So the last post, Mr. W and I were basically done.  Finished.  *sniff* Over.  Long story short, I begged and pleaded, we agreed to give it another go, had fabulous make-up sex, and were happy again.   But then that evil wedding monster started climbing back out of its hole and gnawing at our ankles.  Money, stress.  Stress, money.  Planning, planning, planning.  MELTDOWN!  After 2 anxiety attacks in less than a week, Mr. W was ready to commit me, or at the very least heavily medicate me!

Last night we agreed to call the whole thing off.  We would attempt to get some of the money back that we’d put in, but were ok if it didn’t work out that way.  Better to have our sanity and each other than to sink even more money into something we may not both survive to even see.  (I’m being a little dramatic here…a little…)  The biggest problem was the $800 in non-refundable, non-transferable plane fare that his mom just shelled out for the trip here.  She’s not as much in a place to be just “ok” with losing that kind of money.  But, we intended to pay her back, re-compensate anyone else who put any significant amount of money into this whole fiasco, and call it a day.  And then, somewhere down the line, when the stars align and the moon is full and Earth is in the shadow of Mars on the third Saturday of an even month…  we would elope.  Or rather, Mr. W’s version of eloping which includes all four kids, my mom to take care of the kids, probably his mom because she’s always wanted to go to Vegas, my dad because, hey, LA is just right there, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.  Can you say “lots of money?”  So not the point.  But that was to be discussed at a later, more suitable (i.e. less stressful) time.

Then it hit me:

We probably aren’t going to get a refund on the venue or the photographer.  Mom-n-fam’s plane tickets are lost without use on THAT weekend (damn Delta and their jacked up policies to steal money…), and neither of us really want to break the news to our families.  Why not reduce our evil wedding monster with a guest list of over 100 people back to a small, informal, family only affair that we both had pictured in the back of our minds to begin with.  Damn wedding industry and their manipulative, more-is-better-and-less-is-crap ways!  So I put it to Mr. W………………and he smiled again!  All planning can be done by the end of next week.  There is a kitchen at the venue, so we can cook a family style meal, set up 2 or 3 tables (instead of 14, plus buffet tables, plus DJ table…..) and have a small ceremony in the garden with our $100 minister.  I get my fancy pictures.  He gets the Wal-Mart special paper plates.  Our families get to meet, and we all get to smile together.  We don’t lose the money, and we don’t lose our minds (or each other) in the process.  Case closed.  Happy again. 

Now I just have to figure out how to tell all our friends…damn wedding industry and their etiquette and “things to do.”  Stupid “Save-the-Date” cards!

I had a detailed post done two days ago explaining all this, but when I was a spell-check away from publishing, my computer shit itself and all was lost.  Hrumph.  Yeah, it’s been that kind of week. Month. Year?  Bear with me as I try to recap…

Moving, wedding, teenagers, the boy and the girl, too many projects at work, finances, Mr. W…I think that was all.  You know, basically everything that encompasses my everyday!  No biggie.

We move in 9 days.  We aren’t packed.  I packed 9 boxes in the last two days and besides the boxes sitting in there, you wouldn’t know it.  We don’t have a truck.  We don’t have definite moving help.  We don’t have someone to rent our house.  WTF?!  And I’m about 3 inches from blowing up on someone about it.  Someone being Mr. W unfortunately as he is pretty good at being a target of opportunity.  Not that he’s totally innocent, but still, I’m holding back.  Things promise to be better, much better once we move…and as much as I want to believe promises, part of me is always skeptical.

The wedding is in just over 100 days.  We don’t have a DJ.  We don’t have invitations.  We don’t have tables, chairs, a tent, or any other rental stuff.  We don’t have garments except for my dress and shoes, which is unwearable until it’s tailored.  And we are slacking on the desire to have a wedding at all.  (Talk of doing the elope thing has been flung around lately) What do we have? A minister and a location.  Sweet.  September 25th promises to be number 3 on my “best day ever” list when all is said and done, but that’s not for another 100 plus days.

Teenagers…need I say more?  I love them, but they are teens, and teens bring drama.  I think it may be part of their lifeblood.  I remember my teen years vividly (well, the ones that aren’t clouded by chemicals anyway…) and I have hold no grudge to any other teen…but still.  And the little ones, again, need I say more?  The girl got Lyme from me so now I am forced to watch her go through what I did and feel nothing but pure, unadulterated guilt for “infecting” her.  And the boy, well, one more month until the end of the school year, which means a summer away with his dad. 

Work is work is work.  And finances are finances.  I spread myself too thin in both areas and then suffer the wrath of my own decisions after.  I could kick my own ass for it, but really, what good would that do? 

And Mr. W…relates to all of the above.  Stress is contagious, but when we both have it, it only multiplies exponentially.  I long for my loving man who is just so overtired these days that he seems to be in hibernation…permanently. 

I passed by his old apaprtment the other day, and ever since have been reminiscing on our time there.  It was small and humble, but I have nothing but fond memories of those four walls.  We got to know each other there.  We fell in love there.  We had “our” time there.  Yes, we had fights and heartbreaks and even broke up more than a couple times, but there were far more wonderful days, and nights, in those spaces.  And I miss them so.  We were genuinely excited by, and about each other there.  We held each other up.  We cared and loved and were one. 

