Starting Over?

When you start blogging/tweeting/etc., it takes awhile to get into a good rhythm, to figure it all out and set up your internet life....it took me forfuckingever.

And just as I felt like I was really hitting my stride, life intervened.

If you read this blog regularly (as I know all of you DO, of course, ahem.), then you know that this spring/summer for us was kinda shitastic...

I shut down for a while and hid from life.
I went through the motions of day-to-day routines, but I wasn't all there.

I stopped blogging, I stopped tweeting, I stopped reading, I stopped connecting.

The longer I did it, the more guilty I felt.

So like a child, I just hid even deeper under the bed.

I felt like I had let people down.

There are people that will read this and think:

For fuck's sake, lady. It's JUST the internet.

Not for me.

These "silly" social media outlets have become a community of friends, a place of accountability, a form of therapy, and a challenge of authenticity.

I do indeed have a real life and real friends, outside of my web-self, but real life and real friendships happen on the these digital fields as well, sometimes even more so, if that makes any sense.

So by not keeping up with this part of my life, by not contributing to it, and to the people who are in it, I feel like I have been a poor friend, and an irresponsible blogger.

I'm sorry. I really am.


Trying to come back is proving harder than I thought...
but I'm working on it.


Depression has been a big factor, but I gave in and upped my dose, and am feeling much better.

Although I recieved a letter today that my Medi-Cal will terminate on the 20th.
Sigh.
Always something....

Our miscarriage is still haunting me a bit, and every time I get my period I tear up, but the pain is beginning to ease in it's own way...

All you can do is look forward, right?
 
Life is settling in that with Huz's new job we can finally pay our bills, but crazy in that his hours and travel have put us on on a whole new schedule.

O is two now (can you believe it?!), and is a wild thing.
He keeps me running from sun up to sundown...literally. And then some.

Highlights?

He's decided that everything in the household should be spread out on every inch of the floor, that the refrigerator is good place to just sit and chill (pun intended), has finally escaped from the confines of his crib, and sees a diaper change as guerrilla warfare.

It's a party.

He's so cute though, it's unreal. And smart.
Daddy and I don't stand a CHANCE.

Huzzy's job is going well, and we are slowly cleaning up some of our financial debris.
I say slowly because money keeps finding a way to fly out of our asses...

This week?
A computer monitor meltdown and a tire blow out.
Oh, mmmhmm. Joy.

STILL, we're getting a regular paycheck, which is nothing to shake a stick at....

We're hoping to move out of the in-laws house in the next 6 months or so.
It's time.
It's BEEN time.

We'll see if we can pull it off.
We pretty much feel like this is a "Hell-or-High-Water" kind of situation.

Have I ever mentioned that Southern CA is disgustingly expensive?
Yeah, about that...
Ugggh.

I've really missed you all.
I've missed sharing in your lives.
I've missed all this community brings to mine.

Thank you.

I hope I find my place again.

Jaaaaay! Ohhhhh! Beeeeeeeee!

Huz got the job!
I'm so excited, you'd think I got the job or something...psssht!

He starts on the 19th.

To celebrate, we had lunch at Jack in the Box.
(I know, living the dreeeeaaaam.....)

We're both nervous though, as this is a very different position for him, as it is ALL sales.
He's had sales jobs before, but this takes it to a different level.

We were kinda skeptical about sales jobs in the beginning, because we've both experienced the seedier side of sales, and the hell that is working for commission-only....shudder...


BUT, this company is reputable, established and is NOT comm-only.

Pay is salaried plus commission, so we can live with that.
Also? The base pay is more than he was making before and they offer benefits.
Yippee!

He gets a gas stipend, work laptop/phone (a smart one, even!) too!. 
Faaaaancy.

He'll be working much longer hours than he was before, like 60 hrs a week (but as we all know, it's hard to get anywhere career-wise working only 40)  and for the first 30 to 90 days he'll have to commute from Rancho to Burbank every day....kinda gross, right?

But, hey! It's a paycheck! A glorious, steady paycheck!

Still, it'll be a tough transition. For all of us.
Especially with Huz having been home for the last 4 months.

We will adjust though (like you do), and be fine, I'm sure.
 Please keep us in your thoughts as we do all this easy-breezy adjusting though, kay? Thanks!

We are over-the-freaking-moon...
Hopeful that maybe this will be the start of some good things for our family.
We could really use some good things...

HUGE THANKS to all of you who've cheered us on, sent us job links, and were generally awesome in our lives! It means a lot, and your support is invaluable!

Much love!

Annnd, The Kitchen Sink.

Where have I been lately?

I'm not sure.

How am I doing?

Not sure about that either.

I've just been at home, mostly.

Cleaning.
Organizing.
Sorting.
Purging.

As if my life depended on it.
I think maybe it did, actually....

We had family come visit from TX and then we had more family visit from WV.

It was good to see them--to channel all of my focus into the craziness that goes along with prepping for house-guests.

With everything clean and no more guests on the docket until Christmas, I'm kinda at a loss as to what to do with myself.

I don't want to be sad and depressed, but I am.

Some days, I think that I'm doing great, but then if I stop and take in the quiet, I know that I'm not.

Whenever I pass a pregnant belly, I feel the distinct barrenness of my own. 


Doesn't that sound so tragically melodramatic?
Uggh. It sooooo does.
But there really isn't an apter way to describe it.

This was the most drawn-out miscarriage I've had yet.
Awesome, I know.

I just. kept. bleeding.
My hormone levels would NOT go down.

To say that it sucked would be missing the point entirely.

I wasn't in the clear until about 2 weeks ago...
I'm so glad it's fucking over.

In related, news, I think I need to up the dosage on my meds...

Sigh.


The Huz is still unemployed, and we've had to do all kinds of battle with unemployment--to the degree that we have a court hearing with them on the 14th, BUT, he had a very positive interview yesterday, and he'll have his final interview with the company next week, so we've got our fingers crossed extra tight.

My little baby is almost 2.
WTF, people?
Isn't my section scar still healing?

How did this happen?
Yes, I want him to grow up and develop healthily and blah, blah, blah, but 2? Already?
It's almost too much.

He says his ABCs and their phonetic sounds, he counts to 10 forward and backwards (we've almost got 11-20 down), he knows his letters and numbers in and out of context, he's pretty much got all his basic colors, and if you ask him his name he spells it out for you. His vocab has finally exploded, and he says about 100 words.
But his most phenomenal development?

He says Mama! 
Loudly and with glee!

Yes. I'm being proud and braggy.
No. I am not sorry.
Ha!

I'm taking the easy way out on his birthday party this year and having it somewhere else, where they provide everything.  He loves it there, so I don't feel guilty about it.

