I've stared at this same screen for 2 weeks now. That little cursor flashing at me. Taunting me to try to come up with something worthwhile to write. Something worthwhile just in general.
It's been a long year. A very, very long year.
When did we get so old and adult like? When did that happen? When did it become a regular occurrence to talk with friends about their chemo and cancer treatments instead of an older family member, like a great uncle?
When did we have so much "bad" stuff go on this year that I am to the point, I don't know whether I should drink lots of margaritas or hide under the bed. Or both.
But we keep on trucking. Trying to keep our head above water.
And crap just keeps getting thrown at us. We just keep going.
We are kinda like the energizer bunny. Except we aren't happy about it.
Well, we are happy we are alive, but otherwise, not impressed with all the "crap".
So while you might be visiting this page annoyed that nothing new is going on around here. Keep in mind that right now, my main focus is my mental stability.
Which after the year we've had, is starting to dangle by a thin thread. Be patient. Keep checking back. Follow me on twitter.
I'll be back soon.
Hopefully with a better attitude. And sarcasm.
Wednesday, March 28, 2012
Wednesday, March 14, 2012
Danger Will Robinson, Danger.
I have used this blog as a place to vent to and share deep and not so deep thoughts. Well, today this blog is going to become a personal outlet for some current frustrations in my life. Namely my mother. Don't get me wrong, I do love her, even though this post will probably not portray that.
Saturday evening we took my dad to the emergency room. Which right now seems like a lifetime ago, could be because I'm exhausted. But, I digress, and it's way to early to do that.
I don't understand how she couldn't see how very sick he was. I walked in the door and after 5 minutes of conversation with him, I knew that he wasn't ok, even though he insisted he was. He was panting like my dog does when he lays in the back yard in 100* weather and sun bathes. Yet, he was sitting almost completely still in a chair. He assured me that he was just having a bad day. Um. No. He wasn't thrilled to be going to the doctor when my grandmother, his mother, and I convinced him that he should be going to the doctor. But he finally caved. Which, I'm very thankful for, otherwise we would be planning his funeral. His doctors have assured me of that fact. Another couple of days and it would have been too late. Right now he lies in an ICU bed with a tube shoved into his stomach to provide him some type of nourishment, as well as on a ventilator. There isn't a doubt in my mind that another day and he would have died.
My mom wanted me to take him to the doctor while she watched over her grandkids, my niece and nephew who were visiting for Spring Break. Her reason was that he would change his mind. We intended to follow her with the children in tow. It wasn't the ideal situation, but you do what you have to do. My husband dealt with the children while I sat in the room with my father waiting on the test results. My mom debated leaving once we discovered that he was going to be admitted. I'm glad she didn't, simply because when his CO2 levels got too high, he kinda flipped out, and I was thankful that I wasn't there alone with him. Not because I was afraid of him, but because we needed 2 hands so he didn't rip his IV and stuff out, which could have been a disaster.
We finally got him moved to ICU and about 3am went home. She stopped by my house and we called my step-sister and shared with her the latest information. At 4am the hospital called to tell me that he was being moved to a ventilator, because his blood gases still weren't where they needed to be. Awesome. They also informed me that they were taking him for a CT scan, because they were concerned that something else might be wrong.
We finally managed to make it to bed, but at 5am, I heard my cookoo clock chirp. The nurse called again at 6:45, and my alarm went of at 9 so that I could call my grandmother and give her an update. As far as they knew, he only had pneumonia, they didn't know he was in ICU and I didn't want them to show up and the hospital and not be aware of what was going on. So I called and gave them the low down.
Sundays at my house usually involve a lot of things. Like cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping and homework, but since I'm on Spring Break this week, homework is just a very bad dream. My grandmother was at the hospital, so I figured that I would take the opportunity to clean and do a little laundry and that I would take the afternoon shift. So we spent an hour mopping and scrubbing, just in case my mom needed somewhere to crash, my house was neat and clean. Not that it's usually a mess, considering it took us a whole 60 minutes to get it done.
We got ready and headed to the hospital. We chatted with the nurse and got the low down on how he was doing today, and what the plan was now. My mom was planning on coming for the evening shift. But her electricity went out and she refused to leave. So she didn't come Sunday.
Monday, I had to work. I had planned on working full time this week, and even though he was in the hospital that was still my plan. I wanted the extra cash to help to catch us back up after John's bought with unemployment. So I got up and went to work. There was a misunderstanding between my mom and my grandmother and if not for my insistence, she probably wouldn't have made it on Monday night either.