Today I picked up a package from the post office.  When the lady brought it to me, she had a giant grin on her face and asked if it was a diploma or some other equally exciting document.  I told her I hoped so, and then ripped open the package right there while she gave me an impromptu drum roll.    And it was!  As the lady at the post office applauded and showered me with congratulatory praise, I opened my official Bachelor of Science diploma, beaming, I’m sure!  Yea!  I brought it to work to show off, and my dear, dear friend and maid of honor, C, has been announcing it wherever we go, bringing out smiles and praise and congratulations from all around me.  Finally getting hold of Mr. W, I gave him my wonderful news, to which I was first ignored, then given a half ass, forced, not even trying to show any emotion at all (unless boredom is an emotion) “yea, you got your diploma.” Period**.  Hmmm….if I hadn’t already been choking back tears for days and therefore mastered the art, I’m sure that would have brought on quite the waterworks.  Nice.  Well, at least my less than personal friend co-workers are happy for me. 

**His excuse? “You graduated months ago and haven’t been excited or brought it up until today.”  Well today I got my Pretty Piece of Paper!  My countless hours, thousands of dollars, and days off my life due to stress have amounted to something concrete, finally.  Excuse my hopes for some small amount of validation.  *Sigh*

I’ve been playing hooky from my blog lately.  Not exactly sure why.  Maybe I’m tired of whining about how I feel.  Maybe I’m having some guilt about blogging when there are a MILLION other things I should be doing that I’m just not.  Maybe I’m being lazy.  Whatever it is, maybe I’m over it.  Maybe I’m not. 

So how do I feel I (don’t) hear you ask.  Well.  Lyme disease sucks.  It really does.  Physically, I have more bad days than good days.  There is pain, pretty much everywhere.  Some days it’s not so bad.  Some days it’s excruciating.  Think of a body part…yeah, it hurts there too.  So that’s fun.  Also, there is the “floaters,”  the harmless little black lines and spots everyone has in their eyes from time to time.  Only, mine are multiplying like horny rabbits and are always there.  Seriously, the words on my computer screen are dancing right now.  It makes reading anything very difficult.  And a new addition to the eye thing: now there are white, or bright spots along with the black spots.  It must be similar to what celebrities see after being flashed with a thousand flashbulbs on a regular basis.  My ears, constantly ringing.  Constantly.  It’s like after going to a really good rock concert, only I don’t get the perk of actually going to a really good rock concert.  It makes me very sensitive to sounds.  Annoying sounds are that much more annoying.  Loud sounds are that much louder and more grating.  Even whisper sounds drive me nuts.  I’m seriously craving a sensory deprivation chamber right about now, but all my problems are internal, so that probably wouldn’t work anyway.  I’m nauseous, and my appetite fluctuates between famished and I never want to eat again.  I almost always have a headache.  At the moment (I think) I am developing a nasty cold, since I’m stuffy about 50% of the time and there is a golfball-sized lump where my left lymph node should be in my neck.  My hands and feet swell randomly.  I’m tired and achy when I wake up in the morning, every morning.  After my shower (at $5 per shower thanks to needing a 6×6 tagaderm patch just to take a shower…gift ideas anyone?) and coffee, I am fairly awake for about 2 hours, then back to sheer exhaustion until I finally make it to bed at night.  I have cotton mouth pretty much all the time thanks to the pain meds, which don’t full work.  I get horrible stomach and muscle cramps thanks to the antibiotic infusions every 12 hours.  And now I’m on ADHD meds for the severe memory lapses and brain fog, so who knows what kind of side effects that will bring.  The antibiotics are also bringing about all the “normal” antibiotic side effects: candida, indigestion, digestive issues, upset stomach, etc, etc.  Probiotics are holding it off to a tolerable level, but then that just adds another couple pills a day to choke down.  Yea! 

Then there is the emotional stuff.  Long term pain = depression, of some sort or another.  I’m cranky most of the time, which I very unfairly take out on Mr. W (who is taking this all very well considering) and my kids, unfortunately.  (If only the ex-men would call more often to take the brunt of the crank!)  I’m feeling extremely unattractive, undesirable, un-everything thanks to a new, very short hair cut that I’m really  not liking (the showering thing, it only made sense to make my “getting ready” routine as easy as possible),  the bloat/weight gain that makes it difficult and uncomfortable to get dressed in anything but sweats, and, oh yeah, there’s the 4 inch long tube sticking out of my chest, just above my left boob, which requires wearing a sports bra to bed every night, and I’m already pretty flat in that area.  Like I need the extra compression.  My upper body has become a no fly zone, and with my flat-chested sports bra “lingerie” and my extremely short hair, I’m feeling more an more like a boy in the bedroom.  Not so great for the “mood,” at least on my part anyway.

Aren’t you glad you asked? 

Beyond the Lyme, I’m prepping for Christmas, which incidentally will be held over New Years in my house as the kidlets are with their dads this year.  Money is tight, but on-line shopping has provided me with some fantastic deals over the last couple months.  Yea for being proactive in something. 

Mr. W got a new job, starting just after Christmas.  Fortunately it’s like a 40% pay raise and in the field he loves.  Unfortunately, his office is about a 1 1/2 hour commute each way, even with public transportation, and his hours may be sporadic due to the type of work he will be doing.  So he won’t be home much during the week.  But we will be moving somewhere near the middle in the early Spring, and hopefully his new connections up there will throw out some info on jobs in my field of work and then we can move all the way up there.  I’m not planning on changing jobs any time soon…well at least until after I A) graduate, also early spring, and B) get the tube out of my chest and resolve all of my health issues.  “Nice to meet you on my first day of work.  By the way, I’m going to need to work a half day once a week so I can meet my home nurse, and I need at least 2 days off a month for doctors visits, and will probably average 1 other day off a week for just general sickness, and that doesn’t even touch any kid-related time off…thanks for the job.”  Yeah, I’m sure that would go over well with a new or potential employer. 

