Melancholy Baby

We've spent this week prepping for and finally going to court yesterday on Big Kid's disability hearing. He was so nervous and scared that he burst into tears. My poor baby boy.

It was so very very hard to testify about why we had to make him move out and about his rage attacks when he's manic. Basically I had to say on the record what an unbelievable sh*thead he can be. It hurt him. It hurt me. We've tried to accentuate the positive all of Big Kid's life and to help him have good self-esteem. And to let him know---even at his worst---that we will always love him very much.

There's only so many times that someone can spit in your face and scream that you're a "f*cking c*nt" before it starts killing something inside you, I told the judge. I know it's his illness, but it has devastated our entire family.

Then I cried too.

He seemed sympathetic, and we have the medical affidavits from the doctors and therapist who have treated Big Kid for years. Plus an affirmative affidavit from their OWN expert. How a pencil pusher who has never met him could take a statement he made to his therapist over a year ago out of context to deny his original petition (his therapist asked Big Kid what he saw himself doing in 5 years, and the kid flippantly replied, "Laying on my mom's couch and playing video games" because he didn't want to discuss it) is baffling to me.

He's trying to live in his own place and is taking college courses. The point is that he is trying to make a life for himself. Unfortunately his health insurance will run out in a year, and if that happens, who knows what we'll do.

Keep your fingers crossed, would you?

xoxo

ATM

Oh, Stress Your Lil' Stinking Heart

Well this round of tests are done, and I just gotta say it:

I'm starting to feel like a 3 dollar ho.

Every time someone in a white coat or scrubs walks by I have an uncontrollable urge to flip my shirt up and show them my chest. Pavlov's dog and all that...

One of the tests I took was a stress test.

I don't know if it's the lazy person's stress test, or the physically impaired person's stress test or what, but it doesn't actually involve any treadmill running or jumping jacks or whatever they used to make you do. Which is good, because my right foot is still very tender and wouldn't look kindly to being jumped up and down on.

What they do now is basically give you a 5 minute push of adrenalin and halfway through give you a shot of radioactive isotopes that light your blood up so they can see how the blood flows through your heart at a stress rate and at a resting rate. The adrenalin will exit your system about 45 seconds after the push is done and the isotopes will continue to light you up like a Christmas tree for a few more hours or so. Because the adrenalin has such a short shelf life, they have to specially order the dose one day before the procedure.

While the medical assistant was wiring me for sound (I.V. in my arm, electrodes all over my chest and ankles which she attached to cables) she explained what the side effects of the adrenalin could be. Headache, nausea, difficulty breathing, rapid heart beat, pain or pressure in my throat and/or chest. Most patients experience one or more of these effects. Risks included me falling down dead of a sudden heart attack.

"But not to worry", she added cheerfully. "You're in an excellent cardiac facility!" Then she handed me a clipboard and told me to sign.

I read it and stopped. Uh, we have an issue. I don't weigh xxxxx (not telling, none of yer business! LOL).

She took the clipboard back. "Well you said you weighed this when we set up the procedure on December 11th."

Nooooo---What I said was that at the rate I was losing weight, I could possibly weigh 10 to 15 pounds less by now.

"I have to go get the doctor." And she left.

I started to get scared. Visions of a mouse in a microwave (me being the mouse) were racing through my head. You know me and what I mean. Ping...ping...ping----SPLAT!! From the inside out.

The MA came back with a doctor.

"It shouldn't be a problem if you're within the 10% range", he said. "What do you weigh now?"

I'm not sure (with all the weight I'd been losing I wasn't stepping on the scale every day. It was all freaking me out a bit).

So we had to go down the hall to a scale. Me with a shortie wrap gown covering my boobies, and the med assistant and doc carrying the wires that were attached to the electrodes trailing behind me like attendants at Dr. Octopus' wedding.

Whew. I was within the 10%. Barely. I calculated what all the wires might weigh and signed the form (with trepidation). Then I got back on the table.

The technician who was going to administer the adrenalin push and isotopes came in.

"Did the medical assistant explain all of the possible side effects?" he asked.

I assured him that she had.

