Wednesday, June 25, 2008

Monday, June 23, 2008

No. Really. I am a Bitch.

I am not, nor will I ever be little Miss Sunshine.  But lately?  There has been a whole lotta mean tossed into the blender of my personality.  And the funny thing is that I am usually an upbeat, irritatingly so, person.  So, is it the stress of all of the shit that has been happening lately?  Is it the new medication?  Is it the fact that I don't know what the fuck is going on with my job since my boss hasn't returned an e-mail or a phone call in like five days?  A combination of everything?


But honestly?  I feel bad for the people around me.  Especially since I recognize the issue and can do nothing about it right now.

Conversation with my day the other morning:

"Blah, blah, blah and a whole lot of bitchery followed by:  'I need a large cup of coffee and an attitude adjustment'".  

He just laughed.  It was true, but funny.

Oh well.

Friday, June 20, 2008

Houston, We Have Diagnosis

I am not crazy.

Well, I am, but not about this seizure shit.

My dad flew in today to go to the neurologist's office with me.  To say I was freaking out would be putting it mildly.  I have managed to more or less ignore this whole seizure situation for the last seven or eight years.  I figured I had it under control.  Until the ER doctor told me that 4-5 seizures a year was NOT controlling the situation.

So, reluctantly, I went off to see the head doctor.  I had these visions of him telling me I was completely nuts to saying that there wasn't a thing wrong with me and that it was all in my head.  (heh heh)  Plus I was a little nervous, because this particular neurologist did not have the best of reputations.

Well let me tell you, I really liked the guy.  He had me when he said "you had CAT scan?  It verified that there was a brain in there?"  Ah, a doctor who gets my sense of humor.

He did a thorough work up and asked me about my seizures.  In the end, he decided that I have Focal seizures.  (or Partial Seizures)  Basically, the seizure affects the right side of my brain, but presents on the left side.  Numbness, tingling, twitches, etc are mostly confined to the left side.  That doesn't mean that I can't or haven't had Full seizures that affect both sides, I have, but that the majority of them happen to zing me on the right.  I guess kind of like a guy's dick.  you know, they usually hang to one side or the other.

So, now I am on medication.  Right now I am taking Topamax.  Eventually I will work up from one to four pills a day.  He also has me taking Valium as needed (it helps with the tingling and such) and he also put me on Maxalt for migraines.  

The thing is, you would think I would feel better about this, but I don't and here are my reasons why:

1.  I FUCKING HATE DRUGS - of any kind

2.  I loath the idea that I need to be dependent on any kind of medication to live a "normal" life.

3.  I really, really don't like it that I will forever have seizure associated with my name.  You know, just in case, I need to tell the people around me for my own protection.  Do not call an ambulance, do not try to hold down my tongue, etc.

4.  I was just anally raped at the drug store.  I have wonderful health insurance, but even so, I just spent over a hundred dollars on close to six hundred dollars worth of medication.  Granted, the Maxalt will last me for like a year, but the Topamax is like a FORFUCKINGEVER kind of thing.  The next time I go into the pharmacy, I am just going to lift up my skirt and grab my ankles.  I'm gonna get fucked one way or another.

5.  I have to have an EEG.  Uh, me and hospitals are not good together.  Me and weird electrodes and gels have an even bigger issue with one another.

6.  I will need to be under medical care for the rest of my life.

7.  A bunch of other shit that I haven't thought of yet.

So here I sit, at midnight, and I still haven't taken that first dose of medicine.  It's like I am admitting that I have failed my own body somehow.  I know I am not making sense, but that's how I feel.

The thing is, I know it could be worse and I keep telling myself that very thing.  But I CANNOT help the way I feel about the situation.  Maybe in time, I will see things differently, but right now I do not.  And I really don't want to hear any platitudes.  I know I sound like a bitch, but I have never argued otherwise.

On a better note, my dad has been wonderful.  He was allowed in the examining room and asked questions that I hadn't thought of.  I have a sister (not blood related) with epilepsy, so my dad knows a lot about the subject and was a big help.  Plus it's nice to just have him here with me.  I said that we don't get to spend much time together, so this is great, no matter the circumstances.

Thank you all for your kind comments on my last post.  Because of my schedule and the way that my brain has been scrambled lately, I haven't been able to respond to any comments, but I really felt your good wishes and prayers coming through today.

All my best,

Thursday, June 19, 2008

Neurologists = My Nightmare

Holy Fucking Shit.

So, to keep you all up to date with what is going on - some people know already.  I had some kind of fucked up seizure late Sunday night and had to be taken to the ER, lights a flashing.  