And speaking of new jobs, one of my best girlfriends is starting today at her new job, here, with me.  Yea!!  We met briefly in basic training (different squadrons there), and went on to Tech school together.  Although we were in different classes for the same career field, we had the same circle of friends and lived in the same hall.  We went to our first base together and managed to work out being roommates there.  Our friendship didn’t do so well in the dorm setting.  She was a party girl and I grew tired of that pretty fast as I was more interested in boys, and yes I do mean boys.  Looking back, I had pretty shitty taste in males!  I married ex #1, despite her loathing of him and warnings about him.  I even left her off the guest list to our wedding.    Anyway, we both eventually transferred and went on with our lives.  You know my story.  She went over-seas.  Grew up a lot.  Had a son.  Moved back stateside, and we reconnected about 5 years later, our friendship re-growing on a much more adult level.  Long story short, she was looking for more security for her and her boy, and my office was looking for more reliable new employees.  I introduced the two and wa-la.  She starts today.  All around, it’s great.  I have a close friend who is actually geographically close.  My kids and her son get along great, and they all have had a shortage of “at home” friends up to this point in their lives.  And she’s getting the security and benefits she needs for her and her son, while working decent hours.  I get a reliable, hard co-worker among a group of (mostly) assholes and slackers.  Win-win-win all around!

So that’s that.  I’m successfully dizzy from watching the letters dance on my screen, my fingers are starting to tingle from actually using them.  And I need a smoke and a coffee refill.  Oh, yeah, and I should probably get to at least one of those previously mentioned MILLION things I need to get done, like, yesterday.

Just in case I slack on the blog again for a while…

The so-called “honeymoon phase” of a relationship is a grand and wonderful thing.  Everything seems to fall away in the presence of, or even a mere thought of that new(ish) someone special.  One can easily pass hours, days, weeks without even realizing.  Time is easily filled with just being together.  *sigh* And how long does it last?  I guess it’s different for different people in different situations.  I suppose it could easily go on for years with a young couple in the prime of their lives and careers, with no kids or severe responsibilities.  When talking and love-making are all that’s really important. 

Someone recently told me “you can’t stop the Earth from spinning.”  It’s true.  You can’t.  I’ve tried.  Oh, to hold on to those honeymoon times forever.  To shed responsibility and live in the rapture that is new love.  It feels almost as if the Earth has stopped spinning for those moments…almost.  But in the end it all comes back into focus in jarring reality.  Life does in fact go on, and responsibilities still sit at your door and wait for you, no matter how long it takes for you to come out. 

Mr. W and I have a fantastic relationship.  In the beginning, we were fully enchanted with the honeymoon stages of things.  Responsibilities fell away and things like sleep just didn’t feel important.  Of course, this was also before the boy started school and my kids were still on the 2 weeks here, 2 weeks there rotation, so, no, I did not totally cast off all responsibility for a piece of ass, thank you very much.  Anyway.  Right around the time we moved in together and he left for Iraq, all that slowing of the Earth on its axis snapped back with full force and we’ve been struggling to recover ever since. 

There are: kid issues, health issues (oh, my are there health issues!), a need for sleep that can’t be ignored, insomnia (on both our parts), schedules with my exes, schedules with his ex, schedules with work, schedules with family, pets, holidays, time off, sick time, working, college, schools, housework, yard work, financial issues, stresses from all sides, creative transportation arranging (i.e. carting kids here and there), doctors appointments for 6 different people, dentist appointments, braces, learning to drive, buying a car, buying a house, selling a house, moving, storing, decluttering, organizing, Christmas shopping, dinners, lunches, groceries, cooking, planning, exercising, not exercising, great intentions and epic fails…the list of life goes on and on…and on.

It all seems to have come at once, knocking us square on our asses, struggling to regain our footing in the world, that damn spinning world.  But we are doing it together.  We are side by side in all of it, helping each other get a foothold here, dragging each other down as we slip there, but together through it all.  In the end, what more could you really ask for? 

I don’t think a successful relationship can be judged purely on happiness.  Seriously.  No one, no one in the world is 100% happy 100% of the time.  It’s not possible.  Unless they secretly found a way to stop the Earth from spinning and are happily living in one of their moments of happiness, but I highly doubt it.  The glory of life is it’s ups and downs.  How can you possibly know how good things are now if they’ve never been bad?  How can you know true happiness if you’ve never felt sadness?  How can you  know the true height of joy if you’ve never seen the true depth of despair?  Good and evil must coexist in order to be, so how could the same not hold true to the other pairs?  Mr. W and I have both been to the lowest of lows and have come out the other side fully ready to appreciate the high that is us.  We’ve had heartbreak and have mended each other’s hearts.  We’ve had despair and brought tears of joy to each other’s eyes.  We’ve been broken and have worked to put each other back together again.  That’s just how we roll. 

