen to my gut. As a mother there are so many, many decisions. They all seem so important at the time (and some are). It's hard not to wonder if you're to emotional, to close to something, paranoid or down right crazy. You have to do the best with what you have at that moment. We're only human.

I think sometimes bad things happen to make you stronger or wise. Other times bad things happen to force you to move on. I would do anything for my children, the trouble is identifying the right "anything." I worried a lot about choosing the wrong thing for a long time, but there had been this wave of certainty for awhile. I enjoyed it and perhaps got a little to cozy. I trusted so much in what I was doing that when there was a problem (cue cartoon car brakes squealing) it really threw a wrench in the works.

While I suffered the seven stages of grief, with denial being a repeat offender, I wrestled with my intuition. I wrestled it black and blue. I got emotional and then emotional about being emotional. I racked my brain for a way to fix things. I would have done anything. I was at a complete loss. How was the situation so bad? How come I wasn't able to fix it? How come I didn't know what to do? I was a failure. A failure for putting my child in that situation, a failure for not being able to fix it, a failure for not knowing what to do know.

My relationships became strained with everyone in my house. The days dragged and focusing on anything else was very hard. I tried talking about it, writing about it, actively suggested solutions, being more present, being less present, giving more, doing more and finally I hit a wall. From my stunned position I looked up from flat on my back and saw things from a new perspective.

Air began filling my lungs and my intuition took the floor, citing all of my observations in neat little graphs and pie charts. There was an obvious answer, it just hurt. Could I afford to continue waiting? No. Could I do more? No. Could I do this? Yes, but...Ouch. What's the bottom line? The happiness and safety of my children. Can the biggest problem be solved? Not in time for me and my child. Darn grown up responsibility.

I've got a map now, but it is rough, scary terrain. Why didn't I do this sooner? Why didn't I have a plan B? Shame on me! Then I scurried around calling, talking, emailing, hoping and praying. Sick to my stomach and putting on a happy face for the kids. Just knowing it was time to find a way. There had to be a way to get my child back, to get my sanity back, to banish the daily fear and feel good about my decisions again.

I tried everything until something stuck and I stuck to it. I followed all the rules, showed due respect and marched bravely forward. I fought so hard for so long and now that I had an answer the fight was harder than ever. I did what I had to do and the immediate response wasn't happy. The secondary response wasn't either truthfully and nothing was easy. Then it was over which just left the letting go. Which is super hard and takes time. Maybe next time intuition is kind enough to call I'll pick up the darn phone!

As things slowly (but much faster than they went wrong) go back to normal, I know I did the right thing for my family. Every happy day since is is more appreciated than it would have been before. I'm filled gratitude and have the gift of a new perspective.

A Lot On My Shoulders

The latest chapter in my most recent orthopedic odyssey was a trip to physical therapy this week. I've had physical therapy visits hundreds of times, and most of the time I remember them positively. At the age of three years old, I hadn't yet walked. It was during a PT appointment when my mom and grandma were told the therapist was going to "try something" and not to get their hopes up, etc... Then they put a walker in front of me. I grabbed on to that sucker and took off. I had places to go! I went straight to the vending machine in the hallway and asked for cookies, of course! Everyone hearing this tale, laughed about how the adults were in tears about this wonderful moment, while I only had a single minded desire for cookies (so little changes). I wanted a package of the little round cookies with crinkly edges, vanilla with lemon cream. I remember that part vividly.

Obviously, physical therapy has done me significant good here and there, since I was smaller than Miss Roo. This appointment was a horse of a different color, it was for my upper body. I knew I was upset about the appointment. I knew it might be painful and it would certainly be different. I had no idea that it would be a deeply emotional experience. I just wasn't prepared.

I am screaming at myself even writing about this "What is your problem! It shouldn't be this big a deal." It was. It is. It's ok for my shoulder blades to hit a 10 on the pain scale. It is NOT ok to go to physical therapy for my shoulder blades. I have never been able to rely on my lower half and conversely I have always demanded my upper body pick up the slack. It can't break. It can't join my orthopedic issue roller coaster. It is unacceptable.

As I sat there relaying my medical history it could have been a conversation about anything all. Once the evaluation turned to my pain I had a lot of trouble. I felt stupid. I got chocked up several times. I could not articulate my answers well in almost every case. It hit me hard when he asked if I needed a stool to get up on an exam table. I refused one, as is my habit. I used my arms to pull myself up and I sat down. The therapist said in a matter of fact way, "you expect a lot of your arms." I could have burst into tears right there. Dammit. Of freaking Course I do! Did? Oh God.

He told me he sees lots of people with shoulder issues, but NONE of them have fused spine AND walk with crutches. I tried to joke about how ditching the stupid things would solve everything. In case I haven't said it recently, I hate the crutches. As it turns out they (duh!) had a major part in screwing up my shoulders. He gave me an exercise to do until I come back.

I wanted to punch a wall or cry. Instead I hauled my now-furious shoulder blade out to the the desk to make some more appointments. I wanted to scream at someone because this isn't allowed to happen. Instead I collected Isaac and tried to suck it up. I hope this is an isolated issue and not a sign of things to come.

