~
It's O V E R.
God worked it out.
I lost 'it' a few days ago.
Wasn't sad.
Wasn't hormonal.
Didn't cry.
Sighed.
A HUGE sigh of relief.
Cuz now I don't have to worry about the WHAT and the WHY and the God Almighty HOW.
You can call me cold.
You can call me the Ice Queen.
Lord knows the Golden Seed Provider does.
I think God worked it out.
You can think whatever you want.
I'm not sorry that I'm relieved.
I'm not sorry that I'm not horribly, horribly, horribly sick as a Roman in a vomitorium anymore.
I'm not sorry that 'it's' over.
I'm not sorry about any of it.
Not the curse words against the Virgin Mary. Or I guess God for that matter.
Cuz I never did anything wrong.
In fact, I did everything R I G H T.
I kept my promises to all my doctors.
I did not explode when the Golden Seed Provider questioned "Whose is it?"
I went to counseling (and I will continue to go).
I tried to act like everything was 'normal'. (Yeah, what exactly does 'normal' mean for ME? If you figure that out, let me know.)
I sought help, guidance, prayer, consultation......
I stopped taking medicines that helped me, in order to protect an unborn, even though the withdrawal was horrific for my body.
I HAD MY TUBES TIED, OR COILS IMPLANTED IF YOU WANT TO BE UBER SPECIFIC.
The only thing I did NOT do, was act joyful.
But....
No one else who heard the news acted joyfully either.
And for that...
I am thankful.
And I am thankful that God made a potentially agonizing journey very short indeed.
I hadn't been praying in a couple of weeks, cuz, I had no idea what to pray for.
Strength.
Yeah.
Everytime I think of praying for strength, my dear friend and respected counsel, PJ, comes to mind with his quotation of scripture, "there is strength in weakness."
I offered praise when it was over.
Even though it hurt really, really, really bad for a day and a half.
I didn't really care about the physical pain.
I was so very relieved.
Still am.
And if that makes me a horrible, horrible, horrible menace of a person, then..
So be it.
Walk a mile in these shoes.
Forget it.
Walk half a mile.
Nah.
Just tread to the mailbox.
Dare you.
Encourage you.
ENTREAT you.
And then you can judge me.
For now, it's Christmas.
Birthday of Jesus.
I've got my two miracles.
They are sound asleep right now.
With sugarplums dancing in their heads.
Two miracles are enough.
For now.
Merry Christmas.
~
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
What-What-What-What-Why and Finally, HOW
~
So.
It's been a couple of weeks.
I'm not so angry any more.
I went from:
WHAT?
WHAT?
WHAT?
WHAT?
meaning, of course, WHAT THE HELL???? (or worse, but I'm trying to cut back on the vulgarities, just because, well, I dunno)
to:
WHY?
meaning, WHY THE HELL? (or, of course, worse).
to:
HOW?
meaning, HOW THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO THIS?
meaning, HOW CAN I PHYSICALLY DO THIS?
meaning, HOW COULD THIS HAVE HAPPENED, AND HOW I AM I GOING TO DO THIS WHEN I CAN'T EVEN GET OUT OF BED MORE THAN SOME DAYS AND I CAN BARELY TAKE CARE OF THE MOST BASIC OF TASKS LET ALONE REALLY TAKE GOOD CARE OF MY ALREADY TWO KIDS HOW THE HECK AM I GOING TO DO THIS?
And please don't tell me with God's help.
I mean, yeah, maybe.
But PHYSICALLY?
Not.
I have no idea HOW I am going to do this.
NO clue.
Not one.
~
So.
It's been a couple of weeks.
I'm not so angry any more.
I went from:
WHAT?
WHAT?
WHAT?
WHAT?
meaning, of course, WHAT THE HELL???? (or worse, but I'm trying to cut back on the vulgarities, just because, well, I dunno)
to:
WHY?
meaning, WHY THE HELL? (or, of course, worse).
to:
HOW?
meaning, HOW THE HELL AM I GOING TO DO THIS?
meaning, HOW CAN I PHYSICALLY DO THIS?
meaning, HOW COULD THIS HAVE HAPPENED, AND HOW I AM I GOING TO DO THIS WHEN I CAN'T EVEN GET OUT OF BED MORE THAN SOME DAYS AND I CAN BARELY TAKE CARE OF THE MOST BASIC OF TASKS LET ALONE REALLY TAKE GOOD CARE OF MY ALREADY TWO KIDS HOW THE HECK AM I GOING TO DO THIS?
And please don't tell me with God's help.
I mean, yeah, maybe.
But PHYSICALLY?
Not.
I have no idea HOW I am going to do this.
NO clue.
Not one.
~
Friday, December 17, 2010
The Angel Moroni
~
So.
For those of you who don't know, my foursome took the trip of a lifetime last year, and drove 8,000 miles, 23 states, in 40 days.
To say the least, it was totally awesome.
Anyhoo.
In one of our stops in the Southwest (Arizona? Nevada? New Mexico?), I discovered a Book of Mormon in one of our hotel room drawers.
No Bible.
It's not as if I ever go searching for the work of the Gideons when I stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night, I don't.
And it's not that I don't own a Bible or read a Bible, cuz I do.
I was just opening a drawer to unpack our suitcases.
Granted, this was my first time in Warren Jeffs' country, but I had never, ever been in a hotel room with a Book of Mormon in the drawer.
For some crazy, (oh, most definitely crazy, cuz I'm crazy on the loonar scale, big time), I grabbed that Book of Mormon like a hot poker and threw it in the trash.
Two Swords screamed, "What are you DOING?"
I replied that I thought I was doing what God would want me to do, and I was just taking care of it for him.
Two Swords swore that I was going to be struck down by lightning. Actually he said something like, "Someday, this one is going to come down and BITE you in the ASS!"
I wasn't buying it.
Then he said, "How would YOU feel if someone made it their life's mission to go around to every hotel they stayed in and take the bibles out of all the drawers?"
I didn't argue with him.
The Book of Mormon stayed in the trash.
And my eyes stayed WIDE OPEN all night long.
Didn't sleep a wink.
Kept staring with one eye on the trash can, and one on the door.
As if the Angel Moroni himself were to come and pay me a visit in the middle of the night and be some kind of Death Eater and snatch up my soul.
But alas, dawn broke, the Book of Mormon was still in the drawer, and there was no lightning.
But.
I had second, third abd forth thoughts.
And yes, went canvassing the grand canyon that is in facet with my life,
And now,
Now....
~
So.
For those of you who don't know, my foursome took the trip of a lifetime last year, and drove 8,000 miles, 23 states, in 40 days.
To say the least, it was totally awesome.
Anyhoo.
In one of our stops in the Southwest (Arizona? Nevada? New Mexico?), I discovered a Book of Mormon in one of our hotel room drawers.
No Bible.
It's not as if I ever go searching for the work of the Gideons when I stay at a Holiday Inn Express last night, I don't.
And it's not that I don't own a Bible or read a Bible, cuz I do.
I was just opening a drawer to unpack our suitcases.
Granted, this was my first time in Warren Jeffs' country, but I had never, ever been in a hotel room with a Book of Mormon in the drawer.
For some crazy, (oh, most definitely crazy, cuz I'm crazy on the loonar scale, big time), I grabbed that Book of Mormon like a hot poker and threw it in the trash.
Two Swords screamed, "What are you DOING?"
I replied that I thought I was doing what God would want me to do, and I was just taking care of it for him.
Two Swords swore that I was going to be struck down by lightning. Actually he said something like, "Someday, this one is going to come down and BITE you in the ASS!"
I wasn't buying it.
Then he said, "How would YOU feel if someone made it their life's mission to go around to every hotel they stayed in and take the bibles out of all the drawers?"
I didn't argue with him.
The Book of Mormon stayed in the trash.
And my eyes stayed WIDE OPEN all night long.
Didn't sleep a wink.
Kept staring with one eye on the trash can, and one on the door.
As if the Angel Moroni himself were to come and pay me a visit in the middle of the night and be some kind of Death Eater and snatch up my soul.
But alas, dawn broke, the Book of Mormon was still in the drawer, and there was no lightning.
But.
I had second, third abd forth thoughts.
And yes, went canvassing the grand canyon that is in facet with my life,
And now,
Now....
~
Thursday, December 16, 2010
BM - Phone Home
~
So another sage friend has suggested that I get in touch with,
of all people,
Beth Moore.
Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Anyone got her number?
Email address?
Suggestions as to how I stalk her without stalking her?
______________________________________________________________________________
Today, the spouse and I are headed to counseling.
Me for the second time (well, actually for me it's probably the eleventy thousandth time, but second time THIS go around).
Him, for the VERY first time.
Anyway.
Today, he is being very nice to me, so today, I will refer to him as my spouse, and not the golden seed provider.
Since he's actually going to counseling only tethered by a figurative ball and chain, not the literal shackles and cannonball.
So for those reasons, I'm giving him a promotion today. Or, less of a demotion. However you want to look at it.
__________________________________________________________________________
I'm not so mad today.
I'm puking my guts out today, but I'm not soooo mad about it.
I really don't want to get out of this nice warm bed.
I really, really, really don't want to take a shower.
I really don't want to get dressed and get in the car and drive the five miles to a place where I am certain I will have to have my 'game face' on before I open the door and walk down the hall.
I really don't want to use yet another box of kleenex today.
I really don't want to have an incredibly splotchy face for the rest of the day.
What do you want, Heather?
I really, really, really, want this to be O V E R.
Yep.
That's what I want.
And once again, God said HA!
~
So another sage friend has suggested that I get in touch with,
of all people,
Beth Moore.
Ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm
Anyone got her number?
Email address?
Suggestions as to how I stalk her without stalking her?
______________________________________________________________________________
Today, the spouse and I are headed to counseling.
Me for the second time (well, actually for me it's probably the eleventy thousandth time, but second time THIS go around).
Him, for the VERY first time.
Anyway.
Today, he is being very nice to me, so today, I will refer to him as my spouse, and not the golden seed provider.
Since he's actually going to counseling only tethered by a figurative ball and chain, not the literal shackles and cannonball.