We're having his party early too, because of my IL's travel schedule, so I need to start working on invites...
Yikes.

The Huz and I are trying to come up with a solid 5 year plan, but so far it's still just a title on the chalkboard.
I don't know if y'all knew this, but as it turns out, 5 year plans require funding....a baseline budget to formulate said plan around.

Who'da thunk, huh?

Since we can't do much more than we're already doing about that, we're trying to channel our energies into more procreative, errr, I mean productive activities by trying to revive our deathbed of a sex life.

If you would have told me when we first started  our sex life together that by the time we hit 30 it would be all kinds of  flat-lining, I would have laughed at you.

Sure, things may slow a bit, but dead?
Nay!

But then things like living with your ILs and crumbling economics and children and miscarriages and stress come into play....

All of the sudden, the only reason you'd blow someone is if they agreed put away the laundry and take the baby for the day so you could nap, and even then you're not so sure because no one puts the laundry away correctly but you anyhow...

Am I right?

I sooooo am, kids. Take heed, young'uns!


It's hard getting back into sexy mode.
I am not sexy.
I am exhausted and covered in applesauce.

My husband is stressed and his shoulder hurts from wrestling with O.

Passionate Naked Time, this does not make.

But we are trying to work it!!

We used to be hot, damn it!
(Well, my hubs is still pretty sexy, actually.)


In an effort to be a team player, I even put my barbells in.
I took them out when O was born because I wanted to breastfeed, but we all remember how WELL that went....

You should have seen my DH's face.
It was like a kid on Christmas morning.

Thank G-d love is blind.

Also?

I'm thinking about getting bangs.


What? 

I like to end on a thoughtful note....

Bangs? Yea or Nay? And have you ever seen such an ADORABLE genius? I think not!

3 Isn't Always a Magic Number.

As soon as I heard my OB's tone, I knew it wasn't good news.

I think I hit the floor before I finished hanging up the call.

It was 3:15 in the afternoon on a Monday and someone was telling me that I would lose my baby.

It just didn't seem fair.
But life is not fair.
Life just is.

I had tried to steel myself for bad news, because as soon as I had  started spotting, I KNEW.
I didn't want to believe it, but I knew.
This was not my first time at the rodeo...

Everyone sent me such encouraging anecdotes and shared personal stories of spotting while pregnant that I wrapped myself up in them and prayed that they would be enough to stop what I felt coming.

I pictured what it would be like to have another child in the house.
What O would be like as a big brother.
The 4 of us as a family.

It was too early to get so excited, to plan, but I guess I hoped that might keep the bad at bay...

But as these things do, it came anyway.
And I shut down.

I crawled into bed and didn't get out for over a week.
Didn't answer my phone, or check my email.
I didn't want to see anyone, talk to anyone, or do anything.

I just laid in bed.
Sometimes sleeping, sometimes crying, sometimes just staring at the walls.

I felt completely empty.

I kept trying to get angry, so that at least I could feel something other than the overwhelmingly sad emptiness, but there wasn't anything/anyone to be angry with.

It wasn't my fault, or anyone elses'.
I could get angry at G-d, but even that seemed useless.
As I'm not even sure there  is a G-d, it seemed silly to direct anger that way.

Besides, if there is one, and I actually hope there is, I doubt he gets his jollies from ripping children away from my womb....

Just a theory.

I think this miscarriage was harder than the other two because I have O.
You would think that having a child would soften the blow, but for me, that made it all the more intense...

Because I know what it's like now.
To feel that child grow to full-term.
To birth that child.
To hold him.
To watch him grow.

I didn't have the knowledge/gift of that the first two times.
Now I do.

So the hurt is deeper.
Because I could see the life of this child unfold in my mind's eye.
I could feel her tiny little hands in mine.
(in all my dreams, the baby was always a girl)

Instead, she is gone...or to some, never was.


Eventually the sorrow gave way to guilt.
Guilt for being a bad wife.
Guilt for being a neglectful mother.
Guilt for being a selfish woman.

My husband had lost something too, yet I couldn't move to comfort him.
My son needed his mommy, but after a couple hours with him, I had to retreat back to my tears.
There are women out there who've yet to conceive, those who've had stillbirths, who've buried their infants--

Who am I to wallow in pain?
I should be grateful, right?

I am, and I'm not, I suppose....

I am eternally gratefully for my son.
But I want another child, desperately.

My husband has told me every day since we lost:
We will try again, We will have another baby.
Will we? Can we? I hope so. I have to hope.

I keep hanging on to that.
But I keep asking myself:

Is it wrong? Shouldn't I just be grateful to have one? Shouldn't one be enough?

Sigh.

At this moment, it's not.

I am grieving for the loss of not just this child, but of the others before it.
3 children I will never get to hold.

I cling to the fact that I am blessed to be a part of a little family of 3...
but still I'm yearning to become 4.





Thank you to all of you who called/texted/messaged/tweeted me, and even went the extra step and called the Huz.  You guys are so genuinely lovely and compassionate. I am so appreciative and lucky to have each of you. Your words of love, understanding and encouragement helped me to feel less alone.


Thank you to my husband who knew I needed to retreat for awhile and never made me feel bad for it. Thank you for holding me up and keeping me out of complete darkness. You are such a good man/father, and I am lucky to have you.


Thank you to my in-laws, who are like true parents to me.



As for the days ahead, I have no idea....
Some days I feel good, and other days I want to crawl back into my hole.

There has been an issue this entire time with my hormone levels rising rather than dropping, so I keep having to go into my OB's office for blood draws every couple of days to monitor the situation.

He's really trying to avoid doing a D and C, which I agree with, but walking into his office is torture. It digs at the wound a little bit more each time.

The bleeding doesn't help either. Each trip to the restroom is another glaring reminder of what ISN'T.

My levels have finally started going down, so hopefully today was the last blood draw. If the results come back not at zero, they'll schedule the D and C.

In the meantime, I'm trying to keep my focus on getting back on track with just day-to day life.

Which has mostly involved a lot of cleaning and laundry, and oddly, paperwork.
(That and the 2 hrs it took to go through my 3 email inboxes...)

My husband is a beautifully loving and compassionate man...

But he is a shit housekeeper.
Piles of laundry, trash, toys, mail, bills, Oh, MY.

It was a HOT MESS up in our living space.

I don't know how things can get so out of control in 2 weeks, but they can....let me tell you, they CAN.

Normally, I would have been majorly pissed, but it gave me something to do, you know?

Thankfully for his sake and my sanity, things are finally back to normal, and clean.

Although, I can still feel that empty space that grows a tiny bit bigger each time...
That piece of silent space that will stay with me always.
...and never fails to hurt whenever I stumble into it.

Excused Absences.

So I haven't posted in over two weeks.
Yeesh.