Just keep swimming.

Stalked: Legal Proceedings & Final Thoughts

When the court date came I was a wreck. I wasn't thrilled about being in the same room with him again. I felt stressed, like I was taking a big test I had no idea how to prepare for. I knew the best thing to do would be keep my mouth shut and only answer the questions I was asked. I printed call logs and emails and brought them with me. I sat in that courtroom listening to other people's horrible stories of assault, abuse and child neglect and I wanted to run away. I brought a friend for moral support. He brought six people.

The judge asked if he really called me "6-10 times a day"
He replied "Until she blocked my number."
"You called her 6-10 times a day everyday after she told you she didn't want to speak to you...until she blocked your number?"
"Yes! We had a connection! You don't understand."
"Um...you were only together a few weeks."
"It was an amazing connection."
"She told you she didn't want to speak to you"
"I know."
It just went on and on like that. It was almost funny. I sat mutely until I was asked direct questions. I can't imagine what that judge thought of me? What kind of person would invite that guy into her life? At one point she asked him a question and in the mother of all non-sequiturs he replied "I don't know if you noticed but she's disabled! I always respected that." Wow. What?!?

In the end the judge ordered that the protection order stay in place for another 30 days and added "I think it's best if you just stay away from each other." At which point he stammered "Do I have to register or something?!?" almost funny especially when you consider that he had worked as a legal secretary before pursuing music. I felt relieved that day, but I didn't stop worrying he might show up until I moved out of state.

Luckily for me, he was terrified of authority. After watching the Stalked TV show I learned that for a lot of people who engage in this kind of behavior their obsession trumps any fear of repercussions. I only spent a couple months being harassed and scared, but it felt like a lifetime.

Now technology allows you to block individual numbers from your cell phone, but like I said when he believed he couldn't call me he flooded my email and showed up instead. It was a terrible time for me. I came out of it stronger and healthier for having dealt with old issues in the process. It wasn't a set of mistakes I'd ever repeat. I don't think he wanted to control me, I think he truly believed I would find his insane behavior romantic. I think he liked the drama of the far more serious relationship he invented in his head. Who knows if he would have gone away quietly if I had rejected him after that first date...It doesn't matter though because I fully admit my mistake. You can't put yourself out there when you're in severe emotional distress like that. It was a bad call. Standing up for myself, however, was a great one.

Stranded

From time to time, I have been truly stranded. I have been stuck in a bed, a chair, in a room or some other place that I don't want to be, with no way to leave. I have woken up unable to to climb out of my bed. I have found myself on the couch unable to reach my crutches. I've had a child take off in my wheelchair and leave me stuck. I have crawled like a baby across rooms and been carried. It is a vulnerable thing to be stranded. Somehow, I never feel relaxed like a cartoon man in tattered clothes sunning himself on an island beach waiting for rescue. It is pure frustration to be stranded, stuck and stunted. It is the battle against my flawed body to accomplish my goals at it's extreme low.

I can forget where I put my crutches the same way someone else might misplace their phone or keys. Nothing like forgetting your legs, right? I expect on my worst of days to be besieged by frustration and I plan accordingly. The trouble is that sometimes it's a good day physically and something completely out of my control strands me. Those days knock the wind out of me.

It is hardest when an overly physical task sprung on me: a wet bed in middle of the night, a broken pipe under the sink or any of those day to day emergencies that happen to everyone. Things that wear on my joints and test the limits of my fused spine. I take them in stride, but they always cost me. I balance things as much as I can, because that's what Moms do.

I have a friend who left her wheelchair in the driveway when she transferred into the car and didn't realized she didn't have it in the car until she was pulling into a parking space at her destination. Stranded. Another disabled mom friend of mine recently went shopping prior to a snow storm and couldn't find an electric cart that functioned. Not one electric cart with a charge in the whole store and no one who cared. Stranded.

I had a similar experience recently with a happier resolution. I went to Target bright and early, grabbed a electric cart and went on my way. I picked up everything on my lengthy list working my way to the back of the store. It was there, of course that the battery died. There I was perched on a paperweight, in the back of this sprawling store. I was mildly irritated until I turned around and saw another woman in the same situation, a handful of aisles behind me. She was older and heavier than me, but she had a shopping companion. I'd say the competition for who was worse off was a draw. My basket was ridiculously full and I didn't want to abandon my haul to find help. I sat there scanning the aisles and debating whether to just walk out. I couldn't bear the thought of being stuck or giving up after my trip was all but done.

Finally, I saw someone coming and felt completely relieved- for about two seconds. He passed me on his way to rescue the other lady. He swapped her bum cart for a new one. I waved him over, now visibly upset, and he explained that he just gave her the last charged chart in the store. I looked from my cart to him in dismay, but before I could embarrass myself with any further emotional display he offered to fetch a cart. He said he would load and push it for me. While he was gone the rescued lady's second cart ran out of steam too! It was almost so ridiculous it was funny. That poor woman.