So for those reasons, I'm giving him a promotion today. Or, less of a demotion. However you want to look at it.
__________________________________________________________________________
I'm not so mad today.
I'm puking my guts out today, but I'm not soooo mad about it.
I really don't want to get out of this nice warm bed.
I really, really, really don't want to take a shower.
I really don't want to get dressed and get in the car and drive the five miles to a place where I am certain I will have to have my 'game face' on before I open the door and walk down the hall.
I really don't want to use yet another box of kleenex today.
I really don't want to have an incredibly splotchy face for the rest of the day.
What do you want, Heather?
I really, really, really, want this to be O V E R.
Yep.
That's what I want.
And once again, God said HA!
~
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
You MIGHT Be An Alien.........
~
So.
My own biological mother just wrote this to me in an email:
"If someone told YOU, YOUR life story, YOU might look at them like THEY were an alien."
Sit on that one for a second.
She wrote that to me in response to my telling her.......
that yesterday......
I met with a Christian counselor for the first time.
And as I was telling him my current story,
my last year's story,
my last three year's story,
my last 11 year's story,
and then of course,
my life story,
he took like 12 pages of notes,
ran out of ink in his pen,
switched pens,
wiped his brow,
and replaced his eyeballs with a new set he had in his briefcase because his orginal pair popped out of his freaking head as he looked at me like I was a six headed alien, while fashionably dressed, extremely well spoken and educated, cuter than a root (as my good friend Sally the Pilates instructor would say, even though I never new roots could be cute but whatever, she's a real southerner while I just pretend to be one),
but a six headed alien nonetheless.
So.
My own biological mother just wrote this to me in an email:
"If someone told YOU, YOUR life story, YOU might look at them like THEY were an alien."
Sit on that one for a second.
She wrote that to me in response to my telling her.......
that yesterday......
I met with a Christian counselor for the first time.
And as I was telling him my current story,
my last year's story,
my last three year's story,
my last 11 year's story,
and then of course,
my life story,
he took like 12 pages of notes,
ran out of ink in his pen,
switched pens,
wiped his brow,
and replaced his eyeballs with a new set he had in his briefcase because his orginal pair popped out of his freaking head as he looked at me like I was a six headed alien, while fashionably dressed, extremely well spoken and educated, cuter than a root (as my good friend Sally the Pilates instructor would say, even though I never new roots could be cute but whatever, she's a real southerner while I just pretend to be one),
but a six headed alien nonetheless.
Guns and Roses
~
Just happens to be my favorite rock group of all time.
Not that you care.
Sweet Child O Mine just so happens to be my favorite song of all time, and for those of you who have been unfortunate enough to work with me in a tight cubicle setting, you are painfully aware that it is the only ringtone I have ever had on my cell phone.
Not that you care.
But today,
today,
the song "patience" is ringing in my head with a vengeance that just will NOT stop.
"All we need is just a L I T T L E patience................"
Yeah.
I am NOT talking about ME!
I am talking about that infamous golden seed provider who just happens to be my spouse.
Dammit.
I'm sorry that I can't get off the couch.
I'm sorry that I can't stop throwing up.
I'm sorry that I am completely and utterly worthless to you now, and perhaps, for a really, really long time.
I'm sorry that this has happened.
I'm sorry that YOU are having to go through with this.
I'm so very sorry that YOUR world is completely spun upside down on its axis, and that your North Pole is now your South Pole.
I'm sorry that our marriage is such a ridiculous sham that you did not believe that this could in fact be a result of your golden seed.
I'm sorry that we are not picking out names and furniture and jumping for joy and calling all our friends and family and running hand in hand while doing the irish jig version of the we're off to see the wizard the wonderful wizard of oz happy dance.
and yes.
yes.
yes.
absolutely.
I AM FUCKING SORRY THAT I AM PREGNANT!
There I said it.
NOW what do you want me to say, seed provider?
What?
What?
What?
There's a WHOLE lot more I would like to say, believe me.
But I'm supposed to be a loving, supportive, submissive wife.
I'm supposed to honor that golden seed provider at any and all junctures.
But if I'm supposed to be the gazelle of Michelle "I've had EIGHT THOUSAND BABIES AND I HAVE CARRIED EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM AND I DON'T THINK I HAVE EVER SAID NO TO ANYONE ESPECIALLY MY OWN TRIPLE GOLDEN SEED PROVIDER HUSBAND IN MY ENTIRE LIFE" Duggar, and stare at him lovingly at all times and just joyfully exclaim, "IF GOD WANTS ME TO HAVE EIGHT THOUSAND BABIES, THEN BY FUCKING GOLLY I WILL CARRY THOSE EIGHT THOUSAND BABIES JOYFULLY! EVEN IF IT MEANS I WILL
DIE
DIE
DIE!",
well, sorry.
I just can't.
I guess I don't have the patience right now either.
This is so much bigger than me dudes.
SO bigger than me.
AND bigger than the golden seed provider.
AND bigger than the both of us together on a GOOD day, of which, there are not so many.
Just happens to be my favorite rock group of all time.
Not that you care.
Sweet Child O Mine just so happens to be my favorite song of all time, and for those of you who have been unfortunate enough to work with me in a tight cubicle setting, you are painfully aware that it is the only ringtone I have ever had on my cell phone.
Not that you care.
But today,
today,
the song "patience" is ringing in my head with a vengeance that just will NOT stop.
"All we need is just a L I T T L E patience................"
Yeah.
I am NOT talking about ME!
I am talking about that infamous golden seed provider who just happens to be my spouse.
Dammit.
I'm sorry that I can't get off the couch.
I'm sorry that I can't stop throwing up.
I'm sorry that I am completely and utterly worthless to you now, and perhaps, for a really, really long time.
I'm sorry that this has happened.
I'm sorry that YOU are having to go through with this.
I'm so very sorry that YOUR world is completely spun upside down on its axis, and that your North Pole is now your South Pole.
I'm sorry that our marriage is such a ridiculous sham that you did not believe that this could in fact be a result of your golden seed.
I'm sorry that we are not picking out names and furniture and jumping for joy and calling all our friends and family and running hand in hand while doing the irish jig version of the we're off to see the wizard the wonderful wizard of oz happy dance.
and yes.
yes.
yes.
absolutely.
I AM FUCKING SORRY THAT I AM PREGNANT!
There I said it.
NOW what do you want me to say, seed provider?
What?
What?
What?
There's a WHOLE lot more I would like to say, believe me.
But I'm supposed to be a loving, supportive, submissive wife.
I'm supposed to honor that golden seed provider at any and all junctures.
But if I'm supposed to be the gazelle of Michelle "I've had EIGHT THOUSAND BABIES AND I HAVE CARRIED EVERY SINGLE ONE OF THEM AND I DON'T THINK I HAVE EVER SAID NO TO ANYONE ESPECIALLY MY OWN TRIPLE GOLDEN SEED PROVIDER HUSBAND IN MY ENTIRE LIFE" Duggar, and stare at him lovingly at all times and just joyfully exclaim, "IF GOD WANTS ME TO HAVE EIGHT THOUSAND BABIES, THEN BY FUCKING GOLLY I WILL CARRY THOSE EIGHT THOUSAND BABIES JOYFULLY! EVEN IF IT MEANS I WILL
DIE
DIE
DIE!",
well, sorry.
I just can't.
I guess I don't have the patience right now either.
This is so much bigger than me dudes.
SO bigger than me.
AND bigger than the golden seed provider.
AND bigger than the both of us together on a GOOD day, of which, there are not so many.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Real
~
NOTE TO THOSE WHO DARE TO READ FURTHER:
You are about to read what may perhaps be the only written account of the birth of our Lord and Savior depicted with the use of about eleventy expletives.
It's my damn blog.
It's my damn life.
Scared?
Go away and don't read it.
I've never touted myself as the Virgin Mary (yeah, okay maybe I did).
Consider yourselves warned and govern yourselves accordingly.
I'm shaking my angry fist at God, and dammit, three freaking pastors and eighteen Christians and a whole freaking Bible have told me it's okay and I have yet to be struck down by lightning, so there.
You want cookie cutter Mommie Bloggie It's off to see the Wizard crap happy happy joy joy?
This blog ain't for you.
__________________________________________________________________________________
Heather.
I want you to write about it.
You NEED to write about it.
But I don't want to write about it.
But why don't you want to about it?
You're such a great writer.
A really really great writer.
I really don't want to write about it.
You should write a book.
About your whole life.
Yeah, I've heard that a thousand times.
Then why don't you write it?
Because I just can't imagine that anyone would want to read it!
I mean, ME, I would NOT want to read it.
And ME, I love the freaks.
I studied the freaks.
I worked with the freaks.
Shit.
I AM a freak.
I AM a living, breathing, Saturday-night-LIFETIME-movie-of-the-week-freak for Christ's sake.
I am EVERY SINGLE SATURDAY NIGHT, LIFETIME MOVIE OF THE WEEK that has ever been aired.
Let's run through the marquee, shall we?:
RAPED AT FIFTEEN
ABANDONED AT FOUR
TELL OR DIE - FUCKED AT SIX
HOW NOT TO SAVE A TWO YEAR OLD BOY FROM BEING MURDERED BY HIS MOTHER
TELL ME NO LIES - THE ALCOHOLIC WHO LEFT ME
AND THEN SHE GOT SICK
YOUR BABIES WILL DIE
Who watches that crap?
Who wants to read that crap?
You need to write it because it has made you wise.
Oh buoy.
Wise?
_______________________________________________________________________________
Yes, wise.
He's right.
Wise.
And now I realize, the titles aren't complete.
They actually go something like this:
RAPED AT FIFTEEN - and lived to tell about it.
ABANDONED AT FOUR - yet loved again.
TELL OR DIE - FUCKED AT SIX - redeemed through justice and saved by God.
HOW NOT TO SAVE A TWO YEAR OLD BOY FROM BEING MURDERED BY HIS MOTHER - she couldn't save the world's abused children, but she saved herself.
TELL ME NO LIES - THE ALCOHOLIC WHO LEFT ME - and made room for the love of her life.
AND THEN SHE GOT SICK - but she didn't die.
DEATH BECOMES HER - 'cept not.
