day 1: post accident

Yesterday on the way home from the Reid Park Zoo, we had a little car-tastrophe.  Someone in a big old F150 smashed into the back of my teeny tiny Versa at an intersection in Tucson.  The driver admitted fault and we easily exchanged information.  We filed a report with a TPD officer, and we were on our way.  Shaky but back in action. 

That's not really the worst of it.  The bad part has been dealing with the insurance company.  No big surprise.  After 3 phone calls, I now have a claim number but not much else.  Apparently the driver has to admit fault to State Farm for all of this to be real.  Never mind that she admitted fault to me, the people in her car, the Tucson Police Officer...EVERYONE who would listen.  It's not real until she tells the State Farm Rep sitting in a random call center in Nebraska that "Yes, the accident was my fault." 

Granted my need for urgency is increased because after 4 years of staying at home, all that ends on Monday, meaning my time is not my own and I don't have infinite amounts of semi-free time to deal with bureaucratic craziness.  Our maybe I'm just bitter that very shortly after we have paid off this car, it now has a big ol' dent in it and the  hatchback doesn't open and close properly.  Whatever it is I'm hostile about the whole thing and just want a satisfactory conclusion ... SOON.

adverse reactions

Mitchell is currently paying for his weekend of football and fun.  He's been wiped since his return as is his usual after a trip up "North".  Last night he developed another strange pain in his shoulder.  This led to me rifling through prescription notes and rustling through pill bottles near the middle of the night in search of a painkiller that wouldn't react adversely to the gleevec. 

Today brought more exhaustion and nausea and even some vomiting.  Thankfully the experience has been bad/inconvenient enough to make Mitchell call the Cancer Center for support.  He has an appointment with a nutritionist in the morning.  Hopefully he'll get some ideas about how to handle his stomach issues because if he can't take the pills, it's not going to impact the cancer.

again

This morning Mitchell had another PET scan; the results for which will be read tomorrow morning by the oncologist. I hate the anticipation of these appointments. The closer it gets; the more nervous I become.

how are you feeling?

This is a question I ask Mitchell probably 6 to 10 times a day. I'm sure he feels like hitting me in the head with a pot every time I do, but I can't help myself. Lately he just pretends like he hasn't heard me and goes on about his slow-going business, forcing me to ask again and again and then demanding, "Are you listening?" Clearly not.

the worst things

• Discovering you were getting a birthday massage & facial while your husband was admitting himself to the hospital
• A simple 35 minute appendectomy turning into a several hours long emergency tumor removal and colon resection
• Husband's surgeon calling you at 1:37 am from the hospital to inform you that "although things are fine", they did not go as planned
• Calling family in the middle of the night
• Watching his face as the surgeon tells him for the 3rd time that No, he didn't just have an appendectomy and it's much more serious
• Waiting for pathology reports
• Receiving pathology reports
• Colon Cancer
• Metastasized
• Lymph Nodes
• Oncologists
• Trying to live in the moment because you're afraid of tomorrow

wish list

• Pathology report to come back clean
• Mitchell home by Christmas Eve
• Life to go back to normal

buggin' me

You are making me irritated. In a number of different ways. No, it's nothing new, but sometimes I just want to hit you in the head with a pot.

vomit burps

I have entered the heartburn phase of my pregnancy and have spent almost the entire morning and afternoon burp/vomiting into my mouth. Oatmeal and water shouldn't cause this to happen, right? Also note that I've consumed about 47 tums in an effort to combat my problem. Not working out so well.

new diet plan

I have stumbled upon the best diet on earth. It's called The First Trimester Pregnancy Diet. It's super easy. All you've got to do is get impregnated. That where your work ends. There's no calorie counting, portion control, nada. About 4 weeks into it, your diet plan kicks in. You will no longer be able to consume dairy, most meats, sugar or just about anything else depending upon the day without violent vomiting and yes, even sometimes, diarrhea. It's truly amazing. Granted you will have to cope with almost constant nausea, but it's completely worth the 10 plus pounds you're likely to drop in a flash. And get this people, it happens with absolutely NO physical exercise. More than likely, you'll be required to increase your sitting on your ass and nap time exponentially because you'll have NO energy to do anything else. The downside, of course, is the fact that as you move out of your 1st trimester your urge to purge will be greatly reduced, and you'll most likely gain 25 to 50 lbs. Oh. That and the fact that your ob really frowns upon losing weight while pregnant and will even threaten to hospitalize you if you can't get it together.

vomitous

The following items made me want to puke today:

• waking up
• cinnamon life and milk
• the smell of Mitchell's cologne
• DeeDee hopping all over the bed
• Italian wedding soup
• the smell of popcorn
• Mitchell making coffee
• iceberg lettuce & cucumbers
• standing up
• laying down
• sitting

dammit

I wasn't backing Clinton just because she's a woman. I was happy that a woman of her caliber had risen through the political ranks to have a chance at running for president. I was excited to imagine what her presidency might be like. I believed in her health care platform as well as her plans for education. I think she was savvy enough to manage foreign policy and socially conscious enough to deal with our domestic issues head on. She's certainly strong enough to be a world leader. She's more than smart enough.