My hero followed through, cheerfully getting quite the cardio-workout placing all my stuff in a regular cart. He walked me through my last few items and on to the checkout line. He unloaded everything on to the belt and disappeared to save the other victim of the-day-all-the-batteries-died. The managers were appalled by the situation and my new friend even came back to help me get everything in the car.

I've been lucky a few times and not so lucky many more times. I think everyone has those moments, but they are more routine when you have mobility issues. I find being prepared: shopping early so the carts are still plugged in from the night before, not patronizing stores that are too hard to manage, stocking up on things when I'm out so that if I can't get out later we have them, being very vocal with management when there's an issue in hopes it won't happen again...and so on. Somethings are just beyond our control even if we do everything we can to prepare there will always be surprises. "Pick, yourself up, dust yourself off and start all over again..."

Day 5: 30 Days of Gratitude

Day 5: A few weeks ago I decided to make myself a massage appointment. I told myself I'd earned one and I'd do without some other things so as not to upset the budget. Then, as is often the case when I make plans for myself, I totally forgot about it! When they called to confirm my appointment I felt excited, but almost immediately guilty. Sneaking off at dinner time to spend real money on myself for a luxury. Tsk-tsk, me.

I felt like a criminal warming up leftovers, switching on a movie and running out the door. That is just how Mike found them happily eating and watching a few minutes later when he wrapped up what he was working on and came to check. The whole drive I was nervous. This wasn't my first massage (although it had been years) so I think it had to do with time of day and money.

Once I got in the room and began chatting with the message therapist I had (as I so often encourage my kids to do) an attitude adjustment. I heard my physical complaints coming out of my mouth not in a whine, but as if they were items on a grocery list. I heard myself listing recent major stresses and my eyes begun to well up with tears. As my friend in L.A. used to remark so evenly "Well Katie, that's a lot." Yes, yes it is.

I absolutely earned this. I deserve to be in less pain. I have a right to take care of myself. I did a good thing by making the appointment. After an hour of deep tissue I felt much better, but it was obvious we weren't going to work out everything in one session. When I checked out I explored my options. Wouldn't you know it, they had a plan with discounted messages if you commit to at least one a month for a year. Not only did that sound entirely necessary and reasonable (especially, now that hospital bills, doctor co-pays etc are starting to die down), but for signing up I also got an additional discount on the message I just received.

I booked another appointment for Friday and went home to help put kids to bed. I was hungry and sleepy post massage, but my temper that had been so close to the surface was non-existant as I asked Riley for the fifth time to put her socks in the hamper and get in the tub. I felt more fluidity of movement than I can remember having before, but mostly I just felt like my mind was clearer. I got Riley out of the tub, into pajamas and into bed for a story and the smile never left my face. Evenings are always so hard because I'm tired and either the pain is worse or I've been tolerating it too long. I even ate all of the dinner Mike made me which is a change since my appetite's been super low lately.

I felt like I needed to keep the secret of my massage and committing to more of them, but then I realized no one was judging me except me. Mike thought it was a great idea for me to start going at least once a month. He was happy I felt better and glad I got a good deal. My next appointment is during the day though, I wrote it right into my to do list!

Pain Changer

I have been content, well content is too far...more like resigned to living with a degree of abdominal pain that would bring most grown-ups to an emergency room. Every month at least once sometimes two or even three times the pain level would turn up like the volume on an angry teenager's music. It felt like being stabbed in one spot. It was horrible and unrelenting for anywhere between 30min and an hour. I would get sweaty and stay bent over myself. It sucked. But now there's this appointment on the horizon so of course, it changed.

Today shortly before 2:00pm a different pain happened. This time it felt like there was metal in there and I couldn't sit up let alone bent over. Horrified, I called the Dr. My old "friend" the nurse answered and sighed. She told me there was nothing anyone could do for me until I had the ultrasound. She continued with "If you really can't stand it go to the emergency room." I didn't argue with any of this not because I agreed but because I was stunned. Then she said (and I'm positive that this is a direct quote) "If the Dr thought it was serious she'd have asked you to come in by now."

This is when I found my voice and replied "Do you think maybe this information might change her mind?" This is the point where she took down the information and told me she'd speak to the doctor and get back to me. The minutes stretched on for days as I waited with waves of pain crashing over me. Then as is custom when waiting for an important call, I missed it.

I left two tearful messages and hung up on her voice mail once, but still the time stretched out like a surrealist landscape. When I got her on the phone it was clear that emotions were running high on both sides. She told me the doctor can't do anything for me until I get an ultrasound and there isn't a single opening until my appointment in TWO DAYS. I said I could understand the doctor thinking that I'd made it a year so what's two more days, but I wasn't reporting my pain to anyone because they told me it was GI related and I didn't have a GI. Also, IT CHANGED. Hello! Consistent for a whole year and now it's different. Why am I the only one who cares?!?

I don't remember exactly what was said after that point, but the bottom line is I have to wait in pain for my appointment. If I go to the emergency room I will be told to see my Dr. and given a prescription for pain medicine (that I do not want) to the tune of a few hundred dollars. The nurse did offer me 800mg Motrin, but it's not worth the effort since I have Motrin at home. She did also tell me a horrible personal story that scared me more than comforted me. I just need to get one on one with the damn Dr. I have to admit it's surprising how little consideration they gave their misdiagnosis and my pain. It seems to me I should have seen the Dr. on Monday bright and early.