"Let's go over it again. Headache, nausea, difficulty breathing, rapid heart beat, pain or pressure in your throat and/or chest. Most patients experience one or more of these effects. Risks include falling down dead of a sudden heart attack."

"But not to worry", he added cheerfully. "You're in an excellent cardiac facility!"

Gah!

Then the cardiologist who was going to monitor the whole procedure came in and introduced herself. Asked me if I knew what the possible side effects of the procedure was going to be.

I assured her that I knew.

"We just want to be sure that it's clear. Headache, nausea, difficulty breathing, rapid heart beat, pain or pressure in your throat and/or chest. Most patients experience one or more of these effects. Risks include falling down dead of a sudden heart attack."

"But not to worry", she added cheerfully. "You're in an excellent cardiac facility!"


I was seconds away from bursting into tears. From all the warnings, at this point the image in my mind of my heart (ok you guys know the weirdness that passes through MY noggin) was of the baby monster thing bursting through the chest of its host in the Alien movies. I was scared to death.

There was sort of a countdown. The I.V. was on my right side, the medical assistant was on my left with a blood pressure cuff on that arm. I turned my head to the left and focused on the medical assistant.

She took my blood pressure.

How is it? I asked.

"Good", she said. "Are you feeling ok?"

I'm fine. When are we going to start?

"We're already one and half minutes into it. I need to take your pressure again."

Whaaaa?

There was nuthin'. Really not a thing.

Ok, during the very last minute, I felt a little tightening at the base of my throat. The MA, the tech and the doc kept exclaiming that I was one of the "lucky ones" ---with what I thought was a little disappointment---who didn't need a crash cart and an extraordinary save. Could be my imagination. You know how overactive it is.

Anyhoo, they unwired me, but left a few electrodes stuck to my chest for the next phase. I had to go sit in the waiting room for 30 minutes to give the isotopes a chance to circulate before taking a bunch of pictures.

I promptly fell asleep from the adrenalin crash and had to be physically woken up when it was time. I was dreaming about having wild hot monkey sex with my hubby (seriously!) and had a little drool on my chin. Gak!

Got the results back. There's good news and bad news (in my opinion).

The good news is that everything is clean and clear. No blockages whatsoever, so no bypass surgery or rotorooting needed.

The bad news?

They still don't know why my heart is failing.

So that means in two weeks, more tests. Argh.

Peace.

ATM

TLPWSFB

I know I've had a bug up my behind lately about the AOL Welcome Screen headline writers (who I've come to think of as TLPWSFB---The League of People with Sh*t for Brains, courtesy of my old blogfriend Ma Titwonky).

For some reason, my inner editor just howls when I see what they post in order to lure the reader into clicking on the link (which usually takes you to a slow-loading 30-page pop-up montage where you have to click "next" to read each paragraph). When I read something particularly inane, I refuse to click on it---well most of the time---but it's as bothersome as a rotten tooth and rattles around in my noggin all day.

Here are some that have been noteworthy lately:

Big Man Loses it During Game

Loses what? His mind? His lunch? His bus pass? His virginity? And what does being "Big" have to do with it?

Cheap Way to Hydrate Face

Hello? Tapwater?

Keep the Juices Flowing;
How Parents of 17 Keep the Spark Alive

First of all, ewwww! Secondly, in my opinion, the last thing they need to worry about is keeping the spark alive. Somebody needs to buy them a freaking fire extinguisher and tell them to call it a night.

Are Breastfeeding Pics "Obscene"?

Well that depends. If the picture of the person being breast-fed is an infant, then I'd have to say no. If it was a picture of Larry, his brother Darryl and his other brother Darryl, then I'd go with "probably".

What Turns Men Off

Since they don't actually have an on-and-off switch, I imagine a cattle prod might be rather effective.

5 Ways to Become Truly Sexy

Do we really have to go there? Obviously farting in his face isn't on the top of the list.

Everyone Wants Angelina's Lips

What would they do with her lips if they got them? Pin them to a corkboard with the rest of the butterfly collection?

Sheesh!

Hope you all have a great weekend!

Time to Clean Up

Holidays are over, time to put it all away for the new year ahead...

Spanx For the Memories...