I also haven't really been on the internet in over two weeks.
BIG YEESH.

Email, twitter, and blogs are often what make me feel sane and connected.
(and nope, I don't wanna know if you think that's sad.)


I have missed connecting and reading along with you all.

Where have I been?

It all started with a wedding...
Our good friend's brother was getting married, and because we knew they were on an almost non-existent budget, we offered to do their photos.

It was busy and HOT and stressful, but it was also beautiful and loving and perfect in its own way.

That was June 24th-25th.

I woke up on the 26th with a nasty cold.

I started taking the usual over-the-counter meds, drinking orange juice and sleeping.
and just kept getting worse....

But there was work to do!

I was feverishly trying to work through all the shots from the wedding, edit and put together an album so that I could get it and cds of the raw material to them as quickly as possible...

By the Friday before 4th of July, it was clear that I needed something stronger than Tropicana with a Tussin chaser.

Made an appt. with the doctor, since we now have Medi-Cal.

I go, and it's quickly ascertained that I have a respiratory infection.
But what ELSE do we ascertain?

That I'm PREGNANT.

Mmmmhmmm. Yep. Pregnant.

Well, THAT was unexpected.
I thought that birth control and I had an agreement.
Guess not so much.

I mean, YAAAAAY, a baby, but HOLLLLLY FUCK, my Huz hasn't got a job.

So far our searching hasn't yielded jack nor shit, but we ARE supposed to start getting unemployment next week, so that's a positive....

Of COURSE we want another child, but NOW?
It was a mixed bag of pure joy and utter terror...ha!

My husby was amazing.
Shocked, but happy and supportive. All the things you hope for.
My in-laws have also been amazing.
They are obviously stressed out and worried for us, but they are great.
I am so lucky to have them.

Then this Wednesday, I started cramping/bleeding.
My OB sent me to the ER.

My heart is sinking....

They ran blood work and did an ultrasound.

My pregnancy hormone levels are right where they should be, and they estimated that I was just about 5 weeks, which is really too early to get an accurate US, but there is a concern that the pregnancy is ectopic, because they found a cyst on one of my ovaries, and it needs to be confirmed that it's JUST a cyst-- not an implantation site.

The way I understand it, my hormone levels should be doubling every 2 days over the next couple of weeks, so if it does, that's a great sign, and they will do another US at 7-8 weeks.

If my hormones stagnate or plummet, than the pregnancy is not viable and they will take surgical action from there.

I had my second blood draw on Friday.
I find out the results on Monday.

I'm trying to keep a calm and brave face, but I'm really scared.

Despite our external circumstances, I want this baby so badly.

All of those "obstacles" have been pushed aside. 
All that matters now is that this is a healthy, normal pregnancy.

I don't want a 3rd miscarriage or and ectopic pregnancy.
I don't want someone to tell me that my child isn't "viable."

I'm trying to take solace in the fact that from what I've researched, ectopic pregnancies are rare AND, other than Wednesday, there hasn't been anymore cramping or bleeding.

They have me on bed rest until things are figured out.

I just want to celebrate, but I'm so scared.
I don't want my heart to be broken again.

Your support, love, prayers, crossed fingers, etc. would be and are, so appreciated.
I definitely need them that's for sure.

I will update as I know more.
Meanwhile, I'm just trying to hold on to hope.

Much Love.

Ducks in the Water.

It's been a month now of unemployment.

We've emailed/called/facebooked/tweeted everyone we know.

He's on all the job sites.

He signed up with AppleOne.

He's been to 2 job fairs.

We tuned and refined his resume within an inch of its life.

He applies every day.

Still?

NOTHING.

No real leads, and not a damn peep from unemployment.

We keep calling, but we can't even get on the line to leave a message-
it's clear that talking to someone is outta the question.

Our money is gone and bills are due.

We're gonna have to ask my ILs for money.
Which I loathe doing.

How long will we have to keep asking?
How long will they help?

Fuckety fuckness, this blows...

Don't misunderstand, I am so grateful for the help we DO have, but...


I just want to be able to help OURSELVES.


The only real upside to this mess is that the boy and I were approved for Medi-Cal, so I've been able to go back on meds.

They're definitely helping.

I think I may a higher dose still, but we'll see.

As for the rest of my health issues, not much has been resolved.

I did about $300 of preliminary blood work to be told that nothing was wrong.

This doesn't mean that there ISN'T anything wrong, but nothing immediately seen.
It would require more testing.

Uhhh, screw that noise. I'm broke.

Fortunately, the med that I'm on is also prescribed for chronic pain, so YAY for multitasking, I guess....

That's kinda it on our end of the world.

Nothing more that we can really do.
Just gotta sit it out and wait.
Hope.


Sitting Ducks. 
That's what I feel like we are.....





If any of my readers out there are millionaires who'd like to bequeath large sums of money to me, please do!

I cannot promise that I will pay it back, nor can I promise Demi Moore-like sexual exploits, but I CAN promise utter gratefulness and freshly baked cookies! 

Summer, 1987

24 was a big year for me.
It was the year I graduated from college.
It was the year I met my husband.
It was the year I started to realize I deserved to have a life.
A big year.
Scary and wonderful and pivotal.
A year I will always remember.

But I am reminded of a different year today...


I remember breaking into hives because they told me it was a boy.

I wanted a girl.

I remember the day you were born.

How loudly you screamed at the world.

I remember waking up early just to stare at your beautiful face.

I’d never seen something so gorgeous.

I remember being the only one who could get you to eat.

The loud giggles over Itsy Bitsy Spider

I remember you crying every time I left.

My heart breaking a little each time.

I remember your first day of school.

So scared of your giantess of a teacher.

I remember taking you to buy a dress for your first dance

The one you wanted was NOT appropriate.

I remember doing your make up for prom.

You looked like magic.

I remember the moment I realized that there wasn’t any more I could do.

It killed me, but you were going to do whatever you wanted. You always have.

I remember our last real conversation and how ugly it was.

You refused to hear me.

I remember knowing that I had to step back for my own sake and that of my family’s.

I know you hate me for it.

I remember almost every moment of your (and our brother’s) young life.

I remember from the moment you entered this world, realizing that I would love you forever with an intensity I wouldn’t know I again until I birthed my son.

I know that we don’t have a relationship, but I think about you every day.

You think that I judge you, that I feel superior to you.

What you don’t understand is that all I have ever wanted is to protect you.

From family history.

From habitual mistakes.

From the underbelly of dangerous choices.

I just wanted to see you safe and happy.

Not tethered by the learned mistakes of your parents.

I hope as you cultivate your life, you will cultivate an understanding of me, of my love.
I am not perfect, and I have made mistakes, but never doubt my love for you.

You were my first baby.

