Leah is currently flopped on her side next to me, with one of her back legs in my lap. This is a good sign, as she has spent the past several hours panting, pacing, and scratching and biting herself. What I initially thought was and treated as anxiety was much more likely to be an allergic reaction to something, because a feline dose of Valium did nothing for her, but within ten minutes of giving her Claritin (aka Loratadine – and yes, this is safe for dogs, provided you follow the recommended weight guidelines) she stopped heavily panting, pacing, scratching, biting, and generally being a restless, neurotic mess; she is now sleeping comfortably next to me, with nary a twitch. Yay! Poor girl. Even Dan, who normally teases me for having such a neurotic idiot for a dog, said he was a little worried.
So yesterday was my 31st birthday, and I did absolutely nothing, but that’s exactly what I wanted. I slept until 10am, had a bit of ice cream (thanks to a neighbor dropping off a tub of it!) as a late lunch, Dan made me bacon & cheese quiche (something I’ve been craving for weeks!) for dinner, I binge-watched the first half of season 3 of Orange is the New Black, and then went to bed at 10pm. Totally rocking the Old Lady thing…
The only downside to this weekend is the shoulder pain is constant, my back is twingy off and on, and tonight the filling for the root canal I had done last year fell out. No pain so far…hoping to fit in an appointment to the dentist before anything bad happens.
Tomorrow I have a 9:50am appointment with the orthopedic doctor I saw last month for my shoulder, and I can’t wait! Because of Surprise! You Need Surgery! all of my ortho and neuro appointments got completely thrown off track, so this week and next I’m playing catch-up. And this week the sproglets are attending a STEM camp where they’ll be building miniature replicas of amusement park rides (and of course learning about the engineering that makes them work), so that’s pretty damn awesome.
How was your weekend?
It’s my birthday. I’m now 31 (well, not technically – technically I’m 30 for a few more hours, as I wasn’t born until the evening). Last night I took my mother grocery shopping, and while we were out I picked up four colorfully-frosted donuts – birthday donuts, ’cause cake and cupcakes are so overrated and overdone. This morning, I woke up to find three donuts missing – one of the bastard cats (probably Fritzy, as he has previously shown a taste for sweets) got into the bag and stole and ate them.
So it’s my birthday, and besides no donuts I also have no special plans – other than possibly going over to my mother’s to help her handle a pretty fucked up situation that had better un-fuck itself. But you know what? Fuckery aside, I’m fine with no plans for the day: I’m too old for big celebrations. ;) And even if I’m not too old, I’m definitely too tired. I feel like 2015, thus far, has been nothing but rushing and stressing and worrying, and I’ve barely had time to catch my breath. Today is the perfect opportunity to do just that – while binge-watching season 3 of OITNB!
This is a blog entry I’ve been meaning to write all week, but when I started it on June 8th, I got no further than the title.
Anyway. So I had unexpected laparoscopic abdominal surgery late on May 11th/very early on May 12th to fix a strangulated intestinal hernia. I went home on May 12th, and all was well. Or so I thought. By Friday my post-op pain should have been getting better, but instead it seemed like it was only slightly better, and then stayed at a constant 4-5 on the pain scale. I called my surgeon, who prescribed more pain medication, and moved up my post-op appointment from the 28th to the 21st.
The following Wednesday, May 20th, the pain was actually a bit worse, so I once again called my surgeon, who instructed me to — you guessed it — go to the ER. We went to the ER, and I fully expected to be looked over, given a clean bill of crybaby health, and then sent on my way. Instead, after they took my vitals, administered medication (pain/nausea/fluids), did an X-ray and a CT scan, I was admitted. Now here’s the funny-but-not-so-funny part: we arrived at the ER around 7:00pm. Sometime around 1:00am it was determined that I would be admitted, but I only found this out via the patient portal – my ER “discharge” paperwork had “admit” on it for patient status. All this time as we sat in the ER, no doctor came in – just nurses every hour. And then patient transport showed up.