YOUR BABIES WILL DIE - but they sure as heck didn't.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Yeah.
I need to become more grateful.
I need to see the joy in the small things.
__________________________________________________________________________________
How 'ironic'?
Is it.
That we.
Struggled.
To Conceive, Birth, Raise and Adore Those Babies Who Were Supposed to Die.
Only to Expect Another.
That We Don't Want.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Sounds like a poor orphan girl named Maria.
She didn't want that baby.
She damn sure didn't want that baby.
Heckfire, she got pregnant and never had an orgasm.
Now THAT would suck.
Poor, unmarried, pregnant.
A virgin.
She probably thought:
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?
SERIOUSLY?
WHAT THE HELL?
REALLY?
REALLY?
REALLY?
AND YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT?
CARRY THIS 'BABY' WHO ALLEGEDLY IS A MESSIAH WHO WILL SOMEDAY SAVE THE WORLD,
CONVINCE MY CARPENTER BOYFRIEND THAT I REALLY AM THE VIRGIN MARY WHO IS PREGNANT WITH A MESSIAH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, HOPE THAT HE DOESN'T ASK ME WHOSE BABY IT IS CUZ I REALLY DON'T FUCKING KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED, THEN GET ON A FUCKING ASS, I MEAN DONKEY, RIDE THROUGH THE FUCKING DESERT GUIDED BY THE GPS OF A REALLY BIG ASS STAR, AND GIVE BIRTH LAYING IN A BUNCH OF HAY IN A FUCKING BARN WITHOUT AN EPIDURAL SURROUNDED BY SHEEP AND A TRIO OF WEIRD GUYS IN CROWNS BEARING GIFTS THAT AREN'T CHOCOLATE AND THEN HAVE TO GET BACK ON THAT ASS WHEN AN ALLEGED MESSIAH WAS JUST RIPPED FROM MY FIFTEEN YEAR OLD VAGINA?
SERIOUSLY?
Yeah, now that I have written it down....
Now that I realize,
I am not in fact the Virgin Mary.........
Now that I see that no,
I am not in fact pregnant with a messiah.....
Nor will I have to ride an ass in the desert neither before nor after having my vagina being ripped to shreds....
Nor have to endure life without an epidural nor any other drugs for that matter......
Now that I see in fact,
The most difficult thing I have had to do thus far was convince my carpenter husband that yes in fact this non messiah was going to be a spawn of his extremely rare seed........
Now that I see it.......
It has become.......
REAL.
Which is precisely why I didn't want to write it down.
If I write it down........
Somehow it becomes more real......
More real than the morning sickness......
More real than boobs which have suddenly become huge and incredibly painful....
More real than the reality that this is potentially the most frightening thing that has ever happened to me....
More real than the total and complete improbability that I am in fact 'with child'....
More real than the realization that for such an agonizingly long time I yearned for this what should not have happened to in fact be happening....
If I write it down, it somehow becomes
R E A L.
NOTE TO THOSE WHO DARE TO READ FURTHER:
You are about to read what may perhaps be the only written account of the birth of our Lord and Savior depicted with the use of about eleventy expletives.
It's my damn blog.
It's my damn life.
Scared?
Go away and don't read it.
I've never touted myself as the Virgin Mary (yeah, okay maybe I did).
Consider yourselves warned and govern yourselves accordingly.
I'm shaking my angry fist at God, and dammit, three freaking pastors and eighteen Christians and a whole freaking Bible have told me it's okay and I have yet to be struck down by lightning, so there.
You want cookie cutter Mommie Bloggie It's off to see the Wizard crap happy happy joy joy?
This blog ain't for you.
__________________________________________________________________________________
Heather.
I want you to write about it.
You NEED to write about it.
But I don't want to write about it.
But why don't you want to about it?
You're such a great writer.
A really really great writer.
I really don't want to write about it.
You should write a book.
About your whole life.
Yeah, I've heard that a thousand times.
Then why don't you write it?
Because I just can't imagine that anyone would want to read it!
I mean, ME, I would NOT want to read it.
And ME, I love the freaks.
I studied the freaks.
I worked with the freaks.
Shit.
I AM a freak.
I AM a living, breathing, Saturday-night-LIFETIME-movie-of-the-week-freak for Christ's sake.
I am EVERY SINGLE SATURDAY NIGHT, LIFETIME MOVIE OF THE WEEK that has ever been aired.
Let's run through the marquee, shall we?:
RAPED AT FIFTEEN
ABANDONED AT FOUR
TELL OR DIE - FUCKED AT SIX
HOW NOT TO SAVE A TWO YEAR OLD BOY FROM BEING MURDERED BY HIS MOTHER
TELL ME NO LIES - THE ALCOHOLIC WHO LEFT ME
AND THEN SHE GOT SICK
YOUR BABIES WILL DIE
Who watches that crap?
Who wants to read that crap?
You need to write it because it has made you wise.
Oh buoy.
Wise?
_______________________________________________________________________________
Yes, wise.
He's right.
Wise.
And now I realize, the titles aren't complete.
They actually go something like this:
RAPED AT FIFTEEN - and lived to tell about it.
ABANDONED AT FOUR - yet loved again.
TELL OR DIE - FUCKED AT SIX - redeemed through justice and saved by God.
HOW NOT TO SAVE A TWO YEAR OLD BOY FROM BEING MURDERED BY HIS MOTHER - she couldn't save the world's abused children, but she saved herself.
TELL ME NO LIES - THE ALCOHOLIC WHO LEFT ME - and made room for the love of her life.
AND THEN SHE GOT SICK - but she didn't die.
DEATH BECOMES HER - 'cept not.
YOUR BABIES WILL DIE - but they sure as heck didn't.
___________________________________________________________________________________
Yeah.
I need to become more grateful.
I need to see the joy in the small things.
__________________________________________________________________________________
How 'ironic'?
Is it.
That we.
Struggled.
To Conceive, Birth, Raise and Adore Those Babies Who Were Supposed to Die.
Only to Expect Another.
That We Don't Want.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Sounds like a poor orphan girl named Maria.
She didn't want that baby.
She damn sure didn't want that baby.
Heckfire, she got pregnant and never had an orgasm.
Now THAT would suck.
Poor, unmarried, pregnant.
A virgin.
She probably thought:
ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?
SERIOUSLY?
WHAT THE HELL?
REALLY?
REALLY?
REALLY?
AND YOU WANT ME TO DO WHAT?
CARRY THIS 'BABY' WHO ALLEGEDLY IS A MESSIAH WHO WILL SOMEDAY SAVE THE WORLD,
CONVINCE MY CARPENTER BOYFRIEND THAT I REALLY AM THE VIRGIN MARY WHO IS PREGNANT WITH A MESSIAH FOR CRYING OUT LOUD, HOPE THAT HE DOESN'T ASK ME WHOSE BABY IT IS CUZ I REALLY DON'T FUCKING KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED, THEN GET ON A FUCKING ASS, I MEAN DONKEY, RIDE THROUGH THE FUCKING DESERT GUIDED BY THE GPS OF A REALLY BIG ASS STAR, AND GIVE BIRTH LAYING IN A BUNCH OF HAY IN A FUCKING BARN WITHOUT AN EPIDURAL SURROUNDED BY SHEEP AND A TRIO OF WEIRD GUYS IN CROWNS BEARING GIFTS THAT AREN'T CHOCOLATE AND THEN HAVE TO GET BACK ON THAT ASS WHEN AN ALLEGED MESSIAH WAS JUST RIPPED FROM MY FIFTEEN YEAR OLD VAGINA?
SERIOUSLY?
Yeah, now that I have written it down....
Now that I realize,
I am not in fact the Virgin Mary.........
Now that I see that no,
I am not in fact pregnant with a messiah.....
Nor will I have to ride an ass in the desert neither before nor after having my vagina being ripped to shreds....
Nor have to endure life without an epidural nor any other drugs for that matter......
Now that I see in fact,
The most difficult thing I have had to do thus far was convince my carpenter husband that yes in fact this non messiah was going to be a spawn of his extremely rare seed........
Now that I see it.......
It has become.......
REAL.
Which is precisely why I didn't want to write it down.
If I write it down........
Somehow it becomes more real......
More real than the morning sickness......
More real than boobs which have suddenly become huge and incredibly painful....
More real than the reality that this is potentially the most frightening thing that has ever happened to me....
More real than the total and complete improbability that I am in fact 'with child'....
More real than the realization that for such an agonizingly long time I yearned for this what should not have happened to in fact be happening....
If I write it down, it somehow becomes
R E A L.
....And I'm the Virgin Mary
So.
Have you ever said to someone, "Oh yeah? Well I have a Bridge in Brooklyn to sell you?"
Or........
"Yeah right! And I'm the VIRGIN MARY!"
Well.
Hi.
I'm the Virgin Mary.
Perhaps I should start at the beginning...........
So.
Gosh, this is so much harder than I thought it would be.
HA!
Brothuh!
YOU don't EVEN know!
Here's a simile of a phone message I left earlier today:
"Hi. Haven't talked to you in awhile, and sorry I only call when 'stuff' happens, but yeah, I kinda have another 'bomb' to drop on you. Ummmmmmmmm.
I'm pregnant.
And I promised my doctors I wouldn't have anymore babies.
And I had my tubes tied two years ago.
And I'm on methadone.
And a whole lotta other crap.
And I had my pieces/parts surgically deconstructed and reconstructed, to repair the damage that my oh-so-complicated disease and oh-so-complicated preganancies did to my oh-so-beaten-and-battered-and-broken body THREE years ago.
And I'm forty.
And most days I really struggle with getting out of bed every day.
And.
And.
And.
Oh.
Yeah.
And my husband and I have been 'completely' intimate
ONE
TIME
IN
THE
PAST
YEAR.
So, yeah, um, that's my message."
Hi.
I'm the Virgin Mary.
~
Have you ever said to someone, "Oh yeah? Well I have a Bridge in Brooklyn to sell you?"
Or........
"Yeah right! And I'm the VIRGIN MARY!"
Well.
Hi.
I'm the Virgin Mary.
Perhaps I should start at the beginning...........
So.