And maybe she didn't have the greatest hair or the keenest fashion sense. Or the best marriage. Or have typical maternal tendencies that caused her to say, "Sorry" a lot and cry or end every statement as if it were a question. But that's what I liked about her. She was strong and no nonsense and intelligent. And I think she'd have made a kick ass president.

construction sucks

I live in a new development, so it makes sense that the presence of construction and its workers are still prevalent. They are, in fact, everywhere. Duh. I get that. But there's something about waking every morning to ranchero music, pounding hammers and loud construction-man chatter that makes me hostile. Perhaps if we could eliminate the blaring ethnic music and crude conversation that drifts over the fence at 5:16 am most mornings, I would be less hostile. Don't get me wrong, I'm sure I would still be bitching about the hammers (I'm a realist, you know). But with just the hammers, they'd simply be doing their jobs, and how can I find fault with that? Well, I could but my complaints would then be just the hateful, selfish cursing of strangers. Considering that our house was recently in the same state, I am shocked our neighbors talk to us at all.

male sensibility

There are many inherent differences between men and women (duh). One of the most glaring being a man's unwillingness, nay...inability to take medication when the situation calls for it. Clearly it's much more sensible to drag ass around the house, irritating all who come in contact with you because you won't do something as simple as taking an couple of freakin' ibuprofen. Of course I can see how you'd rather be up most of the night groaning in pain and shifting around heavily in the bed, keeping whoever else is trying to get a good night's sleep awake with your ailments. Only a crazy person would rather take something that would relieve the pain then remain inert on the couch after having decided to stay home from work (fantastic), periodically moaning in discomfort. I can see how all of that suffering is far superior to simply popping a couple of pills and going about your business like a normal human being.

that aint right

Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Europe's been paying $8 a liter for years, decades maybe. I know all that. But this is AMERICA. Land of the Free. Home of the Cheap Petrol. The country were every citizen over the age of 8 drives her own fully loaded SUV.

What is this world coming to?

wtf

Believe it or not, this is the view from behind my steering wheel at 11:18 am on a half day. Where am I going? you may wonder. Surely this is traffic downtown somewhere... Nope... this is the freakin' parking lot of the girls' school. WTF.

All semblance of common sense is discarded as soon as parents drive into the lot. It's cut throat competition to be the first to get to the parent pick up area. Never mind that their dare devil maneuvers needlessly hem up the more sensible of us for minutes on end as they swerve and dive from line to line. Horns honk. Unpleasantries are exchanged. Drivers glare. Parents, tired of waiting, abandon their cars in search of their students. This causes the rest of us to curse them for gumming up the works even further. I sit behind the wheel and curse, wishing ill on all those causing catastrophe.

construction workers

These guys must be super bored and/or lonely to react the way they do to any random female walking past. It doesn't matter if you're a 100, snaggle-toothed, one leg and a kick stand; they will drop whatever they're doing to ogle you while making those weird here-kitty noises. (You know what I'm talking about, someplace between a hiss and a whistle.) It doesn't matter if you try to scurry past unnoticed; the hammering ceases as soon as they spot you and here come the cat-calls. It helps to blast your iPod, drowning out all lewd foreign phrases. I personally employ the method of the cold glare. It doesn't stop them, but it prevents me from feeling like a 15 year old girl again. Sometimes I'm tempted to flip the bird, but common sense typically prevails and I refrain.

i may need that later

Did anyone watch Dr. Phil today? Okay. Yes. I watch Dr. Phil along with all the other trashy television to which I'm addicted. TV whore, remember? Anyway. Dr. Phil. Did you see this? Today good ol' Mr. McGraw counseled a family of hoarders. It was A-MAZING. For real. I've never seen anything like it. I couldn't take my eyes of the screen.