You’re an adult now, but you will always be that little girl who crawled into bed with me every night.

I love you with all my heart.

So much more than a sister’s love-I love you and our brother as I love my own son.

 I always have and I always will.

But I cannot be the parent I tried so hard to be for you.

I was never going to be able to fill that role, as it was not mine to fill.

I can send you love, and wish you well.

Even if you can't hear me.

I love you, beautiful girl.....

Happy Birthday, Baby.

I hope that 24 is a year that you will never forget, for all the right reasons.

Mixed Feelings

I sorta HATE Fathers' Day.
It was just another day for me to feel different.
Sure, I made the crafts in class like everyone else, but I knew deep down that my step-dad wouldn't give a shit.

There would be no Father-Daughter Teas for me,
No lectured boyfriends on Prom Night.
No tears on my Wedding Day.
I was no one's Princess.

I used to pretend like it didn't matter to me, but it did.
I wanted be someone's little girl.


When I met my husband, I knew he would be a good dad.
He loved kids, and treated them with a kind of reverence that was unusual for dudes of his age.

In the years since we met, he has met and exceeded my expectations as far as his ability to be a father.

As soon as I got pregnant with O, Huz became a DAD.
He loves our son with his whole heart.
I know that he would go to any length to protect and care for him.

This fills me with so much peace.
So much comfort.
And makes me kinda LIKE Fathers' Day.

I know that one day, if we ever have a daughter, she will be someone's Princess.

HIS.


Thank you, Querido.  I am a lucky wife and ours is a fortunate son.  We love you.

Comments, Questions, Complaints and Concerns.

I love getting comments. 

Lurrrrve it.

They help me to feel heard and dare I say it, validated.

When I see comments, I know I’m not just ranting on to myself…I have an audience!

You know, which is kinda nice.

Because your commentlovin’ is so important to me, I want to make sure I keep on top of it!

In an effort to more accurately track and answer comments, I installed Intense Debate.

Hooray! All my comment issues are gonna be solved! It’s like switching to Wordpress without ACTUALLY switching!

Yippppeeeeeeeee!

Yeah, like that.

Except not.

ID is fucking my shit all up.

One minute it works, one minute it doesn’t.

Comments are there, then gone. Poof!

On days it IS working, I will craft heartfelt responses, only to have them eaten by the abyss.

I have tried to troubleshoot, and I have tried to uninstall/reinstall, etc.

Over IT, kids. That’s what I am.

So I’m thinking of  uninstalling it, and calling it a damn day.

My apologies for anyone whom I haven’t answered back lately, it’s entirely likely I never got to see it, OR tried to answer, only to have it gobbled away.

Hmmmmmph.

I’m not  particularly happy with Blogger half the time either, but will get into that another day…

Now that I’ve bitched my little fit, I have some questions:

Do any of you ever wonder who actually reads your blog?

Do you ever wonder how many lurkers you have?

Do you ever wonder if there are people out there faithfully reading along, but never commenting?

Do you ever wonder if there are readers out there who hate your guts but read anyway?

Do you ever wonder why some blogs have 300 readers/comments and some blogs only have 3?

Do you ever wonder how in the hell Dooce does it?

Do you ever secretly hope that Ellen will read your blog, then decide that you just HAVE to be on her show, skyrocketing you to fame and fortune, AND a book deal?

Ummmmm….Yeah, me neither.

Pshhhhht.

When I was a House, I Felt at Home.

So I was over at the awesome Leighann's blogcasa, The Endless Rant of a Multitasking Mumma and saw her post about baby bumps...

She is in the midst of a fever and SO AM I.

I have been for a while.

As O turned one, my uterus started yearning for another gig....

But that's so NOT GONNA HAPPEN.


Which kills me, because I haven't got a clue when it might, particularly now that we have no income whatsoever.


Heavy Sigh.

Babies should really be the last frikken thing on my mind, but I can't help envying the bazillion baby bumps I see around me lately.


Seriously though, is there something in the water???

Anyway.

All this crazy babylust got me thinking about my pregnancy with O.
Pregnancy was not my friend.
As a matter of fact, it was kinda awful.
Sometimes, embarrassing...
But as strange as it may sound, I loved it.
In misery, I was happier than I'd ever been.

31 weeks

My friend kindly Photoshopped away the stretchmarks!

My Wedding Shawl

For more for more of my giiiiigundo belly, feast your eyes on this post!

It was nice to be proud of my gut for a while!


Over at Things I Can't Say...


Join in, and link up!

Fruck it!

O hasn't been the best talker, but I wasn't overly worried (most of the time)...

He was definitely a babbly baby.
Said Mama and  Dada pretty early.
Yay!

Then, it was if he got it out of his system and was done with it.
Crap.

Buuuut, since he's always babbled, always been curious, very aware, definitely understood us (not that he listens), and his Daddy talked super late, we did our best not to panic.

We just kept on talking to him constantly and waited.
And Waited....

Eventually, he says book (he LOOOOVES books), while reading him a story...
Maybe it's a fluke...
We ask for a book.
He goes and gets one. Says book!
SCORE!

Than no more--nada.

Back to waiting.....

More of US talking. This kid's life has been narrated since the womb.
He loves the ABC song, so we started saying the alphabet all the time, got a bunch of alphabet books...
His fave is Star Wars ABC... 

He was  (and still is) making all KINDS Of letter sounds, and starting to recognize them...

But still not a lot of talking.
Shit.

Have I talked about my lack of patience?
Or my Husband's overwhelming paranoia?
Yeeeaaah.

That's been fun.

 We just kept on talking, talking, talking, talking!
Singing too. He's kinda obsessed with music.

He's now a little over 19 months.

He says:
NO-his favorite

Up-When he wants you to pick him up...

Cow-pretty much any animal is a cow. Moo!

Hat-He puts anything on his head and calls it a hat.

Bye bye-he started saying bye bye, but now it's turned into "gye gye?"

Cheese-This kid loves him some cheese!

Hi-I love the way he says hi!

ChooChoo-Train...Thank you Thomas.

Car-He's a little Boston about it, "Caah!"

Fruck-Truck. This one's gonna get us in trouble I can see it now. It's so adorable.

Huh-Hug. He hasn't got the G down yet...
and

Gigi-My MIL.

Notice anything missing from the list?

Oh, right:


Mama and Dada.

WTF, Kid?

I mean, fine, screw Dada (kidding honey! Ahem...), but I was GUTTED for you!
Where's my "hi, Mama?!!!


Sigh.

And he won't say all of them consistently.
He knows what they are, but it's like he just has chattier days than others...
He still babbles up a storm and he recognizes a bunch of the alphabet, yet he's not all that wordy.
Seems to talk only when he damn well pleases... Hmmmmph!

