I’ve been at the 1000mg mark for depakote for a few weeks now. Just like last time, I’ve been having a teensy bit of trouble with this dose. Like……..

*I paid the same bill three times last week. Only found out because the bank called. I still don’t remember paying it.

*I left my purse, my keys, my phone, my wallet, my everything inside the van while I went grocery shopping Wednesday and had a fucking panic attack when I got to the register and couldn’t find it. Did I mention that the windows were down? Thank gawd we live in Hicksville.

*I forgot my son. Yes, you read that correctly. No, I’m not making this up. Yes, I’m sick about it. I just up and fucking left the house without MB2 this afternoon to pick up MB1 from the hospital. Cell phone rang on my way home, and the second I saw his name I got confused. That damn white smoke rolled in again, and I couldn’t access my brain. He asked me where I was, and I asked him where was I supposed to be because I couldn’t remember where the hell he was and if I was supposed to have picked him up or something. But the calm that came over me when he said that he was at home only lasted for a few moments when I realized that my worst fear of being on these meds had happened – I had actually forgotten my own child at home. But even then I could breathe, I mean, he’s 14. He stays home alone all the time. No big deal. No harm done. It wasn’t until MB1 said – wow, glad it wasn’t MB4 – that I flipped a nutty. Seriously had to fight back the urge to puke. I started thinking back to when I left the house, and if I had even thought to do a headcount like I usually do. Nope. Did I run through the checklist of kiddos, the one that plays 24/7 in my mind? Nope. Had I even given MB2 a second thought? Did I assume he was at the pool or at a friend’s house or still at practice? NopeNopeNopeNope – that would mean that I put effort into thinking, and I don’t do that anymore. I simply plunker along. One plunk at a time.

I’m going to call the doc tomorrow, and I’m going to bitch. And she’s going to want to see me. And then I’m going to get some dumbass memory test where she does the clock desk trashcan thingy and in twenty minutes I’m going to say clockdesktrashcan like a good little girl and she’s going to deem me cured but that’s not a test for the real world. There’s no one at home waiting with a watch to check me every twenty minutes. THAT’S THE FUCKING PROBLEM. I can’t remember to ask myself anymore like normal people do. I FORGOT MY KID. Sweet geezus, what if it HAD been MB4? ????? ???? Gawd.

I accidently lost a 250mg pill tonight. Fell back into the pill box. I heard a brain cell cry in relief.

We were thinking of more names tonight for the tournament, and Volley for the Cure popped out of my piehole. I like it. MD likes it. Et tu, Brute?

MB1 has soccer practice at 6am.
MB2 has marching band practice at 7am.
I’m kinda wishing they could drive right about now.

I did it! I actually called quite a few places yesterday about donations. I worked on my ….. well, my lines – say a fucking word and I will slit your throat – and found a way to get the important info out of my mouth quicker without sounding like a ass begging for cash. ‘Cause I’m not really, not this time anyway. I want their stuff. Their goodies. Gimme ‘dem ‘dere gift certificates. My cousin, bless her bless her, has been calling her ass off. Some people just have that way about them, yanno? Constantly in awe of her and how she can just naturally talk to people – and not in that car salesman way. She has a garage sale and people remember her – and she remembers them – wtf? I have a hard time recalling my neighbor’s face.

So anydamnway, we’ve got a ton of shit so far – ok, not really, but we’re getting there. About 20 places have donated so far, and 12-15 have hoops we gotta jump through first. I’mma jumpin’ though, I’mma jumpin’.

And then we have a list of about 30 places still to call, and a phone book more to pull from. I think we’ve even talked a place into giving us a tv- no lie. I know people get this kind of shit all the time from places, but I had the impression that once they smelled the mark of the social demon on me, I couldn’t get free piss if I was on fire. I feel all giddy like a school girl.

———

In other fabulous news, MD informed me that he’ll be working this 2nd job for at least another 10 weeks, not the 2 like I thought. Adding 8 more checks, albeit as teeny as they are, has made my fucking day. We’re still poor, but at least I was able to brush the dirt off.

Looks like this volleyball tourney is onnnnnnnnnnn…. yeahooooooo. Also looks like we’ve done most of the legwork already simply checking into the different requirements of hosting one. Ok, the work isn’t done, but the groundwork is, how about that.

Maybe I won’t need any other teams to help out.

Wound on my thumb still needs a band-aid. Two of them, actually. Sort of wraps around the whole damn thing protecting my nail from being ripped off. Gag. Sliced chicken breasts to make homemade strips. Yum. Dunked pieces into bowl of beaten eggs, and then washed the cutting board. Ho hum. Medication is really REALLY fucking with my eyes. And my brain. Scary.

Saw band-aid concoction in the sink and hollered and hollered because I thought for a second that my thumb tip had fallen off somehow or that I had cut it off and by the time I realized how fucking stupid I was, I also realized that I was still screaming. Very loud. Like MD hopping and shrieking on furniture when he sees a mouse loud.

MB1 runs upstairs and over to the sink screaming what’s wrong what’s wrong, and I didn’t mean to but I glanced in the sink, and he saw the band-aid and the cutting board and the knife on the counter and he starts with the omgomgomgomg and I start laughing but it really isn’t funny and when he peers down to get a closer look and sees that it’s simply a bandage he gives me a dead arm and tells me that my jokes suck. That I’ll regret crying wolf someday, and I can’t tell him that it wasn’t really a joke but my stupity because I’m still laughing at the way he flipped the fuck out. And as my lovely son went back downstairs, he hollers that the next time I slice off my finger he’s going to push it into the garbage disposal so I can’t take it with me to the hospital.

Gross. And oh so very kind.

I really hate MD’s second job. He’s been taking extra nights all week to try and pay some unexpected medical bills. Bills that the insurance should have paid but trying to fight over dental coverage is nuts. I just grab the checkbook and bend over.