There house was horrific when I was there Saturday. There kitchen was buried, their dining table buried, it was like watching an episode of hoarders unfold before my very eyes. There was trash, and groceries that needed to be put away, it was just horrific. So I'll admit that she needs her house cleaned. Bad. So Sunday afternoon and Monday she did just that. She has been cleaning and organizing her house. She blames it on my father that she can't accomplish this any other time, yet I remember when they first got married that he typically helped her, or at least left her alone to get it done.
Yesterday, she was supposed to come to the hospital. I called her at 8:30 and she was a no show. She was cleaning up my father's man cave and just wanted to get it done. Which, is fine, but if that were my husband laying in ICU on a ventilator, I would be there with him. Granted, I would need to be practical, and I might not be there every second, but I honestly don't know. I'd rather not find out how I have to react to that situation. He almost died and she is worried about cleaning her house than about him. Granted he is oblivious either way, but still.
She's never been one to visit people in the hospital. She doesn't come see her mother in law, she often didn't come see my grandfather when he was in the nursing home. And once we moved him to Lubbock, I'm not sure that she ever stepped foot in the door any other days other than the day he moved in and the day he died. She's not a visitor. She would rather you come to her, which I understand too. But life doesn't work that way. It makes me wonder what is really going on between her and my dad. It makes me wonder if they have quit being married and are more like roommates who are affectionate of each other, yet wouldn't mind it if the other walked off a tall cliff.
I was telling a good friend about how crazy it drove me, and she said it seemed heartless. She's right. It's also loveless. Sure, I can think of a million other things that I would rather be doing during those brief visits to the hospital. Yet, I'm there. Every.single.day. I'm exhausted. I had things I wanted to accomplish over Spring Break, and all of that has taken a back seat. It can wait. It's important that my father knows that someone loves him. That someone cares about him. It's important that he hears my voice. Even though I've had some odd conversations with him. I told him last night that his "food" looked like Eagle Brand Milk, but probably tasted like poo. Then that conversation continued on to discuss how exactly one knew what poo tasted like. I don't eat poo, I'm sure he doesn't. I'm pretty sure that's when I realized that I was exhausted. But he looks peaceful, which gives me a sense of comfort in hopes that he will be ok. That he is just busy getting better.
I'm not sure what's going to happen when he wakes up, or even when he goes home. But I have a funny feeling that this is going to change a lot of things in his life and my mothers life, whether they want it too or not. There is definitely going to be an intervention. He's in for a rude awakening. Wake up from a drug induced coma and suddenly your a non smoker, and a health food junkie. That'll teach him.
Saturday evening we took my dad to the emergency room. Which right now seems like a lifetime ago, could be because I'm exhausted. But, I digress, and it's way to early to do that.
I don't understand how she couldn't see how very sick he was. I walked in the door and after 5 minutes of conversation with him, I knew that he wasn't ok, even though he insisted he was. He was panting like my dog does when he lays in the back yard in 100* weather and sun bathes. Yet, he was sitting almost completely still in a chair. He assured me that he was just having a bad day. Um. No. He wasn't thrilled to be going to the doctor when my grandmother, his mother, and I convinced him that he should be going to the doctor. But he finally caved. Which, I'm very thankful for, otherwise we would be planning his funeral. His doctors have assured me of that fact. Another couple of days and it would have been too late. Right now he lies in an ICU bed with a tube shoved into his stomach to provide him some type of nourishment, as well as on a ventilator. There isn't a doubt in my mind that another day and he would have died.
My mom wanted me to take him to the doctor while she watched over her grandkids, my niece and nephew who were visiting for Spring Break. Her reason was that he would change his mind. We intended to follow her with the children in tow. It wasn't the ideal situation, but you do what you have to do. My husband dealt with the children while I sat in the room with my father waiting on the test results. My mom debated leaving once we discovered that he was going to be admitted. I'm glad she didn't, simply because when his CO2 levels got too high, he kinda flipped out, and I was thankful that I wasn't there alone with him. Not because I was afraid of him, but because we needed 2 hands so he didn't rip his IV and stuff out, which could have been a disaster.
We finally got him moved to ICU and about 3am went home. She stopped by my house and we called my step-sister and shared with her the latest information. At 4am the hospital called to tell me that he was being moved to a ventilator, because his blood gases still weren't where they needed to be. Awesome. They also informed me that they were taking him for a CT scan, because they were concerned that something else might be wrong.
We finally managed to make it to bed, but at 5am, I heard my cookoo clock chirp. The nurse called again at 6:45, and my alarm went of at 9 so that I could call my grandmother and give her an update. As far as they knew, he only had pneumonia, they didn't know he was in ICU and I didn't want them to show up and the hospital and not be aware of what was going on. So I called and gave them the low down.