Has anyone else had that experience?
Should I be concerned?
His pediatrician doesn't seem to be...


But let's ask the really important question here:

Why won't he say Mama, damn it?

Fruckin' annoying, if you ask me.









Mama is kidding, O. She loves you always. But would it KILL you to say Mama? I'm just sayin'.

I'm feeling all Sprat-like...

I grew up in a house where thinness was next to g-dliness.
You could never be too thin.
Jutting hipbones or razor-sharp clavicles were a source of pride.
A badge of fucking honor.

Unfortunately for me,
my mother was convinced that I was fat...
So I went on my first diet at 6.

I remember it vividly because we went out to dinner with my grandparents and she dictated what I could eat.
She also wouldn't let me have dessert.
I remember crying, not because of the lack of dessert, but from the abundance of shame.

Fueling her fervor--
I developed early.
Booooobs by 10.
Period by 11.
I was petite and curvy. (I'm 5'3ish)
Curvy in my house?

Just translated to:

You're too fat to wear that....suck in that tummy...you need to go back on a diet....wear black, it'll hide your pudge...

and so on.
In much uglier words than I care to repeat.

By the time I was 13, I had been on every diet known to man, and had serious body image/food issues.
I was basically a functioning anorexic.
It never got to a hospitalization level, but it was still there all the same.

I counted every calorie and starved myself whenever possible.
If I did eat, I berated myself and did crunches til I thought I would pass out.

But nothing worked...
I was still "fat."

As I entered adulthood, my body started changing (like it DOES), and I did everything to fight the tide.

Getting to 100 on the scale was tough...
Especially with my mother constantly pointing out my every flaw.

From 18-22, while completely on my own, away from the environment I grew up in--
I still struggled with food and weight.
This time being my own tormentor...

I was trying to eat normally and abandon my anorexic-type habits (with the support from my then-boyfriend), but I discovered:

I didn't know how.

Add the stress of working full-time, supporting myself, the shitty eating habits of college kids, and weight started creeping on.

I "ballooned" from 100 lbs to 140lbs.
I looked at the scale and wanted to die.
Literally.
I was disgusting, right?


In the Summer of 2003, as most of you know, I was raped.

In what I saw as a protective measure, I started gaining weight.
A lot of weight.
I had been told my whole life that know one would want me if I was fat.

In my head?
I was already fat.
So in order to be safe, I needed to be really really fat.

Then no one would touch me ever again.

Fast-forward a year, and I had put on over 100lbs.
I woke up one day and didn't recognize myself.

It was as if every insult my mother had ever hurled at me, everything she said I was, her perception of my obesity- had come true.



I felt invisible.
Ugly.
Safe.

Eventually, I got some therapy, meds, support, and I started to heal.
I wanted my life back.
I wanted to move past the nightmare.

But I was trapped in my own body/my own head.
Years worth of tapes played in my head, and I hated myself even more.
The perception of fat was gone, and the reality of fat was here to stay.

The first time a doctor used the word obese in reference to me--
I felt like he was finally seeing the truth I had known my whole life.

I wanted to get the weight off but I didn't know what the hell to do.

Because of the CP, I am not a great exerciser.
Most workouts and machines are hard for me to do.
I can't go running/biking/rollerblading...

I was eating right, walking, doing the best I could to be healthy.
I quit smoking
I didn't drink.
I was TRYING.
It wasn't working.
At all.

Back to old habits!
Starvation.
Crunches galore.
Diet pills.

The weight was clinging to me like white on rice.
My metabolism was all kinds of fucked up due to the years of dieting, starvation and poor nutrition.
Go figure!

So here I am today, still battling the bulge, as it were....

It's been 7 years that I have carried the bulk of this weight...
and a lifetime that I have struggled to accept my body.

I've lost and gained and lost again...always just increments.
Never big losses.
I was my heaviest at 255
I'm now at 200.

A number that I am deeply ashamed of.

But there are days that I feel like I have accepted myself, and gotten closer to being mentally healthy about body/food/eating disorder issues.

Then there are days where I know the fight is not over.
It may never be.

Days like today.

My FIL got my Husband a Summer pass to the local gym.
He thought it would be a good stress reliever in the midst of our financial clusterfuck.

My husband came home sweaty and exhausted, but excited.
He needs to lose 30 lbs.
The trainer at the gym said that they can have him down to that in 20 weeks.
Six-pack and all...

My husband loves me. Tells me so every day.
He also tells me how beautiful I am, how attracted he is to me.
EVERY DAY.

He could give two shits about what I weigh or the size sewn into my pants.

But as he was talking?
I started to worry:

What if after he gets back in shape he notices how big I am?
What if he's no longer attracted to me?
I should go do some crunches....

Seriously. That ran frenzied through my brain....

Can I lose enough weight by the time he loses his weight that I won't look so bad next to him?

Fucking insane.

And I KNOW that, but it hasn't stopped me from feeling like Mrs. Jack Sprat all damn day.

Sigh.

The saddest part to me is that it wouldn't occur to me to look at someone else the way I often look at myself.

Never.

I don't look at my husband and see 30 extra lbs.
I just see my man.

I don't look at friends and see flaws.
I see people.

Despite my education, my years of therapy, a loving support system, etc.
I still have my days.

Days where I see myself through someone else's eyes and hear someone else's voice in my head.

I do need to lose weight.
We all know that it's good to maintain a healthy weight.
I am not at one.

What I fear is that If I ever make it back to that healthy weight, I won't accept it.

Because my body was never allowed to just BE.

Food was not simple nourishment and occasional pleasure, it was the enemy and my weakness.

I was not taught about healthy, I was tortured for perfection.

Healthy was never really the point.

I want it to be.
So I keep on trucking.

I force myself to eat. Because sometimes? I don't want to.

I try to exercise but if I eat a brownie, well then I ate a fucking brownie.

I make myself hear my husband's compliments.
Make myself accept them.

Someday, I hope to completely and wholly believe them.


In related news?

I started back on anti-depressants today.
We were approved for Medi-Cal.

Halle-fucking-lujah!

Meds for everybody!
Okay, just me, but still...

Square One Again: Familiar, but Not Comforting.

I should be sleeping, but I can't.
My mind is a whirlygig of worries and "what-ifs"
(Say THAT 5 times fast!)

I have my moments where I'm going through the day as though things are fine.
It's almost as if the Husband is just home on a long weekend...

but then I'll remember:
He was laid off. We have no income.

And my chest seizes up-- my eyes start to burn from tears...

What are we gonna do?

Keeps on ringing through my head.

I am paralyzed by fear of what could come, what IS coming if he doesn't find a job within the month.

I am angry and defeated at/by the circumstances.
Ones that we are no strangers to...