Anyhooo, still thinking about shutting this down. He says I’m being silly, but every little bit helps. They can’t possibly keep him at this ridiculous salary considering that they just added another shop to order for AND an employee to manage AND he still is running in every other night or for the out of town guys coming in for repair parts. Makes sense, eh? Let’s take away a shitload of pay, and then make you drive back and forth to town on your dime – 18 miles one way. Right. Assholes. I’m scouring the help wanted’s and monster to find him something else. It’s just not right, and I hate to see him trapped like that.

Anyhooo, Anyhooo……all this makes me bored. And boring. And hungry. No, that’s the pills. I’ve done really well this week though. Lost 5lbs so far. 5 more to go and then I’m back to where I was before this pill took hold.

Speaking of….. if I were to stop my meds – JUST UNTIL HE GOT A RAISE – it would save us some cash. Of course, I would also need to stop my appts, as our care account is empty now, and the next $2K of the deductible is ours to eat. Between my appts and my meds – we spend about $160 a month. We pay about the same for MB4, but we wouldn’t stop his meds or appts for the world. He’s doing too well. Especially with school starting soon. That’d be cruel. But hell, what we spend to be sane is a hunk o’ change here in the midwest. Hell, it’s half the rent we paid at the last house.

And NO <<—- see that? I said no, so don’t email me begging me to think before I ditch the pills in dumbass fashion. NO, I am not talking about cold turkey. I know how stupid and dangerous that could be for me. I don’t even want to stop. I feel better every day. I hate that I need any of these pills, but wow, I’m having a life I never knew existed. Thinking about not taking them makes me feel like shit. Scares me. I don’t want to go back to that. I hope I don’t have to.

ANyhooANyhooANyhooo… I’m hungry for real now. Think I’ll make me a snack before I make some dinner. Fuck a diet. Might be getting some gogogo juice.

Posted more pictures from the fourth. I hate seeing photos of myself, so keep the saggy boobs and wow you look pregnant and let’s play connect the freckles shit to yourself.

First off, to those that asked me to review the Doodlebop dvds and music cd:
Careful what you ask M-o-o-d-y Mama to yammer on about.

Now, onto the review……

Ooooh weeee gawd. We should know from early on the sort of shit our kids’ll like. What makes ‘em happy. Crazy faces, baby talk, bright colors, funky music, wild dancing, mindless repetition …. also the same stuff that causes other people to grow up needing crayons and a room made of charmin.

I wasn’t sure if my younger children had ever watched this before, but I think I caught a flicker of recognition in MG’s eyes. As you see from the spiffy sidebar over there —> she’s almost 5. The older boys had caught a few episodes, but for some curious reason, they didn’t stick around for the show.

I knew they’d like it immediately, because I couldn’t stop cringing through both dvds. The characters seem to dazzle my 2 year old. He was mesmerized from the get go. He’d grin and cock his head and his eyes would glaze over. Then he’d come to life and pump his fists during the songs – he’s quite the dancer. MG watched and smiled and twirled her hair. Content, but not as enraptured as her brother.

Then the cd!!! Gah!!! And when do you know me to use these !! suckers??!! Not that the music was bad, quite the opposite. It’s catchy and it stuck in my brain all damn day. And MB5 couldn’t get enough. That kid doodle bopped all over the living room. I became deeply troubled as to why I had agreed to do this given my sensitive mental state. People like me don’t do doodle bop. People like me hate it when the kids find another sunshiney, fun filled, happyhappyjoyjoy show to torture me with. Unfortunately, people like me are also suckers for their kids, and my kids liked it, so …

I need new crayons.

Have I mentioned that my dad was offered a job? One that will work around chemo and any other appts he has, since he’ll work when he wants? Which means he can work enough to feel useful and earn a bit of change, and still qualify for disability. A job where he’ll mosey around doing estimates in the same field he’s worked in for 25 years.

Did I mention how damn thrilled he is?

That’s it. That’s all I wanted to say.

Not sure if I’ve ever mentioned that Binky is a demonic hellcat, but well, she’s a demonic hellcat. Everyone is afraid of her. Friends request that she be ‘housed’ in the laundry room while they’re here. She’s taken chunks outta everyone at this point, and I almost lost an eye TWICE last week alone.

That’s when I decided that she has over stayed her welcome. For sure. I’ve been asking for help from animal docs and behavior experts for awhile, and I’ve done everything they said to do. She’s just plain loco. Of course, what else would you expect in this house? She seemed to flip her bananas when Boots was adopted awhile back. He left and she wigged. But she was already nipping at us at that point. And she has always tried to escape whenever the door is open.

So, the last attempt was to try to find her another friend, and so MD brought home some kitties from work (from yet another damn wild cat up there who needs to picked up, fixed, and returned). Failure. Big time. She is trying to munch on them. I gave it a bit because of the pecking order bullshit and all, but honestly? I’m tired of protecting the family from her anyway.

My cousin will take her. She’s a beautiful cat. She’s just crazy. And wild. Or she thinks she’s wild anyway. So, she is going to live on a farm. She’ll have the option of living inside or out. She can come and go as she pleases. No real danger of her getting hit by a car like there is here, as my cousin has acres and acres and acres and bumfuckedegypt doesn’t even come close to describing where she lives. She can chase mice and bugs and birds and still come home for dinner. If this doesn’t work, I don’t know what will.

Anyhooooo, pics of the new babies in the gallery. Take more when they wake up. Damn, they’re little.

Went by to drop off a borrowed suitcase, and I tell you what, my dad looks good. Damn good. Better than he has in years. Hard to believe ……. well. It’d be easy to live in Mom’s fairy tale right now. But, I’ve let it go