I did find someone to come with me to my horribly timed appointment from which I will be rushing to get Miss Roo from school, sigh. If only I could pause everything else and just deal with this.

Getting Ready for the Next Round

Last night I started really thinking about discussing my test results with the doctor. I had flashbacks of the first time this happened and that even in the emergency room setting I felt like no one was listening. Even after they had gone in laparoscopically for a picture of the mass no one was listening to me. They wanted to send me home doped up and hope it went away on it's own. I fought harder and they agreed to remove it. I'll never forgot the doctor standing at my bedside apologizing to me. Thank God I pushed. The thing is the whole ordeal was supposed to be one of those freak events almost never happens. So why is it happening again?

Even before the pain started I complained that something was wrong. I listened when she said it was nothing, but I refused to go on anything to regulate my hormones. I believe the exact sentiment was "if it bothers you, go back on the pill." Then the pain started and I was sure I knew the score. The clear ultrasound threw me for a loop and doomed me to months and months of more suffering. I stalled under the erroneous belief that it had to be a GI issue.

Now a year out from when the pain started I know I was right and I am terrified. I'm absolutely horror struck that it went on this long. I had to fight to get my results from the cat scan in the right hands. It doesn't bode well for me. I was told things that can't possibly be right in the absence of my doctor.

Today I left a message asking if the Dr. had seen my results. Gloves on, although I've lost track of the round number. The nurse I've grown so disdainful of after the faxing of results fiasco called me back after an hour. The moment of hope I felt glancing at the caller ID was dashed when I answered. Even the sound of her cigarette riddled voice tightened my stomach. "The doctor wants you to have an ultrasound."
[Long conversation about repeating the test when showed nothing at the beginning of the process. Mostly, me making valid points while she repeats her original statement in different ways]
In the end I relented. I will have ANOTHER ultrasound in a few days. The difference is this time the Dr. will see me as soon as am done to discuss all of the results from the scan and the ultrasound.

I'm hoping we have a plan we can agree on by the time I leave, but I'm afraid there will be a long boxing match first. "This the most common cause...." "but this is my history" "True, but the odds..." "The odds of having it the first time..." "It maybe slower this way..." "I've already been dealing with pain that would have sent me to the ER if I did have to work out kid logistics for a year! Now's not the time to hope it goes away..." etc...

This time I have my age and the fact that I've already had a baby working for me rather than against me at least. Maybe I'm paranoid, having not yet actually spoken to the doctor it's hard to know what she thinks. I'm still grateful that at least the fight for answers is over and now it's about a plan.

Abdominal Angst and Answers

Last 4th of July I had a horrible pain in my abdomen. I thought it was terrible cramps, but as it persisted I became convinced it was another fibroid. I had one removed from my uterus 2yrs before I had Riley. It seemed to be effected by hormone levels and I'd only felt that intensity of pain with the necrotic fibroid all those years ago. Despite my certainty I waited months before seeing the doctor.

They took my claims seriously and did an ultrasound immediately. They told me a few days later that it was clear. I was stunned. They told me to go see a gastro intestinal specialist (ick). I waited months and in that time the pain became more frequent and intense. The GI wanted me to go for a scan immediately.

As it turns out, I got my results almost one year to the day from when the pain started. Surprise!! My GI tract is fine. What they saw that alarmed them was a mass on my left ovary. Deja vu! That is exactly how this presented last time. Also "I FUCKING TOLD YOU SO!" As an added bonus the hardware in my back is coming loose! Do I have any pain in my upper back? God yes! Damn my old ortho to hell!

An all day game of phone tag with the GYN has resulted from trying to get them the results. They were faxed at 9:30, but the fax line was down. Then the GI was at lunch so I couldn't give them the new number. Since they re-sent the results I've tried calling the GYN, but have only been able to leave messages.

I hope they take this thing out really soon. It's been hurting me for a long time.

Wednesday Bloody Wedsnesday

Yesterday, the stitches came out and my skin was finally breathing without the bandage. I asked Mike to dab it with some peroxide to get the remaining benadyne, tape residue and dried blood off. He was gingerly dabbing a spot of dried blood when it started bleeding. It was just a tiny pin prick of a thing, but it would not stop bleeding. I'm on blood thinners because of the hip joint is prone to clots.

Mike held pressure on it for an entire sitcom (Parks and Rec). Then we got worried. I called my mom and we re-dressed the tiny wound to her specifications. It kept bleeding and I meant to keep in up, but I feel asleep and rolled over. I woke up covered in blood. It had soaked through the bandage, all of my clothes, the sheets, the mattress pad cover, the foam mattress pad and onto our mattress. Nothing like waking up in a pool of your own blood to get you off to a rocky start.

It had stopped bleeding so Mike helped me clean myself and the bedding up. What a mess. I'd skipped my aspirin that night as a precaution, thank God! We decided to leave it open to the air and wait and see. I was shaking like a leaf (from stress and fatigue). It doesn't help that I'd just finished having a post-op period on blood thinners either. Blah.