Sundays at my house usually involve a lot of things. Like cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping and homework, but since I'm on Spring Break this week, homework is just a very bad dream. My grandmother was at the hospital, so I figured that I would take the opportunity to clean and do a little laundry and that I would take the afternoon shift. So we spent an hour mopping and scrubbing, just in case my mom needed somewhere to crash, my house was neat and clean. Not that it's usually a mess, considering it took us a whole 60 minutes to get it done.
We got ready and headed to the hospital. We chatted with the nurse and got the low down on how he was doing today, and what the plan was now. My mom was planning on coming for the evening shift. But her electricity went out and she refused to leave. So she didn't come Sunday.
Monday, I had to work. I had planned on working full time this week, and even though he was in the hospital that was still my plan. I wanted the extra cash to help to catch us back up after John's bought with unemployment. So I got up and went to work. There was a misunderstanding between my mom and my grandmother and if not for my insistence, she probably wouldn't have made it on Monday night either.
There house was horrific when I was there Saturday. There kitchen was buried, their dining table buried, it was like watching an episode of hoarders unfold before my very eyes. There was trash, and groceries that needed to be put away, it was just horrific. So I'll admit that she needs her house cleaned. Bad. So Sunday afternoon and Monday she did just that. She has been cleaning and organizing her house. She blames it on my father that she can't accomplish this any other time, yet I remember when they first got married that he typically helped her, or at least left her alone to get it done.
Yesterday, she was supposed to come to the hospital. I called her at 8:30 and she was a no show. She was cleaning up my father's man cave and just wanted to get it done. Which, is fine, but if that were my husband laying in ICU on a ventilator, I would be there with him. Granted, I would need to be practical, and I might not be there every second, but I honestly don't know. I'd rather not find out how I have to react to that situation. He almost died and she is worried about cleaning her house than about him. Granted he is oblivious either way, but still.
She's never been one to visit people in the hospital. She doesn't come see her mother in law, she often didn't come see my grandfather when he was in the nursing home. And once we moved him to Lubbock, I'm not sure that she ever stepped foot in the door any other days other than the day he moved in and the day he died. She's not a visitor. She would rather you come to her, which I understand too. But life doesn't work that way. It makes me wonder what is really going on between her and my dad. It makes me wonder if they have quit being married and are more like roommates who are affectionate of each other, yet wouldn't mind it if the other walked off a tall cliff.
I was telling a good friend about how crazy it drove me, and she said it seemed heartless. She's right. It's also loveless. Sure, I can think of a million other things that I would rather be doing during those brief visits to the hospital. Yet, I'm there. Every.single.day. I'm exhausted. I had things I wanted to accomplish over Spring Break, and all of that has taken a back seat. It can wait. It's important that my father knows that someone loves him. That someone cares about him. It's important that he hears my voice. Even though I've had some odd conversations with him. I told him last night that his "food" looked like Eagle Brand Milk, but probably tasted like poo. Then that conversation continued on to discuss how exactly one knew what poo tasted like. I don't eat poo, I'm sure he doesn't. I'm pretty sure that's when I realized that I was exhausted. But he looks peaceful, which gives me a sense of comfort in hopes that he will be ok. That he is just busy getting better.
I'm not sure what's going to happen when he wakes up, or even when he goes home. But I have a funny feeling that this is going to change a lot of things in his life and my mothers life, whether they want it too or not. There is definitely going to be an intervention. He's in for a rude awakening. Wake up from a drug induced coma and suddenly your a non smoker, and a health food junkie. That'll teach him.
Monday, March 12, 2012
When There Are No Words
I've been going to write a post for the better part of 2 weeks now, it was just one of those things where I didn't know what to write. I didn't know what to think or feel, I'm still not sure.
It's been a helluva year. We were looking forward to moving away from Papa and Grandpa's deaths last year. We were looking forward to starting my second year at Tech. We were looking forward to the summer, and to this week of Spring Break when we were going to take a weekend getaway.
Then everything started to go wrong. Very, very wrong.
John lost his job, we found out some disturbing information about my ex brother in law. My friend Andrea has been sick and in and out of the hospital. My husband's cousin's wife committed suicide. It's just been a cluster. Then my husband finds a job with some crazy hours. I send my sister-in-law a birthday wish and get some serious hate thrown back at me. My friend Andrea is diagnosed with liver cancer. She goes off to Houston and it's actually colon cancer that has spread to her liver and lymph nodes. She's 33. Then it's my dad, who is currently lying in a hospital bed in ICU on a ventilator. Oh and we can't forget the homework and the deadlines and tests and all that has come with going to college. The stresses with a job in an industry that has taken a major hit.
I'm worried about him, about Andrea, but at this point, I'm just numb. At some point in the last month something somewhere has short circuited and I'm just...I don't know.