Gosh, this is so much harder than I thought it would be.
HA!
Brothuh!
YOU don't EVEN know!
Here's a simile of a phone message I left earlier today:
"Hi. Haven't talked to you in awhile, and sorry I only call when 'stuff' happens, but yeah, I kinda have another 'bomb' to drop on you. Ummmmmmmmm.
I'm pregnant.
And I promised my doctors I wouldn't have anymore babies.
And I had my tubes tied two years ago.
And I'm on methadone.
And a whole lotta other crap.
And I had my pieces/parts surgically deconstructed and reconstructed, to repair the damage that my oh-so-complicated disease and oh-so-complicated preganancies did to my oh-so-beaten-and-battered-and-broken body THREE years ago.
And I'm forty.
And most days I really struggle with getting out of bed every day.
And.
And.
And.
Oh.
Yeah.
And my husband and I have been 'completely' intimate
ONE
TIME
IN
THE
PAST
YEAR.
So, yeah, um, that's my message."
Hi.
I'm the Virgin Mary.
~
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
'before'
So.
Today, one of my oldest and dearest friends, Marguerita, checked in on me by asking very concernedly,
"How Ya Doin?............."
As she is one of my oldest and dearest friends, I know that she was reaching out to me because I've been, say, um, kinda 'out of the picture' lately.
Haven't been out and about.
Haven't been Facebooking.
Haven't been blogging.
Haven't been........a whole much of anything.
One would think that Marguerita's simple question could be, in fact, simply answered.
But then again, we're talking about ME.
Ugh.
Honestly, she could quite possibly be the only person in the whole world who might even be able to understand, cuz, she's like the one person in the whole world who has known me the longest.
She knew me 'before'.
'before'.
you know.
when i was super smart, and super hot, and super healthy, and super twenty-eight, and super active, and super cute, and super tiny, and super sassy, and super successful, and super spinning the world on its side.
'before'.
'before' I got sick.
There is so much that has happened.
I have become this, this, being, I don't know even know what or who it is.
Yeah, I could end up writing for hours, so if I do, I'm sorry.
I've been watching A LOT of Dubya on TV lately.
Because he's my super secret crush, and I think he's a super american hero, and I just wanna hug him and tell him i love him and we all love him and i'm so sorry for how WRONGLY he has been treated for the past 10 years.
And because what he says INTERESTS me, because you know, 9/11 was OUR Pearl Harbor, or OUR Vietnam.
9/11 was you, and me, and it is such a vital part of our history and our currency, and it is IMPOSSIBLE to explain it to my children, and they are geniuses.
So where was I?
Oh yeah, yummy Dubya. Right.
So his new book is all about Decision Points.
I'm sure you've been listening or watching or whatever, so I won't go into it.
But in the past few weeks, I've seen that my own life has its own Decision Points.
No, I ain't no freaking George W. Bush, or Axis of Evildoer Killer or anything like that, don't worry, I'm not delusional.
And you know my life history, so I don't need to rehash that crap, and you know I'm a Christian, so just kinda put that in the Bible and close the book for a minute and just kinda absorb what I'm saying, because it could easily be taken out of context.
So here it goes.
I am a horrible wife and mother.
BUT -- I USED TO BE an AWESOME wife and mother ...and...and....and....
I don't like to clean up people's messes.
I don't like being responsible for two kids a dog a husband and myself for 100% of everything.
I don't like to mop, or dust, or sweep, or cook, or mend, or......I freaking hate it.
Sorry.
I absolutely HATE being a stay at home mom.
Now, breathe for a second.
I love my children like God loved Jesus, and you know I do.
Those two miracles were ripped from MY loins.
I know their cries, I know their laughs, I know every scar on their bodies, and i know where they came from, and I can tell you when and how it happened, and maybe even what they were wearing that day.
I love to brag about my kids.
I love to laugh at 'em and with 'em.
I love to help them with their homework.
I love when they ask if they can crawl into bed with me and watch "Billy the Extermintator" or "Fox and Friends" (true story - Jake has the hots for Gretchen Carlson).
I don't have to tell you how lovable my kids are, you already know.
But, to borrow from the title of a really bad book and movie, there have been a series of unfortunate events.
Let's just say that last year sucked. Big donkey balls.
Death, disease, death, destruction, near death, horrific accidents, marital meltdowns, and watching my daughter DIE in the arms of her father, only to come back to life three minutes later.
So yeah, that one day in April sent me and billy both into a potentially unrecoverable tailspain.
I think I had PTSD, I really do.
Our marriage began its dissolution right then and there.
Our daughter lived (thank you, thank you, thank you GOD!), but a whole lot of 'us' died that die.
And no, of course not, it doesn't make any sense.
And nope, the resident psychologist who always has the answers for everyone else, can't get herself or anyone else around her 'fixed'.
But of course I thank God that my baby girl is currently sound asleep in her bedroom, tucked in with her 9 year old baby blanket, still sucking her thumb at night, an outrageous mop of curls on her head, and a gorgeous 'new' smile since her teeth have all come in.
Of course I do.
Where the heck am i going with this?
Remember when I got married to this guy that nobody would have ever thought would have been the one for me?
And then how suddenly, tomboy Rojo started wearing makeup, and coloring her hair, and deciding that maybe it was okay to look like a pretty girl, and hey maybe having kids would be kinda neat and then omg, I am twenty nine years old, I must have babies right freaking now to..............AND THEN I GOT SICK.
Yeah.
And that's my struggle.
Daily, hourly, weekly, constantly, whichever adverb you choose to use.
On February 28, 2008, I gave it up.
I stopped pretending that I could be Super Mom, Super Wife, Super Employee,Super Poster Child for the Chronically Ill Who Can Still Do It All!!!, Super Deacon, Super Friend, Super Daughter, Super Aunt, Super Human who always writes thank you notes and gets her Christmas cards out by December 1st every single year.
I stopped.
Because God told me to.
simple as that.
Because if I didn't stop, I was going to die.
And those two babies would never know any part of me.
And Up until that day in time, I had successfully hidden my Crohn's from the kids.
But on that day, God told me to stop, and i did.
I stopped trying to be anything BUT a wife and a mother.
And i did it to save my life.
And to save my family.
At the same time, I LOST the very person who I had BECOME.
It has been over 2 years.
I ache to be able to be 'her' again.
A normal person.
One who works HARD to provide for her family.
One who enjoys venturing out of the home.
One who simply likes to be around her friends and laugh at people named Beavis.
One who causes so many problems due to her 'combative' nature that there are never enough hours in the day to fix the damage which my mouth hath wrought.
I haven't gotten her back yet.
And the older I get, the more torture my body endures.
Every day, there is less I am able to do.
I can't get down on the floor and play with my babies.
I can't give my son the little brother he so desperately wants and most probably deserves.
My illness has advanced beyond science.
I'm just kinda biding my time, waiting for technology to catch up.
In the meantime, so very much has been lost.
I had even stopped praying for awhile.
We had simply run out of money.
I couldn't even afford to have a treatment, that's how bad it had gotten.
Thankfully, some funds were raised, and we're okay for a little while.
And hopefully, Billy will start at a 'real' job soon.
And maybe just maybe, GOD willing, I will receive acceptance of my 2+ year disability claim.
And perhaps, I may even regain my joie de vivre again.
But right now, how am I doing?
Well, I'm sad.
I'm sad that I'm 40 and that I'm 65 pounds overweight (thank YOU prednisone!).
And I'm sick.
And I hurt.
And I've started to give up.
And I don't really engage with people anymore.
You might say it's depression, I call it avoidance.
I don't have anything witty to say or any clever conversation to offer.
And I'm angry.
And resentful.
And confused.
And so very, very, very .......... tired.
I just realized something.
You're probably reading this and thinking, "Heather is so freaking incredibly selfish just because she is sick all the time, and OMG who does she think she is, cuz my friend DIED and his kids don't have him at ALL and she sure is selfish..."
You're right.
I should'nt have written any of this.
I should have just lied and told you "GREAT" and glorified God even though he knew I was lying.
I love you Jayne, and I don't make any sense to anyone anymore, even myself.
But I had to see a court appointed shrink for my SSI claim a couple of weeks ago, and well, it's kinda hard to explain to a stranger that "this Heather was like THIS", and "this Heather that you see today is simply not the same person" and then I started bawling telling her how I was this totally awesome career chick who was totally meant for greatness and how I used to go home to my totally awesome apartment and run for three totally awesome miles every day before I went to the mall to pick out a new pair of sexy shoes before me and my friend Jaynie would go pimping downtown, before...
........before I got sick.
My life used to have a dividing line of , 'and then I met billy'.
Now, my life span has been divided by these four words:
"before I got sick."
Anyway, this shrink said that most people don't understand that oftentimes we don't get to choose our life, that life chooses us.
When you read that statement over and over, it sounds pretty powerful. And even more powerful if you add, "that GOD chooses our life for us."
AND RIGHT THERE LIES MY CONUNDRUM.
The root of my problem.
The bane of my existence.
The whole "God has a plan" nonsense that spills out of my mouth more than anyone else's, in a desperately vain attempt to remain upbeat and positive because that's what everyone ELSE needs to hear.
GOD CHOOSES US.
GOD told me to stop working.
I don't know what he wants from me now.
My body has been taken from me, bruised and battered and beaten.
My marriage has been crumbling like old crusty bread.
My children may soon join their parents as some of 'those' people who are homeless.
Nope.
Never saw this coming, mates,
Thought all my battles were behind me once I hit the smooth stride of my late twenties.
I had no idea that once I joined in to take up the cross, that my life was not beginning anew, but it was damn sure gonna change.
So. FINALLY, in answer to Marguerita's question, I guess I would have to say that...I'm doing okay, we've been through some rough stuff, but we're all still together, and the kids are doing awesome and I hope they love me a little bit, cuz I love them tons and tons and the house sure is lonely while they are gone at school and i love watching Jake play teeball and i love hearing Reilly sing old timey gospel music in a trio at church, and my the sight of my husband still makes my heart spin even though life has pushed us away from each other and we haven't a clue how to reconcile it back, but hey, we're all still here, still in the same house, still blessing our bread before supper, still sitting in the same pew on Sunday mornings, still gladfully tithing and constantly seeking Him.