Weren't we JUST here?

In the summer of  2007, we were riding high.
New apartment, new engagement, our lives beginning.
Money was tight, yet we were making it...

But just as we got settled, Huz got laid off.
After 4 months of struggling on 1 income, he got a new job.
We could get back on track!

Then my job went out the window.
4 more months of struggling, and I finally found a new job.
It was at a pay cut, but it had potential.

We began to climb out of the hole that was rapidly starting to form...

A week before our wedding, I was laid off.
The economy was tanking--they couldn't afford to keep me...
And let me go two days shy of 90 days, so I didn't even qualify for unemployment.

That was March of 2008.
By July, I still didn't have work.
We were barely limping along.
All we could afford was our rent and utilities.

Everything else went to shit.

We owed all of our billers
Our credit cards were maxed
Our accounts were delinquent
There was no savings to speak of, or money in general.

Our lease was up on the 1st of August and they were jacking our rent up.
We  frantically tried to find another place to live, but didn't meet any of the income/credit requirements.

(in CA most buildings mandate that you pass a credit check and make at least 3xs your rent amount to qualify for tenancy)

None of our friends were in a position to help us, so we did the one thing, the LAST thing we wanted to do:

Called my husband's parents and begged.
 It was as demoralizing as you might expect...

They, rightfully, felt like we (as married adults) should figure it out ourselves and said no.
But when it became clear that it was their house or our 2003 Jetta, they consented.

So we packed up our apartment into a storage unit, gave away our dog (who we ADORED) and drove over to their house.

(On the way, we rear-ended someone. I should have known then that we were in for a difficult road)

We thought it was going to be a couple months...


As I talked about several times here in these "pages," it's been almost 3 years.

A much harder and less fruitful 3 years than I think anyone expected, but there was positivity and SOME  progress.

We were finally at a point were there were no more collectors calling, no more delinquencies.
There still wasn't any savings (thanks to medical bills and needing a new car, OH, and having a child), but there were a few bucks in the bank and our bills were getting paid in full and on time.

Still had a shitload of debt and I had no idea when we'd be able to have our own place; worrying about money constantly, but I could always say:

At LEAST the bills are getting paid. 
We are providing for our son.


Now We can't say that.
I paid what I could for this month--still trying to figure out the rest...
There will be nothing left for next month.

As I said in my previous post, because of my in-laws, O will not go hungry, and we will have a roof, but what about everything else?

I know this is going to drive us deeper into debt--how much deeper?
What about our credit? (Which was finally cleaned up)
What about our CAR?
Am I going to have to default on my student loans?

How long will it take us to rebound from this, when we haven't even fully recovered from the last time?

We want to move forward.
We want to be optimistic.
We're wishing for that miracle...

But looking at our peers and the economy around us, we know we have to be frank with ourselves.

We're trying to be proactive.
We've got resumes flying and we're following up on every lead that crosses our path...
We're doing everything we can, but we know that's not enough.


It's taking a toll on us. On every level.

We will weather it, I hope, but how beat up will we be coming out on the other side?
I'm not sure I want to know... 









Thank you to everyone who has commented/emailed/tweeted/texted/called us.
Thank you for your support, encouragement, prayers and hope for us.
Thank you for keeping your eyes peeled and ears open.
Thank you for listening.
We really appreciate it.
We need it.

The Silver Unemployment Line(ing)?

A pet peeve of mine?

When you’re really upset over something legitimately crappy and someone gives you that patronizing sigh and says:

Well, It COULD be WORSE*, you know...

Trust me, I’m fully aware of that thank you, but could you give me a freaking minute??

(Worse still? “Blessing in Disguise…” Makes me see RED.)

My Husband was laid off last Monday.

He had to repeat it to me at least 5 times before the words even started making sense…

He’s been with them for almost 4 years.

From the BEGINNING…

When the owner was still operating out of his dad’s house.

Huz was instrumental in getting their office up and running.
He WAS that damn office for the first year and a half.

Organizing/Cataloging their inventory.

Training the other employees.
Making connections with vendors and customers alike.
Helping to BUILD.

And his boss just walked in last Monday afternoon, after he’d worked almost a full day, handed him unemployment paperwork and said:

“We’re Sorry.”

With that, he had to pack up his shit, hand over his key and vacate the premises.

No explanation.

Not even two weeks pay.

The other two employees in the office?

The ones MY Husband trained?

Still have their jobs.

We were completely floored.

Yes, it was tiny company.

Yes, business was slow.

But they kept saying that his job was fine.

We naively assumed that he would be the LAST person to go.

Not that I wish for anyone else to be unemployed, but it’s pretty sad when loyalty/hard work means NOTHING.

We haven’t got any savings or any real money in our bank account.

We are now a zero-income family.

With a child and $2000 a month in bills to cover.

[With about a $100,000 in debt from student loans/medical bills/car loan that we're trying to repay, the bulk of which can't be declared in Bankruptcy, so that option is out]

Fucking HELL.

I am panicked.

My husband is panicked. He just represses it better.

I spent the last 3 days vomiting; I’m pretty sure due to stress.

No, we will not go homeless or hungry, thanks to the in-laws, and that is HUGE…

But it’s hard to breathe a sigh of relief when there are all these bills hanging over our heads….

[and we all know the domino effect that begins when those bills don't get paid on time or ya know, AT ALL....]

If you’ve read this blog for a decent length of time, you’ll know that money was already a huge issue for our family—a constant source of worry/stress/fear, and that was WITH a full-time paycheck.

I don’t know what the fuck we’re going to do.

I paid the car insurance

The car payment

The phone bill

Our DMP bill

And bought diapers/wipes for the month.

That’s ALL, folks. We are tapped.

I had a melt-down this afternoon when I realized we were out of milk for O and had no money for groceries…Of Course the ILs got the milk, but just the realization of being that tapped sent me to a dark place...

Spouseface applied for unemployment, and we’ve applied for Medi-Cal…hopefully we’ll be approved and both will start soon, but UE is barely gonna make a dent.

Huz needs to find a job ASAP.  Like yesterday.

Did I mention the $5000 ER bills we got in the mail? With the notification that more are probably on their way?

It’s a party over here, people.

I’m giving out panic attacks and the nervous shits as party favors.

Wooooooo!

Help is on its way, right?

......Crickets.....

Fuck.

Insomnia?
Suuuuure. Why not!

Parrrrrty!

*My heart goes out to all of the families out there struggling like we are, but ESPECIALLY to those families who are victims of natural disasters. I DO know that it could be truly worse, and that I am lucky in my own way.

I am a Survivor who is still trying to Survive.

 May is Mental Health Month.

Mental Health Issues are often treated like dirty secrets.
Something that happens to "others."
People turn the other way.
"Mental Health" does not apply to them. They are not affected.