The best of the best?  We are just there.  Through the hard and the bad and the sad and the stressing, we are there.  No time in our relationship (so far) has been harder than now.  But we are still there.  All those things I listed above, all those responsibilities and “problems,”  yeah, we’ve got them.  Even without the added external stresses (kids, jobs, schools, etc, etc) we have quite literal “shit” going on just with us, or more to the point, me.  My Lyme disease = pain (physical for me, emotional for him), moodiness on both sides, stress, worry, and more stress, financial difficulty (yeah, doctors’ bills.  Gotta love ‘em!), and limits in just about everything, and really, who likes having limits?  But he’s there.  He’s here.  He stands by me.  Yes, sometimes he has trouble accepting his role of stand-next-to-er and tries to do that man thing of trying to fix everything.  But he’s working on that.  I can see where it’s hard to be helpless in all this.  To witness so much pain and suffering and not be able to do a thing about it.  I understand. 

And he tries. 

And we do it all together.  As best friends, as lovers, as soul-mates, as the most wonderful us we can be.  Together. 

******************************************************************************************************************************************************** 

I’m getting my chest port/Groshong catheter put in on Friday morning.  I’m freaking the hell out!  He quit smoking already, for me, and for him, and for me.  He said he finally has a reason to want to live a long healthy life.  All together now: *awwww*    I’m quitting too, although not as abruptly, or successfully.  But it’s hard to quit when you are freaking the hell out about something less than a week away.  He gets it without my explanation.  He accepts my weakness and loves me still.  Would you still love me if I were 400lbs?  Would you still love me if I lost all my hair?  Will you still love me when I’m old?  Will you still love me with a 4″ long tube sticking out of my chest? 

Of course he will.  And I call him Mr. Wonderful!

I’m having so many issues dealing with the boy lately.  Well, we, as in the couple-y we, are having issues dealing with the boy.  He is whiny and disrespectful and totally ignores everything we say, repeat, scream-at-the-top-of-our-lungs.  He fights constantly over everything.  Eating, sleeping, getting dressed, brushing his teeth, getting in the car, getting out of the car, putting his coat on, putting his shoes on, drinking water, juice, milk, soda (yeah, I don’t give him soda but his dad does.  That’s where the fight comes from).  It NEVER. ENDS.  EVER. 

Yesterday I smacked him in the shower.  It was ridiculous.  I swear he was doing (or not doing) everything he possibly could to piss me off.  I swear he was doing it on purpose.  Ok, yes.  I realize he is 5 going on 6 and probably (definitely) doesn’t have thoughts that complex and vindictive.  But at 6 am, after days, weeks, months of fighting and yelling and threatening, it just really seems that way.  And at dinner last night, we took a trip to the bathroom to discuss what was and was not going to happen for the rest of the night.  It sort of worked.

I am battling within myself with all of this.  I am a daddy’s girl through and through, and I can’t help but draw from the parenting I received as a child.  My dad’s way of thinking goes something like this:  I am the parent and you are the child. Period.  You don’t argue with a child.  There is no option.  The parent talks and the child listens and obeys.  Failing that, the parent makes the child listen, even if it takes some additional “punctuation” to get the point across.  My visits to the bathroom with my dad were much less about talking and much more about punctuation, not-so-fondly referred to as “boot therapy.”  It’s just the way things were.  My dad gave it to me much kinder than he received from his father.  My grandfather was more of the closed-fist punch  now, oh, yeah, and no talking later.  I’ve heard that I was the first child he ever hugged…or smiled at…  He had 4 of his own.

I don’t want to spank my kids.  I’ve fought the urge with (mostly) success.  Mostly.  But some days, more often lately, it’s just, difficult.  How do you convince a 5 year old to listen?  It’s not as if you can use logic.  It’s not as if they will just trust that you know what’s best.  There is threatening, but even that comes up empty in the end.  What can I take, what can I do, how do I punish, or even better, how do we get past this to avoid any need for punishment in the first place? 

• Time outs: don’t work.  They sit, and then they get up and seem to forget those 4, 5, 6 minutes even happened. 
• Grounding: doesn’t work.  (see above).  Plus I hate it.  Ground one kid and the whole family loses from it.  No excursions.  No playing.  No fun. 
• Taking things that are precious:  doesn’t work.  (see above again)  Plus there is always something else to play with.  In a pinch, my kids can play with a sock and a pencil for hours.  They are just creative that way.

Obviously yelling and screaming doesn’t do anything.  It makes for tears and bad feelings, usually on the part of all parties involved.  And then it just happens again.  And spanking.  Just not an option.  When I’m in a pinch, I can usually use my words and logic to get the point across, to get someone to agree with me and do as I say.  Yeah, not so much with the kids.  So what is left? 

And the whole thing is draining.  I’m tired.  Mr. W is tired.  The boy is tired.  We are cranky.  We are stubborn.  We are not thinking clearly.  It all snowballs on itself, day after day after week after month.  We are being slowly crushed under the weight of the massive, growing snowball.  It just sucks.  It feels like we can’t even dig ourselves out at this point.  It feels like spring will never come to melt some of this weight.  It feels, bad.  All relationships are suffering.  Mr. W and I are fighting.  The boy wants to trade Mr. W in for a cat.  The boy thinks I don’t love him because he’s bad, no matter how many times I tell him I do, more than anything in the world I do.  Mr. W thinks the boy doesn’t like him, and the cat thing doesn’t help.  I’m trying to balance my relationship with the two men in my life while simultaneously balancing their relationship as a pseudo-go-between for them.  It’s all just so very draining. 