Yep.
That's what i should have to your question.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
Like A Rubber Band. SNAP!
I had my treatment today. My nurse, her name is Sue, is an amazing woman of faith. In the Remicade lab, there are nine chairs, so they can administer Remicade to nine people at a time, rotating at 30 minute intervals, because most people come in, get their drug, and are gone in two hours, as they are NORMAL people who aren't allergic to the only medicine on the planet that can keep them alive. So there is always someone coming and going. Sue has one other nurse who assists, but Sue is the MAN, if you know what I mean. When I go there, she always has me set up in the same seat. Way in the back, the seat furthest from the door, furthest from the phone, furthest from any extraneous stress. This chair is next to her desk. I receive one-one nurse/patient care every time I receive an infusion. Because, Sue says, I like Sue so much, I like to hang out with her all day. Oh, and because I'm special with my allergic reaction to the drug and all the means and methods she has to use to make sure I survive each and every infusion. But I do like to hang out with her, and you would too. She is amazing. She has an illness too. And it's chronic. So she KNOWS. But YOU wouldn't know it if she didn't tell you, or if i hadn't just spilled the beans, cuz no matter how much pain she is in (and yeah, it's a lot), she is always smiling, always nurturing, always THERE, always giving praise to God, even for the smallest of things like getting an IV in on the first stick. No, you wouldn't in a million years know that my very special angel nurse suffers horribly each and every day. Not til I just spilled the beans anyway.
When I am there, Sue tells the other nurse, that she is on her own with all those other patients for the entire length of the day, or until I am gone, unless there is an emergency, because I am so 'special' (allergic). Every single time, Sue takes both of my hands in hers, and warms them with her loving touch, and asks by name about Jake, Reilly, Billy, Aunt Meredith, church, all the OTHER parts of my life. She calls this our 'girl time'. She says she wants to know what's going on in my life before she shoots nine vials of poisonous, potentially fatal, rat venom into me. Well, today, she sensed that i have been an emotional wreck. And when she took my hands today, well, I cried a river. She told me that it was a safe place, it was just her, and me, and God, that I didn't have to worry about anything else that was going on in my life like taking care of Jake or what time will my ride be here or how in the world are we going to make our mortgage payment this month.......or.....or.......there was no or, I was in her hands, she would take care of me body, heart, and soul, that she wasn't just my nurse, she was my friend, she was my caregiver, she was in this war on Crohn's with me for the long haul, as she has been for seven long years, and that these thirty minutes with her had been earned. So she knew exactly what questions to ask (because in case you didn't know this, i usually don't scream my problems like a walking billboard), to get me to share. And I trust her implicitly, with my life, not just because she is a nurse, but because she is also my sister in Christ. So I let it all out. And I told her everything. And she listened as she kept massaging my hands and arms (yeah, I know, she was just trying to get a vein ready, but still, she does it with love), and she offered what she could when she could. And she shared. And she opined. She knows Billy as well as she knows me. she knows and loves my babies and she has never met them. And she offered something ingenious, that I hadn't quite thought of to the extent she was suggesting. And when she shared her angle................
SNAP!
My precious family has SUFFERED for two solid years. I got sick and then I lost my CAREER and then I became a stay at home Mom, something I never thought I would be, a role I am still adjusting and adapting to, and most probably, mightily failing at.
But I knew we would be okay financially, as Billy's salary was more than enough to meet our needs. We had been blessed financially, for quite some time.
SNAP!
Billy lost his job two months later.
SNAP!
For two years, we have lived off of our Biblical savings, unemployment.............
SNAP!
We had to cash in our investments, all of our 401k.
SNAP!
Last went the most painful of all, the kids' college fund.
SNAP!
Two years of constant prayer and reverence. Believing we were following God's plan, because He continued to affirm, confirm, and re-affirm. Any time we questioned, He gave us an answer, and He gave it promptly. We were on a new walk with God, together, and we had faith that He would reveal to us HIS plan, on HIS clock.
SNAP!
I received a misdiagnosis of lymphoma.
SNAP!
I received a correct diagnosis of an untreatable exacerbation of my Crohn's. I repeat - UNTREATABLE.
SNAP!
Not just physical suffering, but financial suffering, with no break, except for the trip of a lifetime. 40 days. 8,000 miles. Across this God-loving country of ours, filled with great plains, mountains majestic, canyons unspeakable, people of faith. A trip that was SAFE. A trip that did not require medical attention. Memories forged for a lifetime, shared only by we precious four. An unplanned, spontaneous road trip that we all know God directed us to take.
SNAP!
But as soon as we got back from that, Billy's dad, Robert, had his horriffic, nearly fatal accident.
SNAP!
And as soon as Billy got back from that, he drives his best friend a thousand miles to his death bed. Oh, the burden placed on my husband's mind, spirit, heart, soul, and body, to drive his oldest, dearest, and longest friend to receive emergency, life-saving treatment. The burden and blessing of spending 35 years of life with this man and the last 48 hours as he approached and succumbed to death. And to do it alone, but with "Jesus at the Wheel". Oh how he ministered. How he witnessed. How he prayed to God to get them 'there' in time. How he prayed to God for his friend's salvation. Oh how he watched him die.
SNAP!
And as soon as he got back from that, Billy's father Robert is diagnosed with a cancer that was treatable, but not beatable. And which horrifically murdered him within 20 days.
SNAP!
Oh how we raced to get to see Grandpa, before..........
SNAP!
And we stayed behind, trying to discern what was right for Grandma, for us, for the rest of the extended family, mulling and praying and mulling and praying do we go home or do we move here do we go or do we stay do we go or do we stay, and grieving all the time, sitting in Grandpa's chair, watching Grandpa's TV, riding Grandpa's 4 wheeler, the four of us sleeping together, Little House on the Prairie-style in Grandpa's HUGE four poster bed, with room to spare, snuggling to warm each others' bodies from below freezing temperatures, and to somehow warm each others cold and empty hearts. Waking up every morning to the smell of Grandpa, to Grandpa's wallet, to Grandpa's gun case and Grandpa's guns, to Grandpa's penny jar, to Grandpa's gun lamp where you pull the trigger to turn the light on and off. We were inundated with Grandpa because that is the room that we were given, and that is the room that Billy insisted we stay. I can still smell Grandpa. And we all still ache for Grandpa. Some of us in different ways than others. I ache for Grandpa, and he wasn't my dad, he wasn't my Grandpa. But he was my friend. And he is the first friend that I have ever watched die. And the first friend that I ever buried. And the father of my husband. And the first family death that I had to break to my children. And I am nearly forty years old.
SNAP!
We come home from Grandpa, and immediately try to get right back 'in it'. Billy shows no outward signs of grief. I ask him A LOT about how he is doing. I encourage him in every way that I can. I pray for him. I know he is not finished grieving, but I also know that everybody does it in their own way, on their own time, that there are no RULES for how we grieve. Grief is not an emotion, it is a process. A process that takes time. And the timing is different for everyone. When I finally get up the nerve to talk to Billy about his own personal grieving process, he said he's done grieving. His dad is gone. He's buried. Billy says he cried when his Dad was sick and he cried when he was dying and he cried when he was buried, and there is nothing more to cry about.
SNAP!
But here's the thing. Billy cries - A LOT. But not when he is sad. When he hears a story of God, or sees something on TV that warms his heart, or reads something I have written about the children that moves him in a way he didn't think it would, he cries. And he's not ashamed of it. The tears just roll...in front of me, or the kids, or whoever. He is the most loving man. He loves in ways I will never understand, and I've been his one and only for ten years. He loves his wife and his children like NO OTHER MAN I have ever seen, even in a fairy tale. There is NOTHING that can stop him from taking care of us. He is the head of this family, he is the Lord of his castle, and he has blessedly become our spiritual compass, since he started to take God's hand and walk with Him every day. If anyone ever wanted to see how a man should love his family, let them look no further than our home.
SNAP!
Back to Sue. As we are talking and bawling and messaging and loving, i realize for the first time, that we are all still grieving. More importantly, Billy is still grieving. But the hardest part for anyone to understand is that he lost his Dad, and the one person in the whole world that he could talk to about it, or who would understand, was his best friend. Who he buried ninety days before he buried his own father. He is grieving, and he doesn't even realize that we are ALL grieving. STILL. And that we could be grieving TOGETHER. But we are not.
SNAP!
Ninety days later, Billy runs into the house, carrying the body of a small, lifeless child, screaming and crying, "I've killed her! I killed Reilly! It's all my fault! I am so sorry! I killed her! I killed her! Oh dear God, I've killed her!"
SNAP!
And my head spun off my shoulders. And I cannot erase what are literally SECONDS of time, but feel like years. And I see her. I see my beautiful, amazing, sensitive, life-loving, love-giving, smiling, candle-bright, sassy, cut from my womb as if she were a clone, MIRACLE baby girl. And she is dead.
SNAP!
Time has now stopped. That picture, right there, is in my mind every second of every single day. In those MILLISECONDS, I did not cry, I did not scream, I did not pass out, I did not move. I remember thanking God. And I think I did it out loud in those MILLISECONDS as Billy is running into the house. Again, it is stop/slow/stop/slow motion in my mind. I know what all of us where wearing. I remember that her crazy hair was really crazy that day. And her Old Navy flip flop was lying in the middle of the road.
SNAP!
I thanked God. I thanked him for the amazing gift of love that He had blessed us with these seven years. The lessons of faith and love and trust that he taught us. I thanked him for 'loaning' her to us for awhile. I thanked him, I thanked him, oh God, how I thanked You. For with this miracle baby of mine, You healed me. You healed me of all the hurt. All of it. You took away and erased pain that I never thought would go away, the day You gave me this amazing angel. You taught me that prayer is the only way, and that You are the only answer. You gave me the gift of love. And with that gift, You even gave me instructions. You taught me how to love. But, I didn't need the instructions. Because, how could I not love her? Oh my God, how could I NOT love her? So yes. I thanked Him. What a precious treasure He had loaned to me! She doesn't belong to me! She belongs to HIM! HE trusted US enough to LOAN us our beautiful miracle baby. And now He needed her more than we did. And I was so calm, and so at peace, and just so........blessedly thankful.