I had made two appointments for this morning: Riley was getting a call from Santa and I was going to get my hair done before all the holiday events. I answered Santa's call with trembling hands, called Riley to the phone and then somehow hung up! She was ok, but I was devastated. Luckily, the free call promotion had another day left so I rescheduled for tomorrow morning.

I wanted to believe it was a strange fluke thing and it was over. I debated cancelling my appointment and getting back in bed. Between denial and the fact that all my bedding was in the wash I opted to go ahead and go. Mike did insist I not squeeze into jeans, good call. I dropped Riley off at school and hang out a bit before heading to the salon.

It started bleeding again! Only for a few minutes, but it went through my pants. My shirt almost covered most of it, but now I was really freaked out. I explained the situation and she brought everything to me so I didn't have to move around too much. After my make over (I went dark) I headed straight to my mom's. I asked her to look at it and drive me home. While I was there it started again. It was awful. She put a pressure bandage on and we left.

It bled off and on after that, but never seeped through again. I skipped both doses of aspirin to be safe and had the doctor's office on speed dial just in case. Mike put a vinyl table cloth under the sheet so we wouldn't have a repeat of the night before.

Awful, bloody day.

Medical Shenanigans

It's a terribly long (probably boring) story, but let's just say I've had enough of doctors for two lifetimes. So, I did what any mature adult would do after years of complying with medical advice...I stopped. I just quit showing up/making/telling anyone I needed appointments for anything. For months I pretended to be one of those "normal people" I've heard about. It was good while it lasted, but as anyone might have predicted it bit me in the ass. So, tomorrow: Hi, Ho Hi, Ho Hi, Ho it's back to the doctor I go.

First up New Ortho and the one year follow-up to my surgical hip dislocation. It was a major procedure to give me a normal socket and delay what I'm told will be inevitable hip replacement (future's so bright I gotta wear shades, my friends). I know what will happen. I could write the script word for word.

Looks good. Any problems?
It's still popping all the time.
Yeah, your IT band over the screw head. Better take them out.

I'm just too skinny for all this hardware. Too bony to be bionic. Another notch in the surgical...bed rail? Minor, sure. Necessary? Probably. Face the prospect in a mature adult manner? Pass. I'll cry and eat chocolate, thanks.

Speaking of, that brings me to my other issue. Is it another mass? More cancerous cells? An incubating alien life form? According to the OBGYN there's no indication of a mass. That's something. The pain went on for 6 months before I was scared enough to go back in. My 10 on the famous frowny-face-pain-scale is higher than most trust me. It was like dying last time it the pain happened. This issue is like having another child, it likes to wait until the middle of the night to cause me stress, fear and pain. Seriously, I can tell when I'm scaring Mike and I scared him.

The girlie doc says it's probably nothing going back on the pill won't fix. Grumble..grumble...stupid pill. The point of having your tubes tied is that you NEVER have to take the pill again. She thinks it's a run of the mill cyst and stopping up the plumbing will fix me right up. Hmmm...I just don't buy it. It's not impossible. Still one sided excruciating pain for 6 months? She scheduled me an ultrasound. That'll be Wednesday. Back to back fun, that's how I roll.

Sometimes, I think I got a used model. I'm only 30yrs old, but my parts seem much older. The ortho stuff is one thing. Bones are easy to see, touch or screw back together (I know that last one from experience). This other stuff is much trickier. Fingers crossed and kids Halloween candy raided!

It's Not Fair!

I hate unfairness, so much. Ever since childhood, I’ve stubbornly clung to the belief that if you work hard and behave you will subsequently reap only rewards. I used to believe all the bad had already happened in my life so I was “safe”. Wrong again. You can have CP and get hit by a bus (although I don’t recommend it). There is no fairness scale. Anything can happen. Sometimes the blessed are further blessed and the cursed are farther cursed. Sometimes it stinks worse than Mike’s running shoes.

I guess I’m a wee bit oversensitive about it. Like the time in I got a job at an acting camp and not enough kids signed up and they canceled it. Grrr! You see, Roo loves dance class very much. I love that it’s 5min down the road at 3:30 on Tuesdays (and of course that she’s happy). We started with a group of three and they told us more would come. A few weeks ago we had a rough day. Both of the other girls we’re crying and refusing to listen. They ended up cutting class short. I was so angry. Roo had behaved so well until it became distracting (and who could blame her for being distracting by two girls throwing crying fits?). I didn’t want her lumped in with the other two and punished.

That was the day I started considering other options. A group of 3 at this age is trouble. There has to be a few more. That way one kid having a hard time doesn’t throw everyone off. Besides, I was worried that they’d cancel the class and the only other option was on Saturday (BOO!) at 11:00 (Double Boo!). Unfortunately, her old dance studio has their class at 6:15 on Thursday (triple Boo!). I decided we’d wait and see what happened.