Side Note to Paramedics - When someone presents with seizure symptoms and their husband tells you this, PLEASE TURN OFF THE FLASHING STROBE LIGHTS ON THE AMBULANCE until you get them inside.

Second Side Note to Paramedics - You guys were great and when I start feeling better, I am sending you a love basket.

Actually, I had two of them at my house and another one in the emergency room.  

Note to SHITTY ASS HOSPITAL where I never want to go again - it would be a good idea if your IV tubing matched that of the ambulance, so you didn't have to rip my arm open trying to change out the tubing.

Here are some neat things about my trip to the hospital:

1.  After having a third seizure while I was there, they put bumper pads up on my bed.  Next stop = fully padded room.
2.  I had an allergic reaction to Dilantin.  Why oh why would the doctor then prescribe it for me?  Fucking idiot.
3.  During allergic reaction, the nurse attempted to control me so she could drug my ass up....
the following occurred:
- I sat straight up in the bed and screamed at her "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS ALL ABOUT"
- She then told me that "We don't use that kind of language here"
- I then said "FUCK IT I DON'T GIVE A SHIT"
- I then passed out from all of the drugs
4.  Best part ever - my husband said to me "This is going to make a great story for your blog"

Ha, fucking, ha.  He has come over to the dark side.

So, I have been drugged out of my mind on and off since Monday.  My dad is flying up to Ohio to take me to my neurologist appointment - my doctor does not like this guy, but he was the only one who could see me this week.

I am VERY nervous.  I thought I had this shit under control, but apparently... not so much.

So, I am very behind at work.  I am worried about losing my new job and I don't know what is happening to me.  Scary shit all around.

At least I can keep my sense of humor.  If I can tell a nurse to fuck off, there is hope left yet.

So this afternoon, I go see Dr. Doom and then we will see what happens.  From my GP's perspective, she thinks that they will order and EEG to check my brain.  Like we all don't already know I am fucked up in the head.

Just to show you how messed up I have been, here is the transcript of the texts that I sent to my boss Monday about 4 hours after I got home from the ER:

I was in the er last nigh
Didn't get n
Back top laws

Until late    sorry bout that
I'll be online in avojo

What.  The.  Fuck.

Drugged to the gills.

Anyway, don't tell anyone, but I am a little freaked out.  One, this neurologist does not have the best reputation and two I fucking hate doctors.  The only exception being my family doctor who is the shit.


It could always be worse.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Father's Day Post

Well, I guess the title says it all.  Or not really.

My dad and I have a tentative relationship.  There are no problems between us, I love him and he loves me, but we have definite issues.

My parents divorced when I was very, very small.  I don't know the ins and outs of the whole situation and for EVER while I was growing up, I was poisoned with only the venom that flowed from the egg donor's mouth when my father was brought up.

But somehow, I managed to stay open minded.  I wanted, no desired and dreamed about, a real relationship with my dad.  Instead, I was forced to call a man who did not sire me, nor love me, dad just because I was told to.  I never felt that way though.  I used to dream about living with my dad.  I would forever fantasize about calling him up and begging him to come get me from whatever state I was imprisoned in at the time.  Instead, I had to settle for hearing his voice ONLY when the egg donor wanted extra money for something and forced me to call him collect.  I was never allowed to just call my dad and say hello, I love you, I miss you, nothing.

Every time I even broached the subject of going to visit, I was told that he didn't want me.  I was told that he was too busy with his new family.  And at one very low point in my life, I was tortured with the notion that if I ever moved away, my grandmother would die of a broken heart.  Who fucking says that to a child?

Anyway, I may not have gotten out, but my sister Tree did.  Once I went away to college, she finally broke free of the chains that were binding her to that life.  One day, after a very bad scene (it's not my place to relate the story), she called my dad up and asked him to come get her.  My dad and mom drove from Georgia into a massive snowstorm to pick my sister up.  They weren't even able to get her from where she was living.  Instead, she was dumped off at my stepfather's sister's house in another state and had to be ferried off of a mountain because my dad's car couldn't make it up in the storm.  

I wasn't that lucky.  I still feel like we are strangers in a way because we don't have those ties from a long term relationship.  We don't have any shared memories of a time before I was an adult.  I didn't get the opportunity to get to know my dad until I was old enough to vote.  In fact, I saw my dad for the first time in almost a decade when he came up to Ohio to be at my first wedding.  