SNAP!
Wait.......
She's.......A L I V E??????
Is she.......B R E A T H I N G?????
SNAP!
As I SNAP out of it, chaos ensues.
I call 911.
Billy is panicking, forgetting the basics of CPR.
She is seizing.
But she is........ A L I V E.
Her eyes are rolling in the back of her head.
But she is ........A L I V E.
Her body is covered with road rash.
But she is ........A L I V E.
SNAP!
Hours pass.
No.
Minutes.
We are able to open her airway.
She takes a HEAVING deep breath.
And in complete, unison, screaming and crying at the top of our lungs, my dearest sweetest husband and I hold hands and shout, "PRAISE GOD! PRAISE GOD! SHE'S ALIVE! THANK YOU JESUS!"
And the tears keep coming.
And she opens her eyes.
SNAP!
She cannot speak - sounds come out of her mouth, as if she is speaking in tongues.
But she is ........A L I V E.
Her toe is mangled, her body is bruised, broken.
Her eye is badly bloodied and bruised.
She starts to regain consciousness.
She starts to panic and scream and wail and flail.
I have no idea what happened to her.
But she is.....A L I V E.
The paramedics are there in 3 minutes.
SNAP!
And our baby girl AMAZINGLY survived.
When she most probably, against all odds, should have not.
And four days later, she came HOME.
And we hugged her and kissed her and slobbered on her until she was grossed out.
And then everything got back to normal.
SNAP!
Our daughter didn't die that day. But God used Sue to teach me that I am actually GRIEVING, even though she is still alive. Even though I praise Him every day for allowing us to keep her awhile longer. Even though I hug her tighter and kiss her more and stroke her hair longer and let her sit on my lap even when it hurts me. I am GRIEVING. And as much as my family has been blessed...........
SNAP!
We continue to suffer.
With my health.
With our bank account, even though our love affair with money was healed by God YEARS ago.
With our grief.
With a marriage between two people who are still so in love, ten years later, who have endured more than most couples can wrap their heads around, in just one decade.
A marriage between two people who could not be more opposite, yet which has produced the commonality of our sweet, God-gifted miracle babies.
A marriage which is starting to show cracks in its foundation.
A marriage that absolutely, positively, will NOT, by the grace of God, come to an end, no matter how delightful Satan desires that conclusion.
NO!
SNAP!
One cannot be healed, until one has suffered.
One cannot die, until one has lived.
One cannot receive, until one has given.
This final lesson has been the most difficult for us to master, as sinfully prideful as we tend to be.
Yet it has been this lesson, heeded by our Christian sisters and brothers, that has SAVED us.
SNAP!
A BP gift card, to offset gas expenses for the trip to bury our Grandpa.
A cashier's check for two hundred fifty dollars.
A gift card for Walmart, Walgreens, Target, Publix, Visa.
A personal check in the amount of ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS.
A tithe of two hundred fifty dollars sent to us by a struggling family of six, who heeded God's call to give to their brethren.
A card with a 5 dollar bill with a note that says, "I'm sorry it couldn't have been more".
A prayer shawl, knitted by a stranger, in a state far away.
A twenty dollar bill stuffed into the console of our car while we weren't paying attention.
Another gift of.................
SNAP!
Though are burdens are great, our blessings are many.
Though we would much rather give than to receive, we have now learned to give in ways we never dreamed.
Though are financial struggles are far from over, GOD has fulfilled our needs.
And He has done so through HIS people.
So as God fills our mailbox and our pockets with the hard-earned wages of so very many, so has He filled the hearts of the givers.
As we continue to follow that which we believe to be God's plan, He keeps his promise to care for us and to love us unconditionally.
As we need prayer, it is prayed before we ask.
As we walk, so doth He.
SNAP!
I did not die today.
I did not suffer today.
I received and discerned a message from God from an unexpected friend, on an unexpected day, at a time when I was expecting misery, and pain, and physical anguish.
No.
I did not suffer today.
For God was with me.
As He always is.
SNAP!
I, and those three most precious to me, spent special snuggle time together this evening, after I got home from my 'shots' as the kids call my Remicade infusion.
There were no fights.
There were no arguments.
There was no yelling.
There was no pre-conceived expectation not being filled.
There were no intrusions.
There was no disrespect.
There was love.
SNAP!
Those cracks in the marital foundation?
God is beginning to fill them.
That grief that continues to consume us?
God is beginning to ease our pain.
The financial burden we can't seem to lift?
God is throwing his arms around us as we heave it together.
SNAP!
This post today? The first in many, many months? The words that haven't come?
Inspired by one of the most special people my family has ever been gifted to know.
Her name is Miss Pat.
She has prayed our names a thousand times.
She prayed our two miracle babies into this world.
And she is praying our way out of suffering.
And Miss Pat?
She's just the beginning.
SNAP!
Just like my Sue.
I saw God today.
Did you?
~
When I am there, Sue tells the other nurse, that she is on her own with all those other patients for the entire length of the day, or until I am gone, unless there is an emergency, because I am so 'special' (allergic). Every single time, Sue takes both of my hands in hers, and warms them with her loving touch, and asks by name about Jake, Reilly, Billy, Aunt Meredith, church, all the OTHER parts of my life. She calls this our 'girl time'. She says she wants to know what's going on in my life before she shoots nine vials of poisonous, potentially fatal, rat venom into me. Well, today, she sensed that i have been an emotional wreck. And when she took my hands today, well, I cried a river. She told me that it was a safe place, it was just her, and me, and God, that I didn't have to worry about anything else that was going on in my life like taking care of Jake or what time will my ride be here or how in the world are we going to make our mortgage payment this month.......or.....or.......there was no or, I was in her hands, she would take care of me body, heart, and soul, that she wasn't just my nurse, she was my friend, she was my caregiver, she was in this war on Crohn's with me for the long haul, as she has been for seven long years, and that these thirty minutes with her had been earned. So she knew exactly what questions to ask (because in case you didn't know this, i usually don't scream my problems like a walking billboard), to get me to share. And I trust her implicitly, with my life, not just because she is a nurse, but because she is also my sister in Christ. So I let it all out. And I told her everything. And she listened as she kept massaging my hands and arms (yeah, I know, she was just trying to get a vein ready, but still, she does it with love), and she offered what she could when she could. And she shared. And she opined. She knows Billy as well as she knows me. she knows and loves my babies and she has never met them. And she offered something ingenious, that I hadn't quite thought of to the extent she was suggesting. And when she shared her angle................
SNAP!
My precious family has SUFFERED for two solid years. I got sick and then I lost my CAREER and then I became a stay at home Mom, something I never thought I would be, a role I am still adjusting and adapting to, and most probably, mightily failing at.
But I knew we would be okay financially, as Billy's salary was more than enough to meet our needs. We had been blessed financially, for quite some time.
SNAP!
Billy lost his job two months later.
SNAP!
For two years, we have lived off of our Biblical savings, unemployment.............
SNAP!
We had to cash in our investments, all of our 401k.
SNAP!
Last went the most painful of all, the kids' college fund.
SNAP!
Two years of constant prayer and reverence. Believing we were following God's plan, because He continued to affirm, confirm, and re-affirm. Any time we questioned, He gave us an answer, and He gave it promptly. We were on a new walk with God, together, and we had faith that He would reveal to us HIS plan, on HIS clock.
SNAP!
I received a misdiagnosis of lymphoma.
SNAP!
I received a correct diagnosis of an untreatable exacerbation of my Crohn's. I repeat - UNTREATABLE.
SNAP!
Not just physical suffering, but financial suffering, with no break, except for the trip of a lifetime. 40 days. 8,000 miles. Across this God-loving country of ours, filled with great plains, mountains majestic, canyons unspeakable, people of faith. A trip that was SAFE. A trip that did not require medical attention. Memories forged for a lifetime, shared only by we precious four. An unplanned, spontaneous road trip that we all know God directed us to take.
SNAP!
But as soon as we got back from that, Billy's dad, Robert, had his horriffic, nearly fatal accident.
SNAP!
And as soon as Billy got back from that, he drives his best friend a thousand miles to his death bed. Oh, the burden placed on my husband's mind, spirit, heart, soul, and body, to drive his oldest, dearest, and longest friend to receive emergency, life-saving treatment. The burden and blessing of spending 35 years of life with this man and the last 48 hours as he approached and succumbed to death. And to do it alone, but with "Jesus at the Wheel". Oh how he ministered. How he witnessed. How he prayed to God to get them 'there' in time. How he prayed to God for his friend's salvation. Oh how he watched him die.
SNAP!
And as soon as he got back from that, Billy's father Robert is diagnosed with a cancer that was treatable, but not beatable. And which horrifically murdered him within 20 days.
SNAP!
Oh how we raced to get to see Grandpa, before..........
SNAP!
And we stayed behind, trying to discern what was right for Grandma, for us, for the rest of the extended family, mulling and praying and mulling and praying do we go home or do we move here do we go or do we stay do we go or do we stay, and grieving all the time, sitting in Grandpa's chair, watching Grandpa's TV, riding Grandpa's 4 wheeler, the four of us sleeping together, Little House on the Prairie-style in Grandpa's HUGE four poster bed, with room to spare, snuggling to warm each others' bodies from below freezing temperatures, and to somehow warm each others cold and empty hearts. Waking up every morning to the smell of Grandpa, to Grandpa's wallet, to Grandpa's gun case and Grandpa's guns, to Grandpa's penny jar, to Grandpa's gun lamp where you pull the trigger to turn the light on and off. We were inundated with Grandpa because that is the room that we were given, and that is the room that Billy insisted we stay. I can still smell Grandpa. And we all still ache for Grandpa. Some of us in different ways than others. I ache for Grandpa, and he wasn't my dad, he wasn't my Grandpa. But he was my friend. And he is the first friend that I have ever watched die. And the first friend that I ever buried. And the father of my husband. And the first family death that I had to break to my children. And I am nearly forty years old.
SNAP!