So this absolutely makes me feel like I am the most hygenic, organized, clutter-free being around. This show was a definite housewife/caretaker confidence builder.

bffs we are not

For whatever reason, it seems that I am often involved in the instant friendship phenomenon. This is strange to me as I would not describe myself as a particularly warm and inviting individual. Hilarious? Yes. Kind and nurturing? Not so much.

I am the first to admit that I have intimacy issues. I don't want to talk about feelings. With anyone. Ever. I believe it is completely unnecessary for women to discuss the intimate details of their cycles while working out or bonding over lunch. I don't want to hug and kiss friends hello or goodbye or just cause. Don't sit too close to me on the couch. It makes me feel freaky. I'd rather you didn't gaze at me silently when you should be watching TV or reading or doing anything other than just looking at me. I will not suddenly stop, grab your shoulder and meaningfully confess, "I'm so glad we've become close." It just won't happen.

I'm the person who works out with her iPod blasting, not making eye contact. I didn't come to chat with strangers. I don't need to converse with you just because we're both sweating on the treadmill while gasping for breath. Please don't think I need a walking partner just because we are neighbors and you see me leave each morning. I'd rather you didn't invite yourself. I already know everything I'd like to about you; we don't need quality time.

Please don't invite yourself to dinner. Or assume that we are the type of super-friendly neighbors that happily child swap. I can barely tolerate my own children some days; I certainly don't want to hang out with yours. We are not close enough for you to simply waltz into my house, calling out, "Hey! What're you up to?" If I didn't answer your phone call, that's not a signal that you should just pop over to see what's got me so busy.

I realize this sounds bad. I can imagine the furrowed brows and tsk-tsking of all you who disagree. But every one's different. It takes all kinds. And I'm just not that kind of people.

car-tastrophe averted

Yesterday while chatting (okay, so what if we were aggressively trading jabs and insults) away with my bro, T shoves my cell in my face, "Dad wants to talk to you." I finally get to his call only to discover that he is broken down on the side of the road in TOWN. This isn't the first time Mitchell's vehicle (used to be mine way back B.C.)has taken a dump on him. But this is the first time it will take me over 50 minutes to retrieve him. Vomit. Pile the kids into the car and make the trek. As usual the girls are going ballistic in the back seat the entire ride. And yes, I eventually resort to reaching my arm into the back seat and swinging it wildly back and forth, determined to hit anything that squeals. Of course this does no good. By the time I find Mitchell, I'm disgruntled. Pull up behind my lovely husband, who is sitting in the car looking equally disgruntled.

"Have you called the emergency roadside thingy?" "No. We have to get the car off the road." I look around. The car has stopped on a soft, gravel shoulder. The nearest parking lot or empty lot is a good 800 ft uphill. "How are you and I going to get the car off the road? Did you call for a tow truck?" I'm starting to get that crazed, anxious feeling. "I don't want to call a tow if it's just the battery. We just need to get it off the road, otherwise it'll get towed."

At this point, I'm getting hostile so I stay silent. I look at my clueless spouse with an expression I hope is pleasant, and if not that, than at least hostility-free. After a lot of muttering, he finally comes to the conclusion that YES we will have to call a tow truck. He makes the call and informs me that it will take at least an hour. I barely stop the words from springing out of mouth. Why didn't you call after you called me. I don't get it. So now, we're on the side of a Friday at 6 pm traffic-laden road with two kids who are fighting to the death in the back seat of our only functioning vehicle. In order to keep me from sacrificing myself by jumping into traffic, Mitchell suggests I take the girls to Target until the truck comes. I leave rubber as I cross 3 lanes of traffic to make it into the turning lane heading toward Target. After a somewhat less horrible hour of cruising the lanes of my favorite superstore, Mitchell calls for me to retrieve him. I check out, as usual the $100 Target rule applies. The next hour and a half is spent running back and forth between the parking lot at Ross and Checker trying to figure out why the car has died. Eventually we abandon the car and drive home. I'm immediately trying to figure out how we're going to manage another car payment. There goes all of our disposable income for the next 5 years. Thankfully, my dad takes mercy on us and drives down to help Mitchell figure out the problem. After about 35 minutes, he has fixed the problem and the little silver bullet is fully operational again. Thank the LORD.

touch me not

Please don't hug me. Not hello or good bye. No "How ya doin'?" hugs or "So good to see you". I don't want to stand with you clasped to my breast or vice versa.

Please don't pat my back as you invade my space. No comforting squeezes while your chin is propped on my shoulder. No lingering embraces. No rubbing of arms.

Didn't we just meet? How did I miss that we grown this close?

It's not that I'm not happy to see you. Just no hugs. Please. No hugs.