Army of Mom

So this is how liberty dies ... with thunderous applause.


One of those days

I feel like Riker in that ST:TNG episode where the aliens are kidnapping him while he is sleeping and doing experiments on him and he is getting no sleep each night. He is on edge and crabby and looks haggard.

Imagine that on me, only no beard and manly swagger.


I'm tired and sore and Wednesday was a shitty day. Shitty. I should have capitalized it the first time. S to the hitty, SHITTY.

Get up late in the morning. Get everyone dressed and pack up my laptop figuring I'll have time to work while sitting in waiting rooms. EVERY time I got the computer out, they'd call me. Didn't matter if I pulled it right out, they'd call me for something stupid and I'd put it up. They'd be done with me in five minutes to go return to the waiting game. So, I finally gave up with that.

Mother calls to complain about my cousin. Explain to mom that I'm running late and not even dressed and have to leave in 15 minutes.
Get out the door, drop off Child No. 2 at school. Fine.
Drop off Child No. 3 at preschool. She won't go without Curious George and letter she made for her friend. Fine.
Child No. 1 now remembers he is hungry. So, we stop by donut shop. I have enough change in my purse for one small milk and a pig in a blanket.
Drop off Child No. 1 at school.

Off to be bled for the second time in three days.
Leave to go home and get some work done briefly, even though my mind is everywhere but on work.

Pack up laptop and head to Panera to work while having a bowl of soup. Only wi-fi isn't working right for first 15 minutes. Realize that the soup was a mistake. It tastes like crap. *sidenote* I should NEVER order cream of potato soup anywhere. Army of Dad makes the best in the world, hands down, and everyone else's is crap.
Wifi finally works. Get some work accomplished.
Doctor's office calls. I need to go sign paperwork to send off blood. No time now, I have to be at the hospital in 25 minutes for EEG.

Arrive at hospital at 11:55 for noon procedure.
No can do. Gotta go sell my first born before they'll let me see anyone. Gotta wait to do that. So, after I am sitting there in tears at the thought of more bills, I finally agree to donate a kidney to pay for my procedures. J/k, by the way. I have to wait for the registrar to get my information that she already had. *rolling my eyes*

Finally, it is now 12:45 and I get in the waiting room for the EEG. I have to fill out MORE paperwork that no one even looks at. Finally, someone comes to get me about 12:55. I go and the tech scratches various parts of my scalp, applies some gel and electrodes and we're off to the races. I sit in the dark with my eyes closed for 20 minutes dreaming of heading to Hedo for an adults only retreat with my man. About the time, I relax enough to fall asleep, she wakes me up to flash lights at me. Then, I have to hyperventilate for three minutes to "stress" my brain for the test.

Now, I get to head back to imaging and am forced to watch MSNBC and watch some crazy gal claim to be Osama Bin Laden's "mistress/sex slave" back in 1996. Apparently, nutjob wrote a book about it. I'm trying to ignore her and read a little pamphlet I found on the wall about MRIs and it explains what it means to have it done with contrast. Well, hell. I didn't know I was going to get another stick. Dammit.

Ok, then the tech - who smells of cigarette smoke - comes to get me. He leads me back to a changing room, where there is a locker for me to put my valuables and then he leads me to the chamber of horrors that is the MRI machine. I thought I could handle it. I was wrong. I flashbacked to the tunnels closing in on me at Chuck E. Cheese one time when Little Bit got scared up there and I had to go get her. I freaked out and almost hyperventilated. It was so bad, some kid's dad was helping me to sit down when I came out because I was so freaked. The tech tells me it will be about 13 minutes the first time. He gives me some ear plugs because it gets loud in there, he tells me. He wasn't kidding. I kept thinking someone was about to drill into my skull at any moment. Then, no one warns you about all the various noises. They all change. I imagined the Chuck E. Cheese portrait taker machine that snaps your picture and then sketches a picture. It sounded a bit like that at times. I am in the machine - eyes closed the whole time, mind you - and you can't move for fear of messing up the image. No way in hell I'm getting back in this thing, so I want it done right the first time. While I was in there, I was counting to help keep track of how long I had left. I figured this way, I would know in a finite way how much longer the torture would endure. Then, I get to 13 minutes. Then, 14, then 15 and finally at 16, I've decided he has forgotten me and gone to take a smoke. I'm about to freak. I felt my head about to explode, my body is wracked with tremors. I'm wishing I had never seen the CSI episode where the dude gets buried alive. I start thinking about Star Trek episodes when people inserted things into red shirt heads. I'm prepared to start screaming to get me out about the time he pulls me out. I look at him and beg him to let me out for a few minutes before we do the next part. Very patiently, he tells me that if he lets me out, we have to do it ALL again. So, I weep quietly as he prepares to give me the injection for the contrast part. He reassures me that he does about 1,200 MRIs each year and he has never lost anyone in the machine.

"As soon as you're done, I'll pull you out and put someone else in there. When they're done, I'll pull them out, too. You're almost done, hang in there."

So, he told me the first part was 3.5 minutes and the second is 2.5. So, I counted again. And fortunately, this time, he was right. I'm not sure I've ever felt more scared for myself in a very long time. I had the shakes for a good 20 minutes afterwards.

I determined right then and there that I now understood those people who are chronically ill and don't want to take treatments to prolong their lives. I alway thought they were selfish, but I was so scared and my right arm still hurts from all the pokes. I admire those people who endure treatments and tests. They're stronger than anyone would ever give them credit for. I feel like such a wuss. I know God gave me cancer as a child because I was resilient and strong. I don't think I could make it through with such a bright demeanor as I did when I was 7.

I look like a drug addict with all the track marks on my arm, but I'm feeling better today. I felt like crap yesterday. After all the other stuff, while I was running errands, I left my keys at a store and thought I had locked my keys in my car. That caused a brief panic. Then, I got pulled over by a sheriff's deputy, who said I ran a red light about five blocks earlier. I went through when it was yellow and the lady in the lane next to me ran it, because she was behind me. Anyway. I politely told him that I didn't run it and went through on yellow and he disputed that and said the city will likely be sending me a ticket. Whatever. I don't think it was me who ran the light. That sucked.

Then, the queen mother of insult to injury - my Aunt Flo arrived last night.

*sigh* Today had to be better. It was. Tomorrow, I am getting my hair done and going to play. I can't wait.


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