Help?

Trust is a strange animal.  Just when you think you have tamed the beast.  House trained it.  Gotten it to eat from your hand…it bites your hand right off.  Bucks you to the ground.  Mauls you in front of your friends.  Ok, so I had a moment.  Maybe I have many moments, but they most of them pass by without a second thought.  This moment, not so much.

Mr. W and I have an open door policy to all of our so-called private areas.  Head out of the gutters, folks.  Not those private areas (although we have that too) but the private areas like email accounts, facebook, my blog, bank accounts, phones (calls and texts).  Those private areas.  I know all his passwords and pins and what nots, and he knows mine.  We have no qualms about the other randomly checking in.  Honestly.  Honesty.  Full disclosure.  (it’s how we tame the beast.)  Most of the time, we don’t access what is openly accessible, because the animal is curled up on the rug in front of the fire snoring away in perfect tranquility.  Most of the time.  But something stirred for me yesterday…

We’ve been (he’s been) working with a lawyer to get “her” name off the deed to his/our house.  The paperwork came back yesterday, so I looked at it out of simple curiosity.  Yea!  Free and clear.  “She” is no longer attached in any way to our life.  As I scanned the page, I subconsciously, or maybe consciously…who knows, noted “her” phone number.  Minutes later, I realized that Mr. W had left his cell in my car charging.  Hmmm… So in the brief minutes of driving separately to IHOP for dinner* the animal woke completely and apparently wanted something to gnaw on…say, like my hand.  As I scrolled through recent calls, “her” number was there.  He called her.  Monday.  But why?  He hadn’t mentioned anything to me about it.  He always does.  Why? 

There are two things you should know here, which you may already know, or not. 

1.  She has a blog.  I read it.  It’s like a car crash.  I just can’t help myself!  She recently posted about wanting to break up with her current beau and an unnamed ex popping back up into her life in misery about his own current relationship.  He called her.  They drank together… Mr. W had drill two weekends ago in that neck of the woods………
2. The first time the animal attacked was the last time I took a walk through Mr. W’s cell phone.  It was over a year ago, and I found out about an earth-shattering heart-shattering small indiscretion on his part…involving “her” and a late night visit… I forgave him then, and I still forgive him. 

So those two thoughts in my head, combined with my own normal insecurity, combined with my new insecurities about all the stress I’ve brought into Mr. W’s life (kids, bad habits, health issues, etc, etc) gave the animal a dose of crack with a sugar chaser and it promptly bit my hand clean off.  Needless to say, in the name of honesty and openness, I waited a whole day and asked Mr. W about the found call this morning.  He explained.  It made 100% sense.  I’m nursing my (self-inflicted) wounds, and the animal is back sleeping cozily by the fire.  Or is it?

I think trust is one of those animals you can never quite be sure is tame.  Kind of like a wildebeest or a bobcat or a polar bear.  The slightest wrong move, wrong thought can send it off on a rampant killing spree, randomly mauling all the innocent (presumably) bystanders in its path.  A friend asked me if I have trust issues.  She asked if I trust Mr. W.  Without hesitation, my answer is yes.  But then why did I look in his phone?  I could say it’s because of that one incident, but then why did I look then?  Why do I read her blog?  Why do I think those thoughts?  Do I really not trust him?  But I do! 

I trust Mr. W with my life, my love, my children, my heart, my everything.  He is all of those things to me and so much  more.  Ok, so not my child, per se, but I have the same loving affection and caring for him as I do for my children so in a way, kind of.  When he gave me the explanation of the call, I believed him immediately.  Not an ounce of hesitation.  That’s trust, right?  When he told me about the first incident, I was hurt, crushed really, but I never questioned the end of the story.  (Well, maybe not out loud) He told me that’s what happened, and I believed him.  I believe him.  I trust him.  But then…why…?

Is it possible to trust completely?  Is it possible never, ever to doubt, to wonder, to question?  Can we as humans do it?  Can I?  Can you?

*The boy thought pancakes for dinner at IHOP was the greatest invention EVER!

So after totally inundating myself with information, and then cleaning up the mess after my brain exploded all over my desk, I finally called my mom.  My mom is, well, my mom,  but she is also an RN who has been nursing for over 35 years.  She’s had the formal training, but unfortunatly a giant majority of her nursing time has been spent in the psych ward, so while she gave me her opinio, she insisted that I talk to my step father about it.  So she called him and had him call me. 

Initially when I told him of my dilemma, he immediately went full Portacap (chest thingy).  He explained both procedures to me, and took into account my lifestyle in his recommendation.  The Portacap isn’t exposed (unlike my previous assumptions) so the risk of infection is crazy-reduced.  It’s actually inserted underthe skin and virtually undetectable, except for the little scar opening to put it in.  The needle that is used pierces the skin to access the cap.  The PICC line, on the other hand is “like two half-straws dangling from your bicep” all. the. time.  So there is the risk of infection, sepsis (that nasty thing you can DIE from), and of course there’s the aesthetics of it, even with a sleeve to cover.  So he was all about the chest port…until I mentioned that my needle would remain in me for a week at a time since the plan is for once or twice daily infusions.  Would that be an issue with my kids?  With my activity level?  Which, granted isn’t the highest on a 1-10 scale, but still…  At that point, he reluctantly changed his recommendation.  He was thinking on a dialysis point of view, where treatments are two or three times a week, so the needles are removed after each treatment.  He admitted the whole needle-sticking-out-of-my-chest thing was a little more risky than the PICC line, so yeah, go with the PICC.   And then he proceeded to tell me in VERY. DETAILED. INSTRUCTIONS. all the things I will do and need to do and should do and shouldn’t do, yada, yada, yada.  Don’t get me wrong.  I totally appreciate the information and advice.  Small doses are better for me at the moment though.  My memory is, well, non-existent at the moment. 