New Year's Eve was our wedding anniversary. Well, one of them anyway, because Hubby and I got married twice (funny story for another time).

Anyhoo, I wanted to go out to a fancy shmancy local restaurant to celebrate. I'll call it "European Cuisine", because we really DO like this place and the owner, and I don't want to inadvertently bring any embarrassment. Mostly my own, just in case somebody saw me at the end.

We agreed to get early reservations so we could get back home before the drunks started hitting the streets, and made arrangements for Little Guy to have an evening elsewhere.

And in preparation for the big night, I bought myself some Spanx.

For the uninitiated (which I was until recently) Spanx are a brand of shapewear---I guess a newer, trendier name for a girdle---that celebrities like Oprah and Gwenyth and Lindsay are singing praises for. They come in a variety of styles, and I picked the ones that go from waist to below the knee, kind of like long bike shorts.

I wanted to wear a slinky pants-set that I hadn't been able to wear for a skillion years and look sexy for mah man. You know what I mean. It's hard to get jiggy with it if you're jiggly with it.

And if strapping in the hips and tummy and loose stuff meant it would all squeeze down and give me enormous calves, who'd notice? I'd be wearing pants. At least my butt would look good!

As usual, nothing ever goes as planned. We didn't count on Little Guy.

"You know, I've never been to European Cuisine", he said with studied casualness early in the day. Rut row.

I'm aware of that. Hell, we've only been there three times in the last 10 years and had to take out an additional mortgage on the house each time.

"I've never tried French food before, " he said a little later.

You've had French Toast, I reminded him. And besides, I don't think European Cuisine is actually a French Restaurant. I think it's German or maybe Bavarian.

"Oh."

He came back a little while later.

"I don't think I've ever had German food before. Or Bavarian."

I was starting to get a little desperate. He wanted us to invite him to come with us without actually asking to come with us.

Honey, you've had German Chocolate cake. You didn't like it, remember? And you've had uh--Swiss Cheese---I think that's kind of Bavarian. And sauerkraut. You don't like sauerkraut.

"But I might like it now."

This is a grown-up place. I don't think you would enjoy it. It's our anniversary.

"Oh". He went away again.

Then he came back a little while later with the local phone book under his arm. "It doesn't say 'no kids allowed' and you promised last time that I could maybe come with you the next time," he announced. "It's my anniversary too."

Crap.

I called Hubby at the office.

What time are the reservations?

"Uh, I thought YOU made reservations."

Rut row again.

Unfortunately, European Cuisine was solidly booked until 8:15, which is usually the time I'm sucking for air. Literally. But I figured I could take a late nap and everything would be A-OK. Since we had originally planned on being FINISHED with dinner around that time, the things we had scheduled for Little Guy weren't going to work out after all.

So he got his wish.

It's a fancy dress-up place, I warned him. You'll have to be on your best manners.

He was so excited that he was all polished and shined and ready to go at 5pm.

It took me a little while longer to squeeze into my Spanx and adjust everything (had to make sure my butt cheeks were anchored north instead of south). In the end, I was pretty pleased with them, and my silky pants glided up with nary a hitch. Woohoo!

European Cuisine is in a little historic house that was built back when they didn't enrich our milk with Vitamin D and we didn't have Wheaties and if you were 5'6 you were considered tall. The doors are very--um--short.

Anyway, space is at a premium, and there is very little maneuvering room between tables. By 8:15, the dinner crowd had all spread out and the waitstaff had to practically balance trays on their heads to get through.

The first thing I did was reconnoiter the location and path to the restroom. If you've ever been on heavy-duty diuretics, you know once in a while that "gotta go" feeling turns into "oops, I think I tinkled on myself" faster than you can say "Zippity Doo Dah".

The quickest and most direct route would take me past a table for two. He was dipping a bread cube into some kind of fondue pot, and she was poking at a salad. She also had that Nancy Reagan thing going (big enormous head looming over tiny shoulders). I tried to gauge the width of the path and realized that depending on which way I was turned, if I had to get to the restroom in a hurry, I'd probably end up brushing my crotch or my heinie against her humongous helmet of hair. Oy. Not a pretty thought.