Sure enough after two weeks in a row of only Roo showing up I was asked to please bring her Saturdays. She told me it would be temporary until Tuesday filled up and she had every indication it would in a few weeks. Despite the reassurances, skirting nap time on a weekend day with a different teacher sounds like a recipe for stress.

It makes me so mad! It’s not her fault the class is small. She did nothing wrong. It’s not her fault the schedules suck. It’s not her fault that her gimpy mom doesn’t want to commit to driving too far once a week. AAAAAAAHHHHH! What do I do? Discontinuing dance seems like a punishment. Post dinner at the farther studio even if they do have 8 kids in the class is never going to work. Saturdays seem like they’ll be trouble.

I’m exhausted by the end of the week, she’ll miss out on Daddy and big brother quality time and we’re into October when our weekends become super busy. Plus parking will be difficult on Saturdays because there’s a crowd. I’m stamping my feet on her behalf, this stinks. Come on karma, give my sweet girl a break.

Mine, Mine, Mine!

A friend urged me to join the weekly photo challenge. It was a simple fun way to get myself “out there” more. At first I felt out of my depth. After my first thoughtful entry, I was proud of myself. That is, until I saw the other entries. It was like my vinegar and baking soda volcano was displayed among high-energy particle accelerators and organic computers. A funny thing seems to be happening for me though. Something unrelated to photography, although I think my subsequent posts hold their own nicely. The challenge themes (or other entries) stir me to write more interesting posts. Yes, I hear you screaming, “Well! Where are these more interesting posts?!?” Until typing this ditty they were nothing more than a “brainstorming list” collecting whatever the digital version of dust is. So here goes…

The theme of the photographs this week is “Mine”. Here’s Post A Day’s description: Is there a place, object, or view that’s entirely yours, or you’re a bit selfish or possessive about? Is it a feeling you feel when you look at the photo, or perhaps an unwillingness to share? I get rather possessive about that first cup of coffee in the morning. It’s definitely mine and I want it all to myself.

Simple enough? Maybe. My first impulse was a picture of the kids. Then, as I decided this required further reflection, and clicked through other submissions that seemed wrong;-well not wrong- just not quite it. Of course an overwhelming number of mommy bloggers posted pictures of their kids. It’s still amazing to me that I made another person. I’m very proud of that. I think that’s what those other ladies are hitting on, the pride aspect. Because here’s my thing the kids aren’t “MINE” in the possessive way. My secret Oreos are mine in that possessive way. My beloved wedding ring is. I may have had a hand in creating them, but the children belong to themselves (God, or nature, or the universe ultimately).

I fear I’ll stray so let me come right to the point (a bit late). I find it disturbing, that in general when anyone asks a woman to declare her selfishness in any way even briefly and harmlessly, she feels the need to stand up and shout her selflessness from the mountain top. Sigh. I do it too. What are we afraid of? You can love others immensely and still want things. It’s ideal to be fulfilled in your family life and with yourself, isn’t it? I wonder why there’s a sense of shame in saying we selfishly covet something. I don’t see men acting this way, as often.

I love my kids, but I did not stop being a woman at the onset of motherhood. I still like Pumpkin Lattes, OPI nail polish, movies, not sharing my desert and time alone. None of those things make me love the buggers any less. I read a friend’s status the other day which said something along the lines of “taking care of a sick kid all day, and then going out tonight. (don’t judge [legitimate reason not to reschedule])” It made me angry. How could anyone who has ever spent 8hrs with a sick child blame someone for wanting a break? If you have the energy at the end of a day of giving your whole self to your kids, and a chance to escape, go. The kind of mother, who deserves judgment for her wildly out of whack priorities, would never worry about what others think. Besides, why should my friend feel the need to explain herself? Anyone who knows her knows she’s a good mom and what do strangers matter?

I do it too. Sneak away, buy something for myself or have a moment when I just don’t like my kids and feel the need to publically state how devoted a parent I am or some such thing. Life was simpler before the oversharing, fostered by an ever present social media, invaded daily life. It’s hard to measure up against, quite literally, every other mother in the world. It’s a tool that can be used for good or evil. After all there’s a lot to be said for the far reaching support networks, vast amounts of information (albeit unreliable and flawed), and creative outlets. There are ups and downs to all of it, but this is another tangent. I wish upon a star for women, on the whole, to chill out, myself included. Who cares if some other mom breastfed until college? Or some other toddler can recite the alphabet in 3 languages? The fact that we’re worried about it means we’re probably doing the best we can. Every human has strengths and weaknesses. Not all moms are created equally good at making meals from scratch, sewing Halloween costumes or sock drawer organization. It’s ok to be an individual who is raising a tiny human who, you guessed it, is another individual. They are a brand new individual who has (for better or worse) thoughts, feelings, and plans of their own.

So, the next time you can’t stand your kid, don’t wallow in guilt or post a sonnet about their birth on social media- just laugh because it only means you’re both human. If someone asks, “What’s your selfish pleasure?” tell them about the cookies you baked and ate, without sharing, during nap time- with a smile. To enjoy motherhood completely, I think you really have to retain a sense of self. Your kids (and spouse) will thank you. Love them to the moon and back, just love yourself too and don’t apologize for it.