Seriously.  I have to write notes to  myself on my hands during the day.  Hopefully between washing my hands in the bathroom and getting back to my desk I can remember what it is I washed off so I can rewrite it.  And then I count on Mr. W seeing it when I get home so I will actually remember what it is I needed to remember.  Yeah.  It’s like that.  I can’t even remember how I started this post.  The fabulous Girl from the Ghetto left me some comments on a couple other posts from late last week (I think) and I had to go back and read my posts because I had no idea what she was talking about!  Yeah, that bad.  Losing your mind really sucks!

Ok, I re-read what I started this post with, and in case any of you are wondering, I’m aiming for the PICC line.  It makes more sense for me, and it’s technically the short-term option, and I’m holding on to the hope that this will be a short-term treatment…hope, hope, hope…  Of course, that may all change when I see the surgeon on Monday for my consultation, or my veins collapse during the procedure, or I throw up all over the nurse during the procedure…  In case any of you are totally twisted interested enough to want to see what is going to happen, search “PICC LINE” on Youtube.  There are oodles of videos of people actually getting it done.  Strangely, I couldn’t watch.  Normally that sort of thing doesn’t bother me, but something about knowing I was actually going to have it done made my stomach turn in a way I’ve never felt before.  Of course, stranger than that is that there are actually VIDEOS ON YOUTUBE OF THE PROCEDURE!  Freaky! 

Oh, one other symptom I don’t think I’ve mentioned before: Floaters.  In my eyes.  I’ve always had them, but now, they’ve gone all bunny-like on me and there’s like a million little floater babies and aunties and uncles and grandparents.  It’s a freakin floater family reunion in there!  Makes staring at a radar screen and discerning between an airplane return and something in my eye a little difficult.  Plus my vision has been cycling in and out of fuzzy for weeks, so, yeah…

And because I can’t remember if I’ve ever posted all my symptoms for all you lovelies who care (or don’t, but you’re still reading, so yeah), here is a rough list:

• stiffness and cracking in my neck and shoulders
• joint pain, started with the knee, now in every joint
• (see above) arthritis-like stiffness and pain in my fingers and toes (typing sucks. writing is worse)
• headaches
• insomnia
• floaters (in the eyes)
• fuzzy vision
• acid reflux
• migraines (not to be confused with headaches, two TOTALLY different animals here)
• short term memory loss
• long term memory “issues”
• “brain fog” ie. forgetting why I went to the fridge by the time I get there, forgetting names, can’t find words, using wrong words, spelling simple words wrong, lost thoughts, inability to concentrate, inability to take in information, etc, etc, etc
• “urinary issues” ie, I need to pee constantly, or can’t pee
• mood swings
• depression (esp. post-partum)
• anxiety
• body pain that feels like it’s in the bone (not an official symptom name, but I can’t remember what it actually is)
• heart palpitations
• indigestion
• “bowel issues” (yeah, not going there)
• nausea
• vomiting
• fatigue
• muscle weakness
• muscle spasms
• muscle pain
• can’t hear (or maybe I just can’t decipher, but either way, most of the time I have  no idea what’s going on)
• constant ringing in my ears

I’m sure there are more, but have I mentioned?  I can’t remember shit!  Seriously.  I had to go back to see if I had written insomnia 5 symptoms after I wrote insomnia!  Blah!

Update: There are things I left of the list that are just a little to personal to post.  And there was something I wanted to add, but went to the bathroom after publishing, and subsequently forgot by the time I got back to my computer.   Also, I forgot to title this post.  This. totally. sucks!

I have this horrible habit of over-studying.  Not so much with things I should be studying, like you know, school work and stuff.  But more the things that I know are going to make me totally crazy.  Like Lyme disease.  Since being diagnosed, I have inundated myself with facts, anecdotes, and stories of Lyme sufferers around the globe, looking for some sibilance of understanding about this thing I have inside me.  And now, since agreeing to go on IV antibiotics, I’ve been scouring the inter-web for stories, pictures, information about PICC lines and Groshong catheters and Portacaths, oh, my!  To the point that my head is spinning so fast that I literally feel a little dizzy from it all.  Why do I do this to myself?  Oh, yeah.  I’m a total freak! 

I was initially set on getting whatever put in my chest…more specifically in the upper part of my chest, a little below my clavicle.  Now, I just don’t know.  I’ve talked to a nurse.  A nurse manager actually at the place that will be providing my in-home infusion treatments/checking.  She gave me invaluable information about the whole thing, but I’m still confused.  There are pros and cons about both and I’m trying to think logically about the whole thing, but it’s so very foreign to me that I’m having a hard time being logical.  Besides that, I’m trying not to let vanity get the best of me, but in all honesty, it is.  There is the discomfort of tubes hanging out of my arm verses the idea of a permanent scar on my chest.  Even today, I’m wearing a top that would display that area for all the world to see…

I’m reaching out to everyone I know for help in deciding.  I don’t know if my indecision is just me, or if it has to do with the Lyme, or my unbalanced chi or what.  Two sessions ago, my acupuncturist actually posed the question to me of whether I was having trouble making decisions.  I couldn’t even decide how to answer her.  Hmmm…you think!  The trouble is I don’t really know anyone who can give me an opinion I would really trust.  That makes this all the more difficult.  I’m trying to reach my mom (an RN), well, honestly I’m trying to reach my stepfather, a medical nurse, for his opinion on it all.  He’s very well educated and quite frankly my mom isn’t the best for decision making either, especially when it comes to me.  It seems like all her medical training flies right out the window when she is dealing with someone she loves.  But I’m not sure if I totally trust my stepfather’s opinions either.  Some kind of residual I know better than my parents thing hanging on for dear life somewhere deep inside me.  So what to do? 