It affects us all. 
Directly or Indirectly.
Daily.
Sometimes? Hourly.



I am a Woman
I am a Wife
I am a Mother
 I am a Sister
I am a Daughter
I am a Friend
I am a Human Being
I am someone you know.

 My Name is Jayne.

I am the face of Depression. Of Generalized Anxiety Disorder. Of PTSD.

I am a survivor of Physical/Emotional/Sexual Abuse.
Of Rape.
 Of Miscarriages.
Of Chronic Illness.

I work everyday to keep on surviving.



Link up with  Band Back Together today and share your Story.
Show your support.

Do not be ashamed--do not hide. Do not turn away.

We need to lift up those in need and make EVERYONE AWARE.

Oldy Oldenstein.

I am 30.

That is NOT old in the grand scheme of life, but I definitely have my moments where I feel ancient.


Examples, you say?

On it!

1. Trying to do my hair and thinking, will I be "that lady" if I rock low mini-pigtails?


2. Thinking that a 10:45pm showing on a SATURDAY night is way too fucking late.


3. Admiring the hotness of a 19-year-old and grossing myself out because he is a FETUS.


4. Telling a group of teens that they need to watch their language!!! (Hypocrite much?)


5. Not seeing the fun of going out to the bar. AT ALL.


6. Realizing that my only vice is baked goods.


7. Scheduling sex.


8. Making weekly trips to Target for groceries and wet wipes.


9. Dressing up just means no stains.


10. Wanting to be hit on by a random stranger just so you don't feel so invisible, rather than avoiding them like the plague.

Sigh.

I used to be hot(ish).
I used to stay out til 3am.
Men used to hit on me fairly frequently.

Now?


Men hit me with food and laundry and blocks.


Heyyyyyy.....

I'm not old!

I'm just a Parent.

Ha!
Take that, TIME.

I'm still a spring chicken, bitches!




(Who's really ready for bed. Ahem.)

I Could have been...No, I AM.

Mother's Day has always been tough for me....

As a kid, I always hoped that Mother's day would be the day that my mom would see how much I loved her, and then she would like me.

Sometimes, briefly, I seemed to be successful, but it never lasted.

It was never enough.

As soon as I came of the age where I saw children in my future, Mother's Day was filled with anticipation...
Someday, I will be a mother.
Someday, I will treasure mementos of my own.
Someday, my children will know I like them.

After my first miscarriage, Mother's Day was just a reminder of nightmares.

I never really talked about it, because it was something that for a long time, I didn't share...
 Alone in grief that even those closest to me didn't understand. 

In 2006, when I had another miscarriage, I lost hope.

I could have been a mother, but I never would be.

The following Mother's Days were filled with tears and feeling of uselessness.

A mother without children, that was me.

When I got pregnant with O, I was terrified.  At my first ultrasound, I was told that the pregnancy would probably not be viable.

Bereft didn't begin to cover it....

But I KNEW he was there.
We were going to have this baby.
I would not lose another...
(as if I have that kind of control, but hormones make you cuhraaaazzzy)

Two weeks later, at a follow-up appt., he showed up as strong as could be!

Mother's Day 2009 was amazing.
My husband showered me with gifts and affection.
Friends sent notes...
My Mother's Days had finally began!

Then someone laughed at me and said:

You're not a Mother yet! Next year, you can celebrate Mother's Day!

An unintentionally cruel blow...
Not a mother? But I've waited so long!

I found myself thinking about that comment as I woke up this last Sunday to celebrate with my boys...


It found myself all unsettled by that comment once again.
Why should it EVEN MATTER now?



Wait a FUCKING MINUTE.

I was a Mother, thank you.

There was a child growing in my belly that I loved more than life itself.
I was that child's Mother.
I would learn to be a Parent, but was already a Mother.

Which made me realize that all of the years I had spent passing each M Day, mourning my miscarriages, saying:

I could have been a Mother...

I already was.

Each pregnancy, to me, was a child I lost.
Even though our time together was short,

There were children growing in my belly that I loved more than life itself.
I was each child's Mother.
I never got to be their parent, but I was already their Mother.

That has helped me.
Helped me to feel less weak and foolish in my grief.

It has made the Mother's Days with my son all the more meaningful.

I've had two Mother's Days with my beautiful son.
And six others, with the children I lost before that.

Those days matter.
I was a mother.
I am a Mother.

I hope all my fellow Mamas got the love, support and Respect they so deserved this Mother's Day.


My day was lovely.

My beautiful Bubu!

How CUTE is the Huz?

He said NAY! to smiling...

Happy-faced Mama.




p://th

Inside Outed

My first instinct is to hide.

[I only let it out at night.]

Put a smile on my face and find something to do.

The busy will give me something to hide behind.

It will give me a purpose that will allow me to ignore the ebbing emotions that keep threatening to come out.

I will not give in, I will not let it fuck me up.....I will not let it fuck my family up

A familiar refrain.

I reorganize and schedule.
I try to see all the good in my life and hang on to that.
I try to keep on keepin' on so that I look "normal."
Hiding undercover as a happy person.

I WILL MAKE THE BEST OF IT, damn it!

But there is always something that tips the scale in Depression's favor....and I am made.

Every single time.

By Tuesday's post, I could feel myself losing the stranglehold.

The thought of the ER bill was hanging over me like a sentence, and I just couldn't shake an overwhelming sense of hopelessness....

Wednesday afternoon, my husband left work early so that he could take me to my appointment with the gastro-specialist.

I knew going in, that it would probably not be a very productive visit.

[Which was hard to swallow given that the Huz was losing out on 2 hours of pay and the visit was $200 up front.]

After filling out paperwork and talking to his physician's assistant for 15 minutes, it was clear that they felt that nothing discernible was wrong with me.

When the doctor actually came in, I was basically making my way out the door.

He offered to re-run previous tests, but felt that based on the scans and blood work  from the ER that I was perfectly fine:

Maybe I just needed to start taking an over-the-counter antacid.....

I almost lost it right there in his office.

Thankfully, I salvaged some dignity and was able to pay my $200 and leave with out sobbing.

While I don't want to be sick, knowing that we will have to pay ER fees that will basically put us back another 3-5 years debt-wise doesn't make me want to celebrate my supposed healthiness.

But, as I kept telling myself in the car:

I knew this was going to happen.

I hadn't wanted to go to the ER in the first place.
Something was wrong with me, yes, but it was not wrong enough.

A lifetime without stable health care (or any at all) teaches you these things.

But my husband worries... and my guilt over making him worry or possibly being irresponsible about my health, forces my hand and forced me into an ER....



Finally back home, I could feel my panic and anger rising.