We come home from Grandpa, and immediately try to get right back 'in it'. Billy shows no outward signs of grief. I ask him A LOT about how he is doing. I encourage him in every way that I can. I pray for him. I know he is not finished grieving, but I also know that everybody does it in their own way, on their own time, that there are no RULES for how we grieve. Grief is not an emotion, it is a process. A process that takes time. And the timing is different for everyone. When I finally get up the nerve to talk to Billy about his own personal grieving process, he said he's done grieving. His dad is gone. He's buried. Billy says he cried when his Dad was sick and he cried when he was dying and he cried when he was buried, and there is nothing more to cry about.
SNAP!
But here's the thing. Billy cries - A LOT. But not when he is sad. When he hears a story of God, or sees something on TV that warms his heart, or reads something I have written about the children that moves him in a way he didn't think it would, he cries. And he's not ashamed of it. The tears just roll...in front of me, or the kids, or whoever. He is the most loving man. He loves in ways I will never understand, and I've been his one and only for ten years. He loves his wife and his children like NO OTHER MAN I have ever seen, even in a fairy tale. There is NOTHING that can stop him from taking care of us. He is the head of this family, he is the Lord of his castle, and he has blessedly become our spiritual compass, since he started to take God's hand and walk with Him every day. If anyone ever wanted to see how a man should love his family, let them look no further than our home.
SNAP!
Back to Sue. As we are talking and bawling and messaging and loving, i realize for the first time, that we are all still grieving. More importantly, Billy is still grieving. But the hardest part for anyone to understand is that he lost his Dad, and the one person in the whole world that he could talk to about it, or who would understand, was his best friend. Who he buried ninety days before he buried his own father. He is grieving, and he doesn't even realize that we are ALL grieving. STILL. And that we could be grieving TOGETHER. But we are not.
SNAP!
Ninety days later, Billy runs into the house, carrying the body of a small, lifeless child, screaming and crying, "I've killed her! I killed Reilly! It's all my fault! I am so sorry! I killed her! I killed her! Oh dear God, I've killed her!"
SNAP!
And my head spun off my shoulders. And I cannot erase what are literally SECONDS of time, but feel like years. And I see her. I see my beautiful, amazing, sensitive, life-loving, love-giving, smiling, candle-bright, sassy, cut from my womb as if she were a clone, MIRACLE baby girl. And she is dead.
SNAP!
Time has now stopped. That picture, right there, is in my mind every second of every single day. In those MILLISECONDS, I did not cry, I did not scream, I did not pass out, I did not move. I remember thanking God. And I think I did it out loud in those MILLISECONDS as Billy is running into the house. Again, it is stop/slow/stop/slow motion in my mind. I know what all of us where wearing. I remember that her crazy hair was really crazy that day. And her Old Navy flip flop was lying in the middle of the road.
SNAP!
I thanked God. I thanked him for the amazing gift of love that He had blessed us with these seven years. The lessons of faith and love and trust that he taught us. I thanked him for 'loaning' her to us for awhile. I thanked him, I thanked him, oh God, how I thanked You. For with this miracle baby of mine, You healed me. You healed me of all the hurt. All of it. You took away and erased pain that I never thought would go away, the day You gave me this amazing angel. You taught me that prayer is the only way, and that You are the only answer. You gave me the gift of love. And with that gift, You even gave me instructions. You taught me how to love. But, I didn't need the instructions. Because, how could I not love her? Oh my God, how could I NOT love her? So yes. I thanked Him. What a precious treasure He had loaned to me! She doesn't belong to me! She belongs to HIM! HE trusted US enough to LOAN us our beautiful miracle baby. And now He needed her more than we did. And I was so calm, and so at peace, and just so........blessedly thankful.
SNAP!
Wait.......
She's.......A L I V E??????
Is she.......B R E A T H I N G?????
SNAP!
As I SNAP out of it, chaos ensues.
I call 911.
Billy is panicking, forgetting the basics of CPR.
She is seizing.
But she is........ A L I V E.
Her eyes are rolling in the back of her head.
But she is ........A L I V E.
Her body is covered with road rash.
But she is ........A L I V E.
SNAP!
Hours pass.
No.
Minutes.
We are able to open her airway.
She takes a HEAVING deep breath.
And in complete, unison, screaming and crying at the top of our lungs, my dearest sweetest husband and I hold hands and shout, "PRAISE GOD! PRAISE GOD! SHE'S ALIVE! THANK YOU JESUS!"
And the tears keep coming.
And she opens her eyes.
SNAP!
She cannot speak - sounds come out of her mouth, as if she is speaking in tongues.
But she is ........A L I V E.
Her toe is mangled, her body is bruised, broken.
Her eye is badly bloodied and bruised.
She starts to regain consciousness.
She starts to panic and scream and wail and flail.
I have no idea what happened to her.
But she is.....A L I V E.
The paramedics are there in 3 minutes.
SNAP!
And our baby girl AMAZINGLY survived.
When she most probably, against all odds, should have not.
And four days later, she came HOME.
And we hugged her and kissed her and slobbered on her until she was grossed out.
And then everything got back to normal.
SNAP!
Our daughter didn't die that day. But God used Sue to teach me that I am actually GRIEVING, even though she is still alive. Even though I praise Him every day for allowing us to keep her awhile longer. Even though I hug her tighter and kiss her more and stroke her hair longer and let her sit on my lap even when it hurts me. I am GRIEVING. And as much as my family has been blessed...........
SNAP!
We continue to suffer.
With my health.
With our bank account, even though our love affair with money was healed by God YEARS ago.
With our grief.
With a marriage between two people who are still so in love, ten years later, who have endured more than most couples can wrap their heads around, in just one decade.
A marriage between two people who could not be more opposite, yet which has produced the commonality of our sweet, God-gifted miracle babies.
A marriage which is starting to show cracks in its foundation.
A marriage that absolutely, positively, will NOT, by the grace of God, come to an end, no matter how delightful Satan desires that conclusion.
NO!
SNAP!
One cannot be healed, until one has suffered.
One cannot die, until one has lived.
One cannot receive, until one has given.
This final lesson has been the most difficult for us to master, as sinfully prideful as we tend to be.
Yet it has been this lesson, heeded by our Christian sisters and brothers, that has SAVED us.
SNAP!
A BP gift card, to offset gas expenses for the trip to bury our Grandpa.
A cashier's check for two hundred fifty dollars.
A gift card for Walmart, Walgreens, Target, Publix, Visa.
A personal check in the amount of ONE THOUSAND DOLLARS.
A tithe of two hundred fifty dollars sent to us by a struggling family of six, who heeded God's call to give to their brethren.
A card with a 5 dollar bill with a note that says, "I'm sorry it couldn't have been more".
A prayer shawl, knitted by a stranger, in a state far away.
A twenty dollar bill stuffed into the console of our car while we weren't paying attention.
Another gift of.................
SNAP!
Though are burdens are great, our blessings are many.
Though we would much rather give than to receive, we have now learned to give in ways we never dreamed.
Though are financial struggles are far from over, GOD has fulfilled our needs.
And He has done so through HIS people.
So as God fills our mailbox and our pockets with the hard-earned wages of so very many, so has He filled the hearts of the givers.
As we continue to follow that which we believe to be God's plan, He keeps his promise to care for us and to love us unconditionally.
As we need prayer, it is prayed before we ask.
As we walk, so doth He.
SNAP!
I did not die today.
I did not suffer today.
I received and discerned a message from God from an unexpected friend, on an unexpected day, at a time when I was expecting misery, and pain, and physical anguish.
No.
I did not suffer today.
For God was with me.
As He always is.
SNAP!
I, and those three most precious to me, spent special snuggle time together this evening, after I got home from my 'shots' as the kids call my Remicade infusion.
There were no fights.
There were no arguments.
There was no yelling.
There was no pre-conceived expectation not being filled.
There were no intrusions.
There was no disrespect.
There was love.
SNAP!
Those cracks in the marital foundation?
God is beginning to fill them.
That grief that continues to consume us?
God is beginning to ease our pain.
The financial burden we can't seem to lift?
God is throwing his arms around us as we heave it together.
SNAP!
This post today? The first in many, many months? The words that haven't come?
Inspired by one of the most special people my family has ever been gifted to know.
Her name is Miss Pat.
She has prayed our names a thousand times.
She prayed our two miracle babies into this world.
And she is praying our way out of suffering.
And Miss Pat?
She's just the beginning.
SNAP!
Just like my Sue.
I saw God today.
Did you?
~
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
WTH?!!!
Yep.
That's what I just said to God.
Out loud.
After my thirtieth trip to the toilet.
"What the HELL, GOD? WHAT THE HELL?"
Sorry I've been gone for so long.
I've been really, really sick and in UBER-Level 9 Pain.
My last Remicade treatment didn't 'take'. I did not notice any improvement the first week after the infusion. And then the pain in my duodenal area actually got WORSE when it should have been GONE. I made the mistake of calling Dr. TFG, and asking to have another Remicade infusion, STAT, but Dr. TFG said, NO, Not on my watch, it's too early, which is really fucking funny, because HE is the guy who has ordered me into that lab or into the hospital STAT to have Remicade at week 1 or 2 on more than one occasion, and who promptly assumed I had a blockage and ordered some ridiculous x rays that I refuse to have done because I know I don't have a blockage as all of the plumbing is working just fine, a little too well actually.
And the other reason I haven't been blogging is that my body is literally falling apart, one absurd symptom at a time. I'll try really hard not to gross you out, but no promises. So today, after several days of thinking "eh, this is no big deal", the skin on my feet is literally falling OFF. No explanation other than CD. (I'm abbreviating here - Crohn's Disease - I totally hate those two words. UGH) It's not athlete's foot, it's not just dry skin, No, it's CD. This has happened to me before, all around my eyes, the skin just flaked off like dandruff and before I knew it, it was GONE. It's absurd, I know, but CD has been proven to sometimes affect your skin during a flare.
And my hair. Coming out in clumps. Everytime I wash it. Every single time. Starting to get painful, pus-filled sores on my scalp. No, I haven't changed anything. No new products, and I haven't gotten it colored because I'm worried the color will exacerbate the scalp sores. Again, THIS has happened before as well.
And my joints are crazy bad painful. Nothing new there.