I know I don’t get many comments here, but really, I could use the help.  So if any of you stumbling across my blog have any experience with Lyme disease or even with PICC lines, Portacaths, groshong catheters, or any of the other random ports that they could conceivably put in my body in the next couple weeks, please, please, please leave me a comment, throw me some advice, even an anecdote of your experience.  It would be much appreciated!

I know it’s been awhile, but, yeah, life is sucking right now.  Well, not totally sucking, but stressful.  Totally stressful.  And a little bit of sucking.  Adding to the stress.  So overall…

First the good news:

The boy does not have Lyme Disease!!  Yea!!  But the bad news accompanying it: He does have an Iron deficiency.  Which would explain his extreme tiredness and general crankiness, all. the. time.  But that means he needs another blood test to see exactly what the deficiency is and how bad.  Yeah, suckiness.

Also on the good news front, we may be selling the house, like soon.  We got an official offer two days ago and are now hashing out the details of the deal.  Yea!  But the stress with it: we have to find a new house (to buy or rent) pack this house, and move by the end of November.  Yeah, suckiness.  The possible buyers are first-timers so they are hoping to get in on that $8000 tax thing that ends November 30th.  Yea!  Nothing like a rush to get your blood pumping!  Did I mention suckiness?

So, some good news, but a lot of stress.  Stress is great.  It’s wonderful.  It helps with sleep, and bodily healing, and relationships and everything! (I figure if I keep saying it maybe it will come true…)

And then there is the Lyme, which pretty much encompasses everything bad in my life.  Ever.  Seriously.

So, I’m not getting better.  This all started in July, and 3 months later I’m actually getting worse.  The pain, while not as severe (or maybe it is and my tolerance is just getting higher) is getting more widespread.  Like my entire body. The. Whole. Thing.  So there’s that.  But also, I’m getting new symptoms.  I think I mentioned my spinal tap, you know, when they removed my spinal fluid from my spine! Yeah, that was fun.  Anyway, it came back negative for MS, and also for brain damage.  Yea, right?  But wait, there’s more.  I’m having increased neurological symptoms. Memory lapses, poor short and long term memory.  Temper flares (severe).  Mood swings (also severe).  Difficulty (major) concentrating on anything. Speech problems.  Not actually speaking, but finding words..simple words.  Even typing this is difficult at the moment.  So no brain damage…yet.  Pain is part to blame for the mood swings and general brain fog too.  It’s very distracting to be in pain all. the. time.  I’ve heard that when you break something or experience some severe trauma that your brain shuts off the pain receptors to protect you.  That doesn’t seem to be the case for long term pain.  Long term, fluctuating, total body pain.  Yep, the pain receptors keep on functioning perfectly.  It’s hard.   On my body.  On my mind.  On my mood.  On my entire being.  But, yeah, that’s the rest of it.  Basically, the doc figures the little bastards that are causing the Lyme have found their way to my brain and while they haven’t damaged it yet, they may.  The spinal tap and MRI won’t show them since they are little bastards bacteria actually inside my brain, so without the damage there is no way of for sure knowing they are there.  But by symptom tracking (the best friend to any Lyme sufferer anywhere!) we are pretty sure they are in there.  So, agressive medicine time.

I’m getting an IV line put in.  I have basically two options here, both not appealing, both having a time frame of 1 to 3 months, or longer, depending on how I respond.

Option 1: a Picc line.

They put a line in my arm into my vein (or artery, whatever) and I self administer the antibiotics twice a day.

Option 2: a portcap.

They put a quarter sized cap thats about a half inch thick in my chest, either just below the clavicle, or possibly under my breast (for appearance sake only).  Then they stab the cap with a needle (the needle gets changed weekly) and leave it there for me to self-administer the antibiotics.

Both lines are run through my body to about the same area, going towards my heart.  The Picc line is cheaper, and won’t leave as big a scar, but it’s in my arm, which I tend to use more than my chest.  Also, I have these two 45lb people I routinely carry around with my arm, so yeah, there’s that.  The port is a more extensive “surgery” so I get to be put out (bonus) but of course that means more money for the anesthesiologist and all.  And besides, not a fan of those guys anyway.  There is a slightly greater chance of sepsis with the Picc line.  Sepsis is when an infection gets in your blood and you go on a nice date with Death, hopefully leading to nothing more than a good-night kiss, but with a good posibility of a love at first sight moment lasting for all eternity.  Yeah, that serious.  But the place the IV hooks to is much more secure, and smaller.