I put my hand over my glass when the server came over with a pitcher of water. None for me, please.

15 minutes later, the server brought over the board which had the menu on it and rushed off. It's a limited menu, so it took us all of 3 minutes to decide on what to have.

"See they have Chicken Cordon Bleu! That's French!" Little Guy was triumphant.

15 minutes after that, the owner wandered over and asked if we knew what the specials were. We didn't. He told us and rushed off.

At 9pm, the server came over and asked if we were ready to order drinks. We let her know we were ready to order PERIOD. ;-)

15 minutes later our drinks came.

Little Guy was understandably getting antsy. He kept patting his stomach more and more frequently and mentioning, "I'm getting kind of hungry."

When a busperson came to refill Fondue Boy and Nancy's water, I flagged her down.

Could we please get some bread or something? We've been here for over 45 minutes.

Nancy turned her humongous helmet head around and gave me the hairy eyeball.

Fine, I muttered under my breath. Ass it is, Beyotch.

Turned and asked the server, Could I also get some iced tea?

About a 1/2 hour later, the guys were happily attacking rolls and their soup and I felt the call of nature. Luckily, Fondue Boy and Helmet Head had finished and there was plenty of room to get to the Ladies.

As I said earlier, the restaurant was built in a time when short people were the norm. The actual area the toilet was in was about the size of a linen closet. And there was a window that was waist-high, but fortunately it had a curtain hanging over it so nobody would see me doing my business from the parking lot.

I tried to wrestle with the Spanx in the tiny space between the toilet and the wall. I was getting a little frustrated and afraid that I wouldn't be able to peel them down fast enough, so I decided to give them a good yank. It was like wrestling with a ginormous rubber band so I put some stank on it.

Wham!!!

Next thing I knew, I was sitting on the can and little birdies were circling around my head. The curtain wasn't just hiding the window, it was also hiding a hand-crank that stuck out about 4 inches.

I made my way back to the table clutching my brow and a fast-growing black and blue lump.

The rest of the meal was basically uneventful and delicious, but when I saw a woman teetering from the bathroom clutching HER brow (I could practically see the birdies circling her head), I almost snorted a spaetzle out my nose.

Out in the parking lot, Little Guy jumped in the SUV. Hubby and I put our arms around each other and gazed up into the mountains, knowing that in an hour there would be fireworks shooting from the top. Hopefully by that time, we'd be home enjoying fireworks of our own.

He walked me over to my side of the car and gallantly opened the door. He put his hand out to tenderly help me up into my seat.

I lifted my leg up

...and fell on my face into the vehicle.

What in the hell was wrapped around my legs?

It was my pants! The Spanx worked TOO well and my pants just slid down.

I was flailing around face down on the seat with my butt cheeks anchored north and my slinky pants tangled around my ankles.

Hubby almost had an accident of his own because he was laughing hysterically. Then he was clutching HIS head because I bounced a shoe off of it.

No, not really. I made up the shoe part. The other part was real though.

Guess who spent his anniversary sleeping on the couch?

No, I made that up too. I was nice to him since he left an arm and a leg back with our bill.

Wishing all of you a Happy New Year!

ATM

This, That and the Other...

Yesterday I lost a weakling.

Yep, an entire weakling.

When I stepped on the scale, I weighed 98 pounds less than I did on October 31.

By tomorrow, December 31, I may hit 100, and I'm kind of freaking out.

I know you guys are probably tired of reading about this, and hopefully within the next couple of weeks I'll get beyond it.

But for the first time in about 12 years, I actually weigh less than what is stated on my driver's license (I get to keep renewing it by mail since there isn't any licensing office within 40 miles).





Here's a pic of the feet, and my "sharpei" slippers.




I went to see the doc today. My EKG is good, my blood pressure is normal, my heartbeat is in the targeted range, and my oxygen level is great. Oh, and my cholesterol level is fabulous, which left us all scratching our heads.