I was taken to a room sometime around 3:30am, and upon being put in the room I noticed “NPO” (roughly translated means no food, liquids, or medication by mouth) was written on the dry-erase board. At this point I kind of panicked and assumed admission + NPO meant my surgeon would be going back in to see what was going on – the X-ray and CT scan showed an ileus.
Fortunately, I was just admitted for observation and pain control, and by Thursday evening I managed to talk my surgeon out of keeping me for another night (it was determined that as a result of my surgeon accidentally “nudging” my large intestine during surgery, it wasn’t really doing what it was supposed to do and thus things were backed up; also, my small intestine was distended and full of air) and was able to go home. We rejoiced at 6:30pm when the official “okay” for discharge came, but the paperwork and final discharge didn’t actually take place until closer to 10pm. Blah.
That weekend — Memorial Day Weekend — should have been quiet and calm. I was still recovering from surgery, plus another hospitalization, Dan and I were both tired, the kids were stressed and spazzed out from all of the medical chaos, and my 19 year old brother was spending the weekend with us. And, we had a friend’s five year old spending the weekend with us as well.
Saturday started out fine, though EARLY – I popped up at 5:46am and couldn’t fall back asleep. Ryan and I went on a lost-cellphone-hunt in a nearby corn field (and found it!), and then the kids and I participated in a neighborhood yard sale. The rest of the day was a blur of weekend kid stuff.
Then, that evening, Dan’s mother showed up, unexpectedly, abruptly, and dare I say it, without a welcome. I won’t go into details publicly, but I will say this: she is mentally ill, she has a habit of going off her medication, and there are times when she goes off her medication AND goes on an alcohol binge – obviously the results of these behaviors can be pretty disastrous. She blew up and walked out on the woman who was trying to help her back in April, spent a week with us and then blew up on us (or rather, me) and stormed out when Dan and I made it clear that she couldn’t live with us and had to actively look for housing, and that was the last we heard from her – that was on April 23rd. So when she showed up on our doorstep on the evening of May 23rd, I was not happy. I flipped my shit, Dan flipped his shit, we ended up fighting, and I ended up driving an hour east to take the five year old back to her family; and then an hour and a half west to take my brother home, before going back home myself.
It was a really shitty weekend. I don’t wish Dan’s mother ill or harm, but I would like it very much if she would stay out of our lives and stay put in a shelter long enough to get the help with housing and long-term medical care that she needs. I feel even more strongly about this ever since the April incident, when she screamed all sorts of horrible obscenities at me because I dared to tell her to her face (politely, but directly) that she couldn’t live with us and couldn’t afford to be picky over renting a room or going to a shelter when she’s in a situation where she is homeless and has nowhere to go.
So anyway…that’s how the rest of May went. As I previously mentioned, my mom had gastric bypass on June 1st. She did really well, and is already down 16 pounds. Yay!
It’s official: summer vacation has arrived. Yesterday was the last day of school, and the sproglets were home by 3pm since they were dismissed an hour and 15 minutes early (that’s a weird early dismissal, right? 2:15pm instead of 3:30pm?). Ryan, in typical autistic/Asperger’s fashion, has been a royal mess – he never transitions well, and the abrupt switch from school to no school (and then, at the end of August, the abrupt switch from no school to school) is always hard on him. And subsequently, us. We’ve had quite a few meltdowns and screaming fits and slammed doors, and we’re only on the first day of summer break. Somebody hold me.
Dan and I are going to do our best to have a nice summer for the sproglets: pool days, at least one beach day, a carnival or two, cheap weekday afternoon movies, reading programs and library events, and other cheap/free local stuff we can find; as well as a few birthday parties that pop up every summer for classmates and neighborhood kids.
Have your kids gotten out of school yet? I still find these “early” end-of-school-years to be so weird – in Philadelphia, at least when I was a kid, it was customary and the norm to attend school until at least mid-June. My birthday is on the 13th (I’m turning 31 in two days! *cry*), and I almost always had the opportunity to celebrate it in school.
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