Tuesday is Test Day

These are the things that came out of my back on 5/3/12. Well, not these, but this is what they looked like. I told anyone who would listen that I wanted them. In my childhood if hardware came out they washed it with Betadine tossed it in a specimen cup and let you take it.

In fact that seems to have been the policy until very recently. When I had the surgery I was informed that it was not procedure to send anything that is removed from a human body to pathology. Even if it's not biological matter. STUPPPPPPID. So, I was informed that I had to come back and pick them up from pathology within 30 days. So, I went back today unaware that it was day 31 and they had thrown it away Monday. I had told Riley all the way down there we're going to get Mommy's treasure. When the door shut she turned to me and asked, "Did they throw away your treasure, Momma?". "Yes, baby they sure did." "That's mean." "Yes, it is." "Don't worry I'll find you some new treasure." "Thanks, sweetie."

I had an MRI at Old Ortho's that showed a fracture so he sent me for lab work and some scans. I went and got radioactive isotope shot into me, had a CT scan, got blood drawn, not pick up my hardware and then do the bone scan. I had an exhausted screaming toddler, two discs full of images and another day before (hopefully) answers in the end.

What the?!?

In my head I'm her. Freshly showered, hair brushed, make up on, cute dress, freshly pressed apron, clean kitchen and dinner on the stove. In reality? I'm less than put together and I've been unable to literally lift a finger towards cleaning the kitchen (or more accurately an arm). So, are there any House fans out there?

• 30 year old female (with Cerebral Palsy)
• Full spinal fusion 2yrs ago
• Hardware removal on 5/3/12 from my upper back.
• Wheelchair tipped over 5/13 and my upper back hit the front step. An X-ray was taken the following day, no injury.
• 5/21 severe pain starts.
• No fever, no redness, the skin is not hot to the touch.
• No injury recent to the pain.
• Some swelling.
• Taken Advil, used ice and heat.
• Vitals and blood work have not been taken.
• MRI taken 5/29 indicates a FRACTURE on T4
• More tests have been scheduled to confirm fracture and rule out bone infection.
• Pain continues to be debilitating.

Catch that? A spine fracture. How bad ass am I taking care of two kids with a spine fracture for two weeks with only Advil. I thought caring for and breastfeeding an infant after spinal surgery was hard...Well it was. This is equally difficult because I can move around, but using my arms is excruciating. So, I'm well enough to be up and around, but not functional. I have two kids and a puppy who depend on me.

Another weekend to live through before CT and bone scan on Tuesday. I'm pretty sure I glow in the dark at this point. Freaking ouch. Typing is becoming bothersome as well. I'm hoping this will all be over shortly. I have a life to get on with, this is nuts.

I'm Not Going To Take It...

I am supposed to go back to Old Ortho in the morning for MRI results. I have decided I won't. I cannot justify the stress that hell hole causes me. Does it still hurt, yes. Do I need to know what do next, yes. I do not think it's necessary to go there. I called this afternoon to see if he'd bothered to read my results. He had not. I told her to have him call me before my appointment tomorrow. He won't. Instead I will begin calling when the phone lines go on in the morning and keep calling until there's an explanation. If the information warrants going in to the office I will, I'm not enjoying my condition. If it's a matter of picking up a prescription he can fax it to the pharmacy. In the worst case (which wouldn't at all surprise me) if he knows nothing then there's nothing he can do but offer pain meds.

I won't be too dopey to be articulate about my pain and I won't go back if I don't have to. If he knows nothing then I'll try to get in with "the back guy" and my new ortho's office. I suppose with an MRI from the surgeon who did my last surgery (but knows nothing about my pain) they may take me. This is me being hopeful.

I'm thinking horrific sprain or other such injury since I never did develop a fever. Other more scary things are possible, but less likely. If there's fluid in there at least it's a quick fix. A sponge left over from surgery would be infuriating and complicated. A tumor...well it's not because what are the odds (outside of prime time TV) that a person would develop a tumor in the same spot metal was removed 3wks earlier?

I think I'll have ice cream for breakfast tomorrow. Prayers for answers and relief please.

Car Fail

I woke up in the middle of the night with a really intense pain in my abdomen. I tried to roll on to my belly on top of a pillow and it was excruciating to my back issue. Once I finally got comfy I was knocked out. I woke up once briefly heard Mike and Isaac talking and turned off my alarm. I didn't wake up again until 8:30 when Mike got back from dropping off Riley. Whoa, he did a morning by himself and I didn't wake up. So, I got out of bed gingerly. My abdominal pain was gone and if I moved carefully my back wasn't horrible. I got dressed and headed out the door to the hair appointment I made before the pain started.

I got a few minutes down the road and was in the left lane of a busy intersection when my engine stopped. No stutter or anything just silence. I took a deep breath, thanked God for the red light and tried to start my car. No dice. I put on my flashers and prayed. I tried again while dialing Mike. He knew what it was and how to fix it, but I was sitting in the left lane of a busy intersection and there was no way to get out and tinker and live. So I sat. People honked and screamed. People cursed me and with every turn of the light I got more anxious. It was the temperature of the sun in that car within seconds without the air or ability to crack a window.