I confessed that I haven't been able to stay on the oxygen 14 hours a day, because I got stuff to do and I can't carry the nose-hose out of the house, or downstairs, etc. Doc said that's ok, he's cut me down to using it when I'm sleeping or out of breath. His office is almost 10,000 feet above sea level, and when I saw him, I hadn't been on the hose for about 10 hours. If I could have the oxy level that I was at, it means I'm absorbing what I've been sticking in there. Yippee!

And for anyone who is worried---apparently it's not unusual or particularly dangerous in cases of severe edema to lose around 2 pounds a day when monitored and with diuretics. I've had blood tests every other week, and my dance card has been full between family doc and cardiologist.

Which brings me to this....

When we moved up here about 12 years ago, I wanted to lose about 30 pounds. I've gone up from that, obviously. And in the few months between last July and October----way way up.

Now that I weigh less from simple water weight loss, Doc and I are wondering if it all started when we moved up here (oxygen deprivation from altitude) and if it crept up under the radar. You know, like retaining 5 pounds of fluid every year or so, when I thought it was fat. I still have a little water left, and I still want to lose that extra 30 final pounds.

Anyway, now that I've been mostly clear-headed for the last couple of months, I just don't feel funny or even particularly creative. Maybe it's because I had the bejesus scared out of me.

Or possibly it's because all the funny, creative stuff was invented by an oxygen-deprived brain. I've been worried about that. How sad would that be?

I think maybe it's because for the last 2 months, between being scared and trying to deal with it and trying to comfort all my guys, I found out that as prepared as I thought I was about dying as far as administrative stuff goes, I really wasn't.

I hadn't updated my will in years. Both kids are now legally adults. So I had to do that.

I went through a bunch of personal papers I had saved since I was a teen---old love letters, notes from friends, assignments, etc---things that wouldn't be understood or appreciated by anyone else but me. I put them in their own separate tub with a big "burn me" sign on front. There's nothing in there that's going to hurt anyone's feelings---it's all ancient history. But it will be there for me if I ever want to look at it, and disposed of if the worst happens.

I wanted to make sure that there would be current medical information to more than one person out there for my guys in case they needed to access it.

As an adoptee, I had absolutely no medical history until I found my birthmother at the age of 35. Those of you who know me intimately know how much I could have used her information before I decided to start a family. When I first found her through a court order directed to the adoption agency, she was under the impression from old school friends that my birthfather had died of a heart attack while in his 40's.

I searched for his surviving family, and actually found him alive through his military records. I spoke to him once on the phone, and yes, I know it WAS him (not going to tell you why or how I found out specifically), but he didn't want to acknowledge our relationship, so I got no medical information. I didn't want to intrude on his life or hound him, so I never called him again. We did have a nice conversation--he was a nice man--and he was very interested in how my birthmother was.

I felt that I needed to talk to my ex-husband about Little Guy's future if something were to happen to me. As most of you know, this last summer, I went for and was granted legal guardianship for him.

I called ex and laid it on the line for him.

"This is what's going on. This is what I'm worried about. I'm going to send you a file of my med records in case something happens to me for the guys so they have as accurate a history as possible."

He said, "What will happen to Little Guy if you die?"

I said, "I don't know. You're his father, and I haven't made provisions for that yet."

He said, "But xxxx (my hubby) has been his Dad. What do you want to happen?"

Me: "Little Guy loves you too. You're his dad too. He has a life, and a girlfriend, and a community support system here, and I don't know what to do. I'm afraid of YOUR dad. "

I've talked about my ex-FIL and what a controlling SOB he is. I'm afraid that if I tried to "leave" Little Guy with Hubby, ex-FIL would fight to get custody, because unlike the rest of my personal family (my adoption), he is actually a blood relative. Courts are wonky sometimes.

Ex: "If you want to go ahead and make Hubby legal co-guardian, I won't fight it. We can work out visitation with me and other stuff if the worst happens. Little Guy will always have a home here, but I know that his life is there."

How very kind he was.

On the 9th of January I'm going in for some tests to see if I need to have a defibrillator stuck in my chest. I'm sure I'll write stuff before then, but send good thoughts, would you?

xoxox

ATM

...and Now for Something Completely Different

Well.

You don't see this every day. I'm handing over my crown.

Hope you all have a very merry holiday tomorrow!