So it feels weird.  To love someone so much, but not really know them.  Even now, we live so far apart that we don't see each other that often.  I am in Ohio and he is in Georgia and in a way, that separation is more than geographical.  If we are lucky, we might see each other twice a year.  We have managed to go golfing together and do some things that are meant for just the two of us, but it is still awkward.  For him as well as me, I am sure.

My dad has asked me numerous times if I blame him for the way I grew up.  I don't.  Life is hard and everyone has to do what they can to make it through.  My dad was away for six months out of every year serving our country.  Then he would come back to find out the he had been taken to court by the egg donor for more child support, or this or that.  Back then, there were few rights for military parents and if you were taken to court and you were out in the middle of the Indian Ocean and could not make it back, they didn't postpone it.  These days the laws have changed (although it goes by state, so I don't know about other people), and there is more leniency in scheduling, but not so then.  I can also see things from his side and I hurt for him because I know that this bothers him more than he lets on.

All of that aside, I love my father.  He and I are a lot alike and I get him.  I like to think that I inherited his sense of humor along with his big, giant ogre head.  I also got his ability to release deadly toxins into the atmosphere by way of bunghole, so that is cool.  And I don't ever doubt how much he loves me.  We have talked on numerous occasions about the past and while it will never be fully behind us, we don't allow it to color our present or keep us apart.  He has taught me so much about life and the living of it.  I don't get and will never understand his love of NASCAR and while I golf, I would go comatose watching the whatever Open for four days in a row, but we talk about sports and politics, religion and public issues.  We disagree on a lot of things, but we love each other.

So to my dad:

Happy Father's Day.  You are my inspiration, and the one person that I know I can call no matter what the situation.  I can count on you to call "bullshit" on me while supporting me through my decisions.  I know that I probably don't tell you often enough, but I love you so much and I hope that I can be as good of a mother to my children as you are a father to me and my sisters.  You are totally in my top five favorite people in the world and if I could, I would fly down to see you for a hug when I have a bad day.  You make it all better dad.


Monday, June 9, 2008

What Am I, New?

Holy crap.  I have sunburn.  Can't move, everything hurts, bright red, extremely painful sunburn.

The thing is, I don't usually burn and when I do, it's pretty faint and almost immediately turns to tan.  That is probably not the case this time.

The picture doesn't even come close to showing how bad the burns really are.  In fact, naked, it still looks like I have my swim suit on.  

And yes, I was wearing SPF.  Not a high count, but SPF all the same.  I spent years and years living in the south and I am well aware of the dangers of the sun's rays.  

The funny thing is that my husband has sunburn too.  So here we are, two miserably burnt people laying side by side in bed completely unmoving.  Letting the air from the fan wash over us and give some measure of comfort to our aching bodies.

Now, I am up on a Monday morning, trying to catch up with work and wondering when it will stop hurting so bad and kind of considering implementing a Naked Monday work plan.  My dress is chafing.

Friday, June 6, 2008

Paging Doctor Whackadoo

I have started seeing a therapist.  

I like her.

She is a pretty straightforward person and the only truly irritating thing that she had me do was use an "emotions" chart.  I asked her if they were like emoticons... What?  Oh and there is no computer in her office.  Freaky.  Of course, skipping back to the first sentence, I came up with emotions that weren't on her chart.  Like pissed off and combative and highly illusionary... apparently it needs updated for adults with large vocabularies.

She is not really sure what to do with me.  Most people aren't.  Especially since I jump around from subject to subject.  Although I did spend an entire hour bitching about my in-laws.  To a complete stranger.  Without being drunk.  It felt really fucking good.

And so I was finally asked to narrow my focus on what I wanted to work on the most in my life right now....  I picked my children.  And not my husband.  Sorry, but the kids are only little for so long and my biggest fear in life is that they will end up despising me like I do my Incubator.  I had to create a behavioral chart with rewards and stuff for them.  And you know what?  It's working.  They earn points for good behavior and lose them for bad and they need a certain amount of points to do activities that they like.  My little one is really good with it, the older one will probably need a learning curve.

Next post - attending your daughter's Junior High School Orien-fucking-tation.  While deciding on the easiest way to sneak out of a crowded gymnasium.

Peace out bitches.


Monday, June 2, 2008

The Hardest Day of the Year

I managed to make it through this weekend without turning into a complete sobbing mess.  May 31st is the most difficult day of the year for me to get through.  I posted about it last year, but it seems that I feel a deep need to do it all over again.

What is May 31st?  This year it was my 5th wedding anniversary.  It was also the 2nd anniversary of my grandmother's death.  And you know what?  It was a little easier this year.  That doesn't seem to have come out right...  It's never easy.  The feeling of loss.  It hits you unexpectedly.  It comes out of the blue and bitch slaps you right upside the head.  The fact that I will never be able to forget that day...