I'm glad Riley wasn't with me. I'm glad I wasn't on the highway. I'm glad I didn't need to pee, but this sucked! What is with people anyway? Oh! This isn't a parking spot? Well good thing you honked and called me a stupid B*&%$% or I NEVER would have figured it out. Clearly, I've parked my car here to annoy you for my own enjoyment. Obviously, I'm perfectly capable of getting off the road, but simply prefer to live dangerously. Come on! Shake your head in sympathy and go around. After what felt like 4,000 cycles of the light some nice men helped me. They pushed my car to a gas station. Safely in the driveway of the gas station I let out a sigh of relief and a few tears. I called the salon to tell them I'd be late too.

Then cursing the pain in my shoulder blades like Captain Dan from Forrest Gump confronting the hurricane I disembarked the large paper weight. I limped along the side of the car slamming one crutch into the ground with more force than necessary. Then I opened the hood and the pain tore through me like a forest fire. Knowing for certain the mystery pain could in fact get worse I gritted my teeth and attempted once more to prop it open. Once I had the loose battery contact in my sights I slammed my crutch down on it with all the authority of Thor's hammer. Stupid mechanics at the stupid dealership had filed the stupid thing too short cleaning it once. Once I had banged out some rage on that sucker I limped back around towards my seat.

It was at that precise moment that Mike pulled up. That jerk and his timing I tell ya. Shaking with back spasms and dripping with sweat I yelled "I just banged on it." Without taking in the scene he asked, "Does it work." I had the keys in my hand and was just about to pull myself into position. Obviously, I'd tested it, turned it off and then climbed out of the car?!? Anyway, it started just fine.

There was a nice old man approaching my car just then with a sincere look of concern. God only knows how much he witnessed, but I can imagine seeing the gimp wincing in pain as she limped around her silent car taking two tries to get the hood open and then taking her frustration (albeit painfully) out on the engine. I shut the door and drove off before he ever got a chance to speak.

I didn't look back, but I think Mike acknowledged him as he climbed into his car. Sorry, nice man. You're a descent human being and I'm grateful. I am truly grateful for the folks who pushed me through the intersection to safety. I am grateful to Mike for dropping everything at work to came save me, despite his timing. It was a baaaaad few minutes. I lived. I was only a slightly late to my appointment (although no longer shower fresh). My car ran fine the rest of the day.

The Fear Factor

I'm not a wuss. I've got a pretty high pain tolerance. Please understand that if I admit that pain is so severe it's causing me fear I'm in bad shape. There aren't a lot of things I fear, but I'm afraid. For the past five days or so I've been having intense back pain between my shoulder blades. Yup, where they just surgically removed some metal. All I could think when the pain increased to a point where it was difficult to move today was "Oh God, not an infection." Post operative infections are indescribably painful. I had always hoped the one I suffered after abdominal surgery would be my first and last.

I pray I'm wrong. I hope I've just injured it some way. Either way the problem now is what to do now. The Emergency Room? Pass. Going back to Old Ortho? Oh. No. I've wracked my brain for an alternative, but there doesn't seem to be one. This CAN NOT HAPPEN. I don't deserve pain like this from a surgery so minor I wasn't even admitted! I shouldn't have to go back to Old Ortho ever again. God help me, I'm in tears writing this.

What if I have to be admitted for IV antibiotics? I have plans this week we're going out of town soon I need to keep them. What if he doesn't take me seriously? What if he tries to give me pain meds? I shredded the prescription they discharged me with. I've been hitting the Advil hard this past week. I want to know whats wrong not to be a doped up zombie, the level of functioning would be the same.

It had to be a holiday weekend so I can't do anything until Tuesday. This post is whiny and horrible and I apologize, but I'm not capable of complex thought. Sunshine tomorrow I promise.

Staple Removing

When I had the spinal fusion they had to remove 113 staples. Today there would be notably less to come out. I was having a full on anxiety attack last night. Back to Old Ortho's hell hole of an office. My mom came with to hang on to Miss Riley. My appointment was at 9:30am. We pulled in at 9:15am we were signed in and seated shortly after. We sat down and read Riley's books for a while. A LONG while. 45min later not one person had been called back. It was the same old crap. Jerks. In just under an hour of waiting I FINALLY got called. I remember feeling faint from pain after being confided to one of those awful chairs in the waiting room for over an hour after back surgery.

They made me get an X-ray. An x-ray? They removed hardware. What were they checking? The empty space where the metal had been? It wasn't part of the bone's integrity just an extra bit from 2yrs ago. Sigh. Then she came in and said "how long since your surgery?" Geez people, read a chart. Then she asked if anyone took an X-ray. Do you even work here? Geez. She said everything was fine.

Then a gentleman came in and popped up the 22 staples like he does this in his sleep. Only 2 hurt. Then we were making our way back to the front when the Old Ortho stopped me in the hall and starts looking me over. It was eerie like he was looking for a way to squeeze more money out of my broken body. He even acknowledged he may never see me again after today. Darn right.

"