Who DID You Sleep With to Get This Job?

I've been asking this every day for the last week.

A month or two ago I complained about the talentless hacks who produce the headlines for what passes for "news" on AOL's Welcome screen. Specifically the ones designed to draw readers into clicking on the link, but turn out to have very little to do with the actual article.

This week I noticed that the company thesaurus seems to be broken. I read three headlines in two days, all of which had the word "icon" in the title.

Being sufficiently annoyed at the sloppiness and overuse of the word, and of course, being me---I decided to keep track.

In addition to the original 3 headlines (which I didn't think to jot down), these popped up in the next 6 days:

Storm Dumps Snow in Las Vegas
Photo Shows Iconic Sign Covered in it

Iconic Childhood Game Turns 60

Iconic Store Shutting All 815 Doors

Music Icon's Home Open to the Public

We've Lost a 'Notorious' Legend
But Iconic Pinup's Pictures Live On

Pop Icon Snapped in Bizzare Mask

Iconic SUV Company Up For Sale

Music Icon Hiding Secret Pop Star Sister

Iconic Brand Files for Bankruptcy

Geez Louise. Even if there were 5 separate unimaginative writers who produced this dreck, you'd think an editor worth his or her salt would have caught it.

Makes me think of those old SNL Weekend Update skits where Dan Ackroyd turns to Jane Curtain and says, "Jane, you ignorant slut."

Who DID you sleep with to get this job?

Feh.
--------------------------

In other news, I passed my fall semester with A's. I'm amazed, because I got a little behind when I was at my sickest, but was able to catch up at the end.

My legs are almost 100% back to normal. Except for the excess skin. Kind of looks like I'm wearing nylon knee-hi's that are sagging around the ankles. The soles of my feet even have flappy skin. Eww.

Oh, and I lost 85 pounds of water. That's right. 85 pounds.

I peed out an entire person in 7 weeks.

Of course, it's a Calista "eat a cheeseburger" Flockhart-sized person, but still....I weigh less than I have in at least 5 years (dropped 4 sizes).

I had to go digging in the basement to find some old moderate fat clothes because all my pants are falling down. I'd like to lose some more, so I don't want to go spend $$ getting new stuff just yet. But I have to get shoes. My shoes are falling off too.

Went to see my cardiologist and things are looking good. My blood pressure is normal, my EKG looked good. My pulse-rate is still a little high, but has been coming down with the meds. The side effects were bothersome at first, but once I adjusted to them, I have to say that I feel really really good.

(Cripes. I just noticed I used the word "good" 3 times in that last paragraph. How iconic---er ironic.)

Unfortunately, I'll probably have to take most of these for the rest of my life, and stay on the oxygen indefinitely, but my energy level has gone way up, and I'm glad they caught it when they did. Still have a bunch more tests to do after the holidays, but I'm just going to wait until then to think about it.

So how was YOUR week?

Christmas Shopping

Well, at least you know what NOT to get her for Christmas!

You're a Douche Bag!!

While I was down for the count in the last month, it seems like the universe held a parental douche baggery convention. And I missed it.

Can't quite fit back into the killer bunny slippers to kick some heinie yet, but that's ok. My left foot looks like it's wearing a shar-pei. Even the sole of my foot has loose folds of stretched-out skin which is really really freaky. Who needs a scary slipper when the real thing is hideous on its own?

Anyhoo, thought I'd introduce a few douche bags to the hall of shame since it's been awhile...

Your daughter and her friend take nekkid pictures of themselves with their cellphones over the summer. They send a photo to one of the girls' boyfriend. A photo "accidently" gets sent to the cell phones of the entire football team (whether via the boyfriend or one of the girls' phones wasn't made clear).

Someone anonymously sends a copy of the picture to school officials, who suspend your daughters from the cheerleading squad because their actions violate the code of ethics.

So you sue the school for damages (amongst them is negligent infliction of emotional distress and outrage), because it's "obviously" their fault that your daughters are Suzi Slutpanties who can't control themselves.

You're a Douche Bag!