I was standing in the checkout line at Costco.  I had stopped in to pick up a new book and I was on my way to our company's golf club to meet my boss and a coworker for lunch.  I was waiting for the cashier to ring me up when my cell phone rang and I saw a Maryland area code, but the number wasn't one that I was familiar with.  When I answered the phone, I heard the voice of the woman who birthed me.  And I knew.  Right away I knew something bad had happened.  My heart started racing and my mouth dried up.  There was a roaring in my ears that didn't completely block out the one-sided conversation.  And there it was.  The news that my grandmother, the woman who raised me, was dead.  Gone from this earth.

I walked away from the register, completely numb.  As I stumbled toward the exit, I had the simultaneous feeling that I was going to both throw up and pass out.  I made it to a concrete ledge to the right of the entrance/exit where I collapsed into a sobbing mess.  I didn't care who walked by me or saw me.  My only thought was that my world had ended.  I couldn't live without her unconditional love and support.  She was the only person in my life who loved me the most.  We would fight like two she-cats on occasion and then make up right away.  Flashes of an unbearable childhood passed through my brain, tempered only by her love.  Memories swirled around in my head of road trips and life lessons.  Praise and punishment.  Laughter, tears and most importantly love.  All the while, tears were pouring down my face, splashing onto the concrete into a little puddle.

When I finally pulled myself together, I ran to my car, ignoring the ringing of my cell phone.  I slid into the seat, numb all over, not knowing where to go or what to do.  I know that I talked to three of my sisters and that there was a conversation with my husband as well.  The next thing I knew, I was in the parking lot of the golf club.  I tried to reach my boss, but his phone went unanswered.  I put on my sunglasses and walked into the restaurant.  Inside, glasses firmly intact, I spotted their table and walked over.  I vaguely remember telling my boss what was going on and heading towards home, more phone conversations allowing me the ability somehow to drive myself home.  

The rest of the day was spent coordinating plans.  Until the time came to tell my daughter that her great-grandmother was gone.  The woman that she worshipped, just as I had, she would never get to hug and kiss again.  The little one had just turned two and didn't really understand what was going on.  My husband was overwhelmed, I think, having just lost his grandmother the month before and he was so very close to my grandmother.

Somehow we made it through.  Clinging to one another until we made the drive, straight through the night, from Ohio to Maryland.  We went directly to the funeral home where I had to deal with not only the most painful thing to happen to me in my entire life, but I had to work with a woman that I despised and keep her from making a mockery of my grandmother's life by shortchanging her in death.  I could go into the countless episodes of insanity that were created by her and her machinations, but I am letting it go.  It won't help me mourn and will only take away from the focus of the topic.

Sisters and brother, aunts and uncles and cousins and friends all rallied around us with their support.  My grandmother's people are mostly country folk who work hard and live their lives through their own set of moral standards.  Good people by anyone's definition, they kissed and hugged and patted myself and my family.  They held the baby and fawned over my daughter.  We told countless stories and celebrated the life of the one person that I consider to be my hero.  We cried and laughed and hugged and kissed all over again.  That is what family is supposed to do.

Last year was hard.  Really, really hard.  This year, was still difficult and the worst part was that I kept those feelings bottled up inside.  I didn't want to talk to the kids about it and bring up their pain, especially my daughter's, so I stayed silent.  Through an anniversary spent around a bonfire with the kids and our friends.  It was mentioned a few times throughout the evening that I was unusually quiet, but I chalked it off to working a lot and being tired.  But today, after coming home this evening, it hit me.  And all I could do was crawl into my bed and shake.  My husband asked me what he did to upset me and I had to restrain myself from taking his head off.  The most upsetting fact is that he either forgot, or he doesn't care.  Either way, I will deal with that later, but for tonight, I just needed to unload.  If I didn't have this blog to write in, I would probably be gullet deep in a bottle of booze right now, so we have one plus to add to this weekend's tally.

So there it is.  I shed some tears today.  I walked around with a lump in my throat the size of a softball, but I made it through without being too nasty to the people around me.  And when the resentment and hurt surfaced, I hid away under the covers.  It may not be the best way to deal with pain, but to each their own.  Now I think it is past time to go to bed.  Sleep may not be forthcoming, but I can at least rest my weary body and close these gritty eyes.

Bye my loves.

Take an extra minute out of your day today to call someone you care about and tell them how much they mean to you.  It can make a difference.  Trust me.