And my freaking mouth. Ugh. So I wake up after my two hours of sleep last night and my mouth is fine. And then, over the course of the day, over the course of this 'flare' that I am enduring, my mouth goes haywire; the skin at the corners of my mouth starts peeling; the tissue behind my lips is bright red and raw; at the tip of my tongue, all of my taste buds are either fiery red or white, and enlarged and I can feel the pain from each individual taste bud and this has made my tongue so sore that my mouth is just hopelessly painful; there are sores all the way on the sides and back of my tongue starting near my last molar; the roof of my mouth and the insides of my cheek are red and raw and painful; and I almost threw up from the pain.
There's a whole lot more to talk about, but hell, I'm living it and to write about it feels like living it all over again and it just makes me mentally sick and tired when I need to be mentally fresh and strong. And I gotta tell you, if it weren't for the Methadone, I don't know how I would get through this. So I'd like to take a moment and thank God for Dr. Pain. Because she is awesome. She knows her stuff. And she's not afraid to try something new, or tweak something we've already tried, or increase this or decrease that. She listens intently, she ponders carefully, she acts swiftly and appropriately.
So this is where I've been.
In the daily hell on earth that is Crohn's Disease.
What the Hell, God?
WHAT THE HELL??????
That's what I just said to God.
Out loud.
After my thirtieth trip to the toilet.
"What the HELL, GOD? WHAT THE HELL?"
Sorry I've been gone for so long.
I've been really, really sick and in UBER-Level 9 Pain.
My last Remicade treatment didn't 'take'. I did not notice any improvement the first week after the infusion. And then the pain in my duodenal area actually got WORSE when it should have been GONE. I made the mistake of calling Dr. TFG, and asking to have another Remicade infusion, STAT, but Dr. TFG said, NO, Not on my watch, it's too early, which is really fucking funny, because HE is the guy who has ordered me into that lab or into the hospital STAT to have Remicade at week 1 or 2 on more than one occasion, and who promptly assumed I had a blockage and ordered some ridiculous x rays that I refuse to have done because I know I don't have a blockage as all of the plumbing is working just fine, a little too well actually.
And the other reason I haven't been blogging is that my body is literally falling apart, one absurd symptom at a time. I'll try really hard not to gross you out, but no promises. So today, after several days of thinking "eh, this is no big deal", the skin on my feet is literally falling OFF. No explanation other than CD. (I'm abbreviating here - Crohn's Disease - I totally hate those two words. UGH) It's not athlete's foot, it's not just dry skin, No, it's CD. This has happened to me before, all around my eyes, the skin just flaked off like dandruff and before I knew it, it was GONE. It's absurd, I know, but CD has been proven to sometimes affect your skin during a flare.
And my hair. Coming out in clumps. Everytime I wash it. Every single time. Starting to get painful, pus-filled sores on my scalp. No, I haven't changed anything. No new products, and I haven't gotten it colored because I'm worried the color will exacerbate the scalp sores. Again, THIS has happened before as well.
And my joints are crazy bad painful. Nothing new there.
And my freaking mouth. Ugh. So I wake up after my two hours of sleep last night and my mouth is fine. And then, over the course of the day, over the course of this 'flare' that I am enduring, my mouth goes haywire; the skin at the corners of my mouth starts peeling; the tissue behind my lips is bright red and raw; at the tip of my tongue, all of my taste buds are either fiery red or white, and enlarged and I can feel the pain from each individual taste bud and this has made my tongue so sore that my mouth is just hopelessly painful; there are sores all the way on the sides and back of my tongue starting near my last molar; the roof of my mouth and the insides of my cheek are red and raw and painful; and I almost threw up from the pain.
Today, I have been in the bathroom (and yes, after the fifth time I started counting) thirty-one times, with no sign of letting up. And no, I have not eaten anything that could be considered a cause. For supper last night we had london broil, green beans, baked waffle fries, and applesauce. Nothing spicy. Nothing too fibrous. Nothing that has ever made me sick before. Was up literally all night, slept from 414 am, to 632 am. Yup. That was it. And I thought I would just go back to sleep after both kids were gone, but noooooooo, Slave Driving BF decided to stay home today and was cracking the whip like mad. So I had to at least 'look' busy. ha! seriously, he is such a meanie. anyway, I worked on our taxes and this humongous pile of mail and moved everything onto my bed - the laptop, the eighty five pounds of paperwork, the tax stuff.... and sure enough I was in the bathroom every 15 minutes. Ugh. After hearing the toilet flush every 15 minutes like clockwork, BF came in and said "Everything okay?" And I said, "No, everything is NOT okay!....yada yada yada" and then after hearing me whine and complain he said, "when are you going to be better?" (HE IS THE ONE PERSON WHO KNOWS AS MUCH ABOUT THIS DISEASE AS I DO, AND WHO IS USUALLY THE ONE WHO IS THE MOST UNDERSTANDING AND LEAST JUDGMENTAL AND WHO I NEED TO BE ON MY SIDE ALWAYS!) and I told him that I was counting on next Wednesday's infusion to work, with all that I had in me, and he said, "Well, what are you going to do if it doesn't work?" and I said "It HAS to work. It just fucking HAS to." And he said, "I think you need a backup game plan." to which I responded, "okay, when they find a cure, I'll be sure you are the first person i call!" and then I promptly marched into my new 'office' for the day and went back to 'work'. UGH!
There's a whole lot more to talk about, but hell, I'm living it and to write about it feels like living it all over again and it just makes me mentally sick and tired when I need to be mentally fresh and strong. And I gotta tell you, if it weren't for the Methadone, I don't know how I would get through this. So I'd like to take a moment and thank God for Dr. Pain. Because she is awesome. She knows her stuff. And she's not afraid to try something new, or tweak something we've already tried, or increase this or decrease that. She listens intently, she ponders carefully, she acts swiftly and appropriately.
So this is where I've been.
In the daily hell on earth that is Crohn's Disease.
What the Hell, God?
WHAT THE HELL??????
Tuesday, February 23, 2010
HE FUCKING HATES ME
Sorry if that post was a bit much.
But here I lay, in level NINE pain, YET AGAIN, because my fucking excuse for a gastroenterologist has decided to play the "whose dick is bigger game" with my life, YET AGAIN.
Yeah, I know you need some details, some history, just let me spew for a bit.
Dammit.
THAT FUCKING GUY.
I haven't been posting lately.
And not because I've been well.
Au contraire.
In fact, right now, as I type this, I am SOBBING.
Mad sobbing.
Exasperated sobbing.
Just plain sobbing but really wanting to strangle somebody to death instead sobbing.
Here I am - suffering through intolerable, intractable pain, yet again.
In that same area - the duodenal bulb.
The area the size of my pinky, that showed the beginnings of a narrowing or thickening (otherwise known as a stricture), back in April.
Remember my April failure?
Yeah, we are back there again.
I had a Remicade treatment one week ago TODAY.
HE FUCKING HATES ME
But here I lay, in level NINE pain, YET AGAIN, because my fucking excuse for a gastroenterologist has decided to play the "whose dick is bigger game" with my life, YET AGAIN.
Yeah, I know you need some details, some history, just let me spew for a bit.
Dammit.
THAT FUCKING GUY.
I haven't been posting lately.
And not because I've been well.
Au contraire.
In fact, right now, as I type this, I am SOBBING.
Mad sobbing.
Exasperated sobbing.
Just plain sobbing but really wanting to strangle somebody to death instead sobbing.
Here I am - suffering through intolerable, intractable pain, yet again.
In that same area - the duodenal bulb.
The area the size of my pinky, that showed the beginnings of a narrowing or thickening (otherwise known as a stricture), back in April.
Remember my April failure?
Yeah, we are back there again.
I had a Remicade treatment one week ago TODAY.
HE FUCKING HATES ME
Monday, January 18, 2010
Dammit
I've got Poop In My Pants.
Not to be confused with Poop In My Pocket.
Seriously.
I just pooped my pants.
First time in a long time.
Then again, I didn't eat anything all day today.
And I had a dinner consisting of rabbit food and some raw fish.
Oh, and a little bit of wine.
And a day filled with crying and grieving.
Good grief.
I guess there's really no reason I should be surprised I pooped my pants.
After all, shit happens.
Literally.
To me.
A lot.
And of course,
I have a treatment tomorrow.
My body knows.
When it's time.
Even before I do.
But it doesn't have to always come back to poop, does it?
I guess it does.
Dammit.
Not to be confused with Poop In My Pocket.
Seriously.
I just pooped my pants.
First time in a long time.
Then again, I didn't eat anything all day today.
And I had a dinner consisting of rabbit food and some raw fish.
Oh, and a little bit of wine.
And a day filled with crying and grieving.
Good grief.
I guess there's really no reason I should be surprised I pooped my pants.
After all, shit happens.
Literally.
To me.
A lot.
And of course,
I have a treatment tomorrow.
My body knows.
When it's time.
Even before I do.
But it doesn't have to always come back to poop, does it?
I guess it does.
Dammit.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
178
I saw 178.
Oh my God.
And then I ran out of medicine while we were away, snowbound in a blizzard for days and days and days.
And my doctor couldn't refill my script in West Virginia.
So it ran out.
And the weight started to drop.
Now I am 'back' to 164.
And the sores in my mouth are gone.
AND....
The diarrhea has returned with a vengeance.
And my abdominal pain is returning, slowly, steadily....I fear a return of the intractable pain from April.
At what price, victory?
WTF?
What do I do now?
I guess that's what doctors are for.
Cripes.
And Remicade awaits on Tuesday.
Woohoo!
Oh my God.
And then I ran out of medicine while we were away, snowbound in a blizzard for days and days and days.
And my doctor couldn't refill my script in West Virginia.
So it ran out.
And the weight started to drop.
Now I am 'back' to 164.
And the sores in my mouth are gone.
AND....
The diarrhea has returned with a vengeance.
And my abdominal pain is returning, slowly, steadily....I fear a return of the intractable pain from April.
At what price, victory?
WTF?
What do I do now?
I guess that's what doctors are for.
Cripes.
And Remicade awaits on Tuesday.
Woohoo!
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