Besides the implant, I also will have a nurse.  Yep.  My very own home-visiting nurse.  She (or he) will come to the house to show me how to administer my antibiotics when I first get it.  Then she will visit once a week to change my dressing, check my lines and site, and if I get a port, change my needle.  This goes on,well, until it’s done.  Like I said, estimating 1 to 3 months for now, but who knows.  Yeah, complete and utter suckiness!

Mr. W isn’t doing well with all this.  He hasn’t for any of this really, but now it’s worse.  We are fighting, well, technically we aren’t even talking at the moment, but that’s from not wanting to fight.  I’m hurting and cranky and bitchy and hiding it all the best I can (apparently not the bitchy part) because I don’t feel like I can talk to him about it all.  It’s not just that he stresses, but I feel like somehow he’s making it about him.  And it’s not about him, dammit!  My mom does the same thing so I just learned not to tell her anything.  I don’t want it to be like that with him.  I’m so frustrated with it all.  I need a vent.  I need someone to spew to who will just listen and comfort me and not try to fix everything and not get visibly stressed everytime I bring it up.  I need to be held and babied a little.  I need someone to tell me everything is going to be alright, even if neither of us believe it.  I need to believe it, even if it’s just for that moment in time.  I’m scared.  I’m frustrated.  I’m depressed.  I’m in pain.  I’m not doing well at all and I have to fake the funk for work, for my kids, for my parents, well my mom at least, for the ex-men.  I’m tired.  Tired of the pain.  Tired of being sick.  Tired of being limited.  Tired of faking it.  Just tired of everything.  Yeah, not doing well at all.

So, that’s where I’m at today.  Tomorrow will be a new day.  Maybe better, maybe worse.  Maybe the same.  At least it’s one day closer to something else…although I don’t know what that something else is yet.  Just getting through today…

Positive thoughts. Positive thinking. Positive intentions. Positive crap?  I don’t know.  I’m feeling rather blah right about now.  I’ve done all the right things and yet, still struggling.  I wear the right clothes.  Dress for the job you want, not for the job you have.  I say the right things.  Correction does much but encouragement does more.  I think the right thoughts.  It will all work out in the end.  I try to think positive, speak positive, be positive, and yet, here I am.  I sit at work, well-dressed, and pounding away at my blog in frustration. 

Things get better, things get worse.  Moods get higher, moods get low. 

Wednesday Mr. W was stressing about life, I think.  Schedules and need-to-dos and stress itself was stressing him out.  I tried to calm him, make him see it really wasn’t all that bad, be positive, say the right words.  I think it worked, and Friday, we, as a family, had a great day.  We went to the fair.  Ate lots of junk.  Won prizes (including two more immortal fair-fish).  Saw baby pigs race. Watched (and smelled) stinky farm animals.  It was a good day.  We rounded it out with an evening at home with three of the four children.  Saturday he left for drill…and my children turned into assholes.  Yep, I said it: ASSHOLES!! 

Why is it that it takes exactly THREE times being told for my children to do something.  ALWAYS THREE TIMES!  Not one (which is the ideal), not two, not four, not fifteen.  THREE.  WHY?  Not listening.  Saying the same word or making the same noise over and over and over and over AND OVER again.  Fighting with each other.  Fighting with me.  Bossing everyone around.  Making demands.  Fussing when demands aren’t met.  Yeah, this went on for THE.  ENTIRE.  WEEKEND.  After the fair, and a movie (Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs…in 3D…absolutely awesome!) and nothing but fun and spoiling for two days!  So Sunday morning I made them get up and clean the house.  Yes, I made my 4 and 5 year old clean my house.  That’s just how I roll.  Unfortunately (as it was meant for punishment) and fortunately (as I would rather them have fun with laughter and smiles any day) they thoroughly enjoyed cleaning, so, yeah… AND, the girl, still in the final stages of potty training: overnights, wet her bed both Friday and Saturday night.  That, for those of you who don’t know, meant four loads of laundry right there (two times for the comforter, two times for the sheets and waterproof bed cover thingy).  Not regular laundry either.  Stinky, pee laundry.  Not to be combined with anything else laundry.  Extra long wash times in extra hot water laundry.  Big bulky blanket laundry that takes longer to dry.  So a total of 5 hours, per day, tied up in her bed clothes.  Yeah, the regular laundry did NOT get done…so shoot me. 

Mr. W was home again Sunday afternoon.  I was still a bit cranky from the weekend FROM HELL and probably took it out on him.  Although I can’t imagine I would EVER do something so hideous…  Apparently we were fighting when we went to bed last night.  Something about dirty socks being inside out and an annoyingly squeaky spot in the floor.  I guess I missed it.  But he’s still mad at me.  Weird.  Frustratingly weird.  So frustratingly weird that my intentions to get a jump start on my homework (yep, started another class today) are all dashed over the rocks of frustrating weirdness, being beat down further by blah and negativity.

Why is it everytime I think I’m in a good place, with good intentions, with a positive outlook on life, SOMETHING (fate, God, the Universe, whatever!)  HAS TO GO AND SMACK ME UPSIDE THE HEAD WITH A FREAKING SLEDGEHAMMER TO LET ME KNOW JUST WHERE MY PLACE IN LIFE ACTUALLY IS: AT THE FREAKING BOTTOM, APPARENTLY!?   

So in the middle of trying to be positive, to stay ahead, to plan painting and packing and purchasing a house, to be organized, to avoid the stress and struggle, to get done, be done, to just find happiness… I’m, no we’re struggling and stressing (and apparently fighting) and being so freaking negative we are probably walking around backwards.