I've got John's sister actually making an effort with our relationship at the same time his brother's wife is shoving me so far away. Then with everything else, it's amazing that my head is still attached to my body. It's even more amazing that I'm not locked in a padded room in a straight jacket with Prozac being shoved down my throat every few minutes.
I finally think that my husband is more worried about me than about everyone else. Probably because I'm not a cleaning fool like I usually am when life piles it on. I want to, I just don't know which problem to dwell on while I clean. And none of the current issues are ones that can be solved with a clean closet. Most of them are completely and totally out of my hands. There isn't anything I can do, other than try to keep rolling with the punches. Which is maybe the point. I have a tendency to hold on to stuff, and let it pile up until I just have a complete and total meltdown.
I wanted this week to be a vacation, one that only allowed me to work, and getting ready to spoil Andrea and her family when they got home, so that they could ease back into life instead of having it thrown at them. I wanted a breather from stress. Instead, I just had another dosage.
I wanted to ask God, now what? Obviously, I can handle more. But really? Really. I'm almost positive that I've prayed more in the last 3 months than I have in my entire life. Maybe that's the point too. I've prayed for Andrea and her family, I've prayed for my father to get better so I can kick his butt for getting this sick in the first place, I've prayed that my husband would love his job, I've prayed to let this be enough. I've prayed for good grades and for peace so that I don't get tests and sit down and freak out and fail the stupid things. I've prayed for things to be ok and us not loose our home when John lost his job. I've prayed for more hours in the day, and for sleep when I wake up several times at night.
I've learned that you can function and live on 3.25 hours of sleep. I've also learned that at some point, I have to take care of me. Thankfully, I have a husband who is helping do that.
My point with this post. Send some prayers our way. Otherwise, my head just might explode. Or my house will be as clean as a surgical table.
It's been a helluva year. We were looking forward to moving away from Papa and Grandpa's deaths last year. We were looking forward to starting my second year at Tech. We were looking forward to the summer, and to this week of Spring Break when we were going to take a weekend getaway.
Then everything started to go wrong. Very, very wrong.
John lost his job, we found out some disturbing information about my ex brother in law. My friend Andrea has been sick and in and out of the hospital. My husband's cousin's wife committed suicide. It's just been a cluster. Then my husband finds a job with some crazy hours. I send my sister-in-law a birthday wish and get some serious hate thrown back at me. My friend Andrea is diagnosed with liver cancer. She goes off to Houston and it's actually colon cancer that has spread to her liver and lymph nodes. She's 33. Then it's my dad, who is currently lying in a hospital bed in ICU on a ventilator. Oh and we can't forget the homework and the deadlines and tests and all that has come with going to college. The stresses with a job in an industry that has taken a major hit.
I'm worried about him, about Andrea, but at this point, I'm just numb. At some point in the last month something somewhere has short circuited and I'm just...I don't know.
I've got John's sister actually making an effort with our relationship at the same time his brother's wife is shoving me so far away. Then with everything else, it's amazing that my head is still attached to my body. It's even more amazing that I'm not locked in a padded room in a straight jacket with Prozac being shoved down my throat every few minutes.
I finally think that my husband is more worried about me than about everyone else. Probably because I'm not a cleaning fool like I usually am when life piles it on. I want to, I just don't know which problem to dwell on while I clean. And none of the current issues are ones that can be solved with a clean closet. Most of them are completely and totally out of my hands. There isn't anything I can do, other than try to keep rolling with the punches. Which is maybe the point. I have a tendency to hold on to stuff, and let it pile up until I just have a complete and total meltdown.
I wanted this week to be a vacation, one that only allowed me to work, and getting ready to spoil Andrea and her family when they got home, so that they could ease back into life instead of having it thrown at them. I wanted a breather from stress. Instead, I just had another dosage.
I wanted to ask God, now what? Obviously, I can handle more. But really? Really. I'm almost positive that I've prayed more in the last 3 months than I have in my entire life. Maybe that's the point too. I've prayed for Andrea and her family, I've prayed for my father to get better so I can kick his butt for getting this sick in the first place, I've prayed that my husband would love his job, I've prayed to let this be enough. I've prayed for good grades and for peace so that I don't get tests and sit down and freak out and fail the stupid things. I've prayed for things to be ok and us not loose our home when John lost his job. I've prayed for more hours in the day, and for sleep when I wake up several times at night.
I've learned that you can function and live on 3.25 hours of sleep. I've also learned that at some point, I have to take care of me. Thankfully, I have a husband who is helping do that.
My point with this post. Send some prayers our way. Otherwise, my head just might explode. Or my house will be as clean as a surgical table.
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