______________________________________

Your child is at an age where he wants everything he sees on TV. Kick-Me-In-The-Head Elmo. Brite-Lite Barney with the Kung-fu Grip. Now that the holidays are approaching, toy manufacturers are stepping up the promotions during their biggest season of the year and your kid's Santa wish list is getting bigger, longer and backbreakingly expensive.

Do you:

1). Limit Bratleigh's TV time so that Power Rangers with thermonuclear lunch boxes aren't constantly dancing in his head? Make him read a book instead? Go outside and play in the yard? Bake cookies or do some other kind of activity together?

or do you:

2). Use this as an opportunity for teaching life lessons? Such as, "life is full of disappointments, and we don't always get everything we want. How about looking at the list and picking out the one or two presents you want the most (if it's a young child) or rating each item as to wantability (if it's an older child)."

Life isn't going to hand them everything just because they want it. Better they learn that early at home so they can be prepared for the real world as adults.

Unless of course you really want your kid living in your basement when he's 30.

or do you:

3). Band together with 1400 other wussyboots and contact toy companies to ask them to stop advertising so aggressively during the holidays because you're unable to tell your cupcake "no" or keep the little dictator away from the TV.

If you picked number 3, then You're a Douche Bag!!

_________________________________

It's a rainy day. You're dropping your kids off at school and the only available parking space in the loading zone is the one reserved for the disabled. And you're in a hurry, dammit.

Who's going to notice? You'll just take a minute to walk your cupcakes inside the building.

When you come out another father is waiting to talk to you. He is the parent of two children, both who have MS. He's waiting to use the disabled spot and asks you not to use the reserved space in the future because they are needed for families who have children who have physical disabilities.

Instead of apologizing and high-tailing your soccer-dadding-mini-van-driving butt out of there, you decide to give him a good talking to. "Just because you have a hard life doesn't mean the world owes you everything."

It's seems like you forgot that YOU ARE THE SCHOOL DISTRICT'S SPECIAL EDUCATION DIRECTOR!

And a 5-star Douche Bag!

Checking In...

I haven't fallen off the face of the planet. Yet. ;-)

Finals are this week and I have just a few days left of school.

As soon as they are over, I'll have a whole month to come and dish.

Thank you all for all your kind and loving wishes.

ATM

Testing 1, 2, 3

Howdy!

I'm starting to feel like I'm in an episode of House, M.D. where the team of doctors come up with several diagnoses and then finally come up with the right one just in time to keep their patient from croaking. This week I've been pushed on, poked, prodded, stuck, electroded, ultrasounded, echoed and wanded in just about every nook and cranny excluding my ear canals and my butt crack. The results are in, and I met with my doc yesterday to go over some of them.

First of all, I've lost 50 pounds in three weeks.

No sh*t.

I'm not sure that all of it was water, because I haven't been eating very much this past month, but whatever it is, it just emphasized how much water I have left to lose. My arms and hands look kind of twiggy, and my wedding ring slid off when I was doing the dishes the other day.

Then when I jumped out of bed the other morning, my jammie pants fell off. My heinie kind of disappeared, and my hips have shrunk.

But like I said, it just emphasizes where the water is. My belly is so big, it looks like I'm going to squeeze out a litter in the near future. It's full of water and gas. Yikes.

My left leg is almost completely normal. My right leg is still full of water. All in all, the doc thinks there may be another 15-20 lbs hanging out in there.

As for the test results:

The right side of my heart is performing normally. No sign of damage from blood clots. My kidneys, liver, spleen, etc are all functioning normally. No blood clots in my legs either.

And no gallstones. The tech kept poking and pushing with the wand and asking, "does this hurt?" After about the 4th time, my gallbladder started getting grumpy and I said, "well yeah, it's starting to hurt NOW".

The results from my echocardiogram were not as positive, but could have been worse. I DO have to say that I was apprehensive about the test itself----you know, having your breasts handled and flopping around unfettered is not a thrilling experience. But there was this cool little boob tray cut into the bed that my left one could fall into, and all I had to do with my right one was toss it over my shoulder like Zsa Zsa's fox stole (did I mention that with all the water loss I have two oddly shaped sacks of skin attached to my chest? I could wrap them around my neck like a scarf if it gets too cold out!).