How the fuck were we going to pay for this?
And secondarily, I still feel like shit and it is pretty clear that THAT isn't really anybody's problem but mine.


By bedtime, I was crying, and I could feel it flooding my whole body.

The fear
the worry
the stress
the pain
the exhaustion
but most of all,
the helplessness.

Forever stuck in a cycle of a rock and a hard place.

Surrounded by well-meaning people who say things like:


It could be worse! 
Someday it will turn around! 
Just keep on doing the best you can and you'll see how good life can be!
You have so much to be grateful for! 
 (Yes, I do. But gratefulness does not take away chronic pain or clinical depression)
You'll figure it out!

And usually?

Those people don't have a fucking clue as to what your going through, and have never really been in a situation even remotely close to yours.


Not that it's their fault, nor would I wish it upon them, but I do wish that they could recognize that they have no idea what it's like and keep their reality-deflecting platitudes to themselves.

 I have said it BEFORE and I will say it AGAIN:

Sometimes life is an unfair shitfest.
Respect those moments and let us grieve them, please.


By 3am, I had awoken in a cold sweat and started crying.
The crying pretty much continued until about 2pm Thursday afternoon.
Not my finest moment, and the FIRST time I have ever let that happen in front of my son....

But I just couldn't pull myself back together.


I am a fucking mess.

My hubs, rightfully alarmed,demanded I call my doctor and schedule an appointment all the blood work the Doc wants me to have done before he'll put me back on meds and to do further blood tests to hopefully wrap up our (and now his) suspicions of Fibromyalgia.

And I did.

I don't know how we're going to pay for it ($200 per office visit + whatever the lab work costs, not to mention the meds), on top of everything else, but I've got to do something.

My depression is not the sum total of all of my health issues, but letting it run wild isn't doing anyone any good.

I've been too stubborn for too long, trying to control it, HIDE it,  by myself.

And if Fibromyalgia is indeed an issue, maybe I can finally get some answers and solutions to the chronic pain.

I promised myself I would get all of this done at the 1st of the year, and now we're into May, so I guess I need to get on it.....

It's just so terrifying to know that while you may need it, you haven't got the resources for it.

Sigh.


Everything is about money.
We don't have enough to get me (or us) the help I (we) need, but make "too much" to qualify for help.


People like me with pre-existing conditions can no longer be denied for health insurance, but the type of insurance I qualify for is astronomical and won't cover my basic health needs anyway.

To know that every step you try to take forward to make yourself feel better, only pushes your family back five steps, and down further into the mire of debt.

It's crushing.

Especially when you live in such an affluent area, as we happen to, and you constantly watch people take so much for granted.

Dismissing you and your "problems" because they don't want to have to actually be confronted with how hard life can be and lucky they really are.

I have to remind myself of how lucky we are all the time.

So I spend most of my time trying to hide.
Trying to stay busy.
And crying in the bathroom at 3 am, so I won't disturb anyone.

No way to live, and I'm trying to claw my way out, but it's tough... 

So far, I am on a losing streak.

Please send me all the good vibes, chants, prayers, luck, you can.


I hate to ask, but I need all the help I can get.



Because at this moment, I am drowning.
Even in the day time.

Here we go AGAIN.

For the last 2 weeks, I've been having what I thought was abdominal pain...

by this last weekend the pain was shooting up into my back into what felt like my kidneys...full force.

SHIT.

As an uninsured individual, I don't go to the doctor unless there is copious amounts of blood, vomit/fever, and/or pain involved.

Well, the pain was bad.  It had BEEN bad and wasn't really getting better.

AND, my in-laws are leaving for almost 2 weeks tomorrow....

I figured I should get my ass to the ER.


There goes thousands of $$$ we don't have...woot.

I get to the ER and they're relatively empty.
When they lead me back, still pretty quiet.

I take this as a good sign. Maybe they will actually give me some answers.


But alas....

They draw blood, take urine samples and give me fluids.
Then they run a CT scan.

A couple hours later, someone comes back to tell me that I'm not pregnant.

No? Really? Arrrrgh. Because that's what I'm here for....

That was the most definitive answer I got all damn day.

Later another nurse comes to tell me that I need to give them another urine sample because the previous showed that I had a UTI.

Okay...will I be getting antibiotics?

No I will not, not until they no for sure....

Alrighty!

Give them another sample.

Wait....some....more....

Nurse come back:


We need to catheterize you because your samples keep coming back contaminated.


Ummm, what?

Apparently, while the samples were showing signs of a  UTI, they were concerned that I wasn't giving them a clean sample...
...or you know, I could just have a UTI, there's always that....

So they finally get their precious clean sample...

I'm told I'll have results in a week.


SERIOUSLY?

Then, the practitioner comes in.
[He's not the doctor listed on my chart, but I'm sire I'll be charged for the mythical doctor anyway....]
He tells me that the CT scans showed kidney stones....


Ohhhh! So THAT'S what's wrong with me! 

Nope. The stones are not the problem. They could become a problem, but aren't an issue right now.

What are they going to do about the them?
Nothing.

Okaaay.

But there is something else.

Swelling around my pancreas.  Which I am quickly informed is NOT pancreatitis.

They don't know what it is.

Can I see a doctor who would know while I am here?

Nope.

I have to go to a specialist.

What will he do?

Run tests.

You mean like the ones you guys ran today?
Ahem.

That was met with withering condescension...

The practitioner left, and yet another one comes in.


Can someone tell me about my blood/urine results?

Apparently, they must be normal because someone would have informed me if there was a problem.

Well, if that's not fucking reassuring, I don't know what is.

It becomes clear that I won't be getting any answers when they start talking about discharging me.

Ummmm, what about my pain?
I'm still in pain.
Am I going to get any meds?

They ask me:

Meds for what? (like I'm an idiot)


PAIN, my friends. I am in PAINNNNN.

This was news to them.


Sigh.

I finally get some pain meds.

Then they start booting me out the door.

There's nothing they can do for me. I'll have to go to the specialist.

Six hours. No antibiotics, no answers, and I had to FIGHT for a script for pain meds.


Needless to say, it was an awesome day.

I cannot wait for the bill.
In that nauseous, hyperventilating, panic attack kinda way.
[donations are now being accepted as of now, ha!]


I see a gastroenterologist tomorrow.

He will look over the ER results and schedule me for more tests.

For $200.

I'm not feeling hopeful that there will be any answers tomorrow, either.

Sigh.

I just saw a gastro six months ago.

Other than possible IBS, he said I was fine.

I've already been scoped down the throat, up the ass and scanned up down and sideways.

What is left?

I do not have the money for this nonsense.

But I'm tired of being in pain, and now I'm worried that it could be serious.

Hopefully not.

Wish  me luck, guys!