Anyhoo, there are some electrical issues that may be a cause of concern and I'm seeing a specialist on Monday. The current thinking is that I might have had a small heart attack a couple of years ago when I first started getting symptoms that nobody picked up on. The left side of my heart is not performing optimally and will need a further look-see.

My heart is beating too fast, possibly because of the thick blood (from long-term oxygen deprivations or other reasons), even in a resting state. It is much lower than it was 3 weeks ago though. Doc has put me on some additional medication to try to slow it down a bit and to thin my blood. We'll see what the cardiologist has to say about everything.

I complained to the doctor about all the excess skin I suddenly have (it was all pulled tight like a sausage a few weeks ago, now it's really slack). I know it will take time to bounce back into shape, but I wanted to know what I could put on it because it's really itchy. The doc said I'd probably look like a California raisin when the water's all gone, but that we'd worry about that later.

Overall, the doc said my oxygen levels are great, and that all the test results came back much better than what he expected. He said he was a little freaked out when I came in three weeks ago, because I was practically blue. How could we have not noticed it? Was it that gradual?

So like I said, it could have been worse. I could have been this woman. Ack!!!!

Have a great weekend!

ATM

Back Away from the Remote!

Another reason to make the kids put down the game controller/remote and pick up a book.

“My brother and I took a fairy across to Martha’s Vineyard.”

Oh dear.

I have to add that when I started back to college I took an advanced English class. One of our assignments was to critique each other's writings and offer suggestions to make them better. The professor instructed, "don't offer criticism on spelling or grammar, but on ideas."

I couldn't do it. Some of the writing was so poorly done that I couldn't tell if there was an idea in there or not. How in the hell did some of these people get into an advanced class without even knowing the basics (like how to use spell check)? ;-)

Gah!

Got some of my test results back. Here is the short version. ;-)

My thyroid is normal. No diabetes. Kidneys and liver working as meant to. Unfortunately, for some or a multitude of reasons, my oxygen intake has been low for quite some time. How long? Nobody knows, but some of my symptoms started about 2 years ago.

According to these tests, my blood is really thick, whatever that means.


I have a bunch of tiny little blood clots in my lungs. Have some more tests to do, but the docs think they originated in my leg, and that I still have more (hence the original swelling).

I've lost 30 lbs of water--YES 30!!--in 14 days and that leg is still all swelled up. Estimated that I'm prolly carrying another 20 lbs or so of excess fluid.

Anyhoo, the clots passed through the right side of my heart and stuck in my lungs. Which of course, exacerbated the breathing problems, which exacerbated the lack of circulation, which made my body swell up like a balloon and made my heart work harder.

The good news? My heart apparently was able to handle it. Doesn't look like it's in failure. I'm going to have more extensive tests done next week to see if there was any damage. Also going to have a venous doppler done on both legs to see if there are any more clots. And I'm going to have some eyeballing done to my gallbladder, because the tests came back and said I had some issues there that are completely separate from everything else.

But going to take care of the heart/lung issues first. Got some new meds to try. I'll probably have to stay on oxygen for awhile. Hopefully that will correct things until we can find out why it's happening.

Thanks again for all your good wishes. Other than a cold I picked up last weekend (which has really kicked my butt), I've been feeling a lot and I mean a LOT better.

ATM

P.S. Took a couple of grody pictures this morning to show what I mean. On the left is my left leg which is almost (but not quite) back to human-size. On the right is a much diminished, but still humongous appendage. ack

Updating...

Happy to say it's been restful these past few days. I had to get some insurance crap straightened out, so my tests are scheduled for Monday and Tuesday. Wish me luck!

On the plus side, I lost 16 pounds of water in the first week. It's mind-boggling.

That's about 2 gallon-sized jugs of water.

Or the pair of Beth Chapman's jugs (I swear that woman must have a spine of steel to be able to stand erect).

My left leg actually looks like a human leg again. My right still has that tree trunky thing going. And my energy level has gone way way up.

I can't tell if it's because of the water loss or the oxygen or a combination of both.

Thanks so much for all your kind comments and wishes! Can't tell you how much it's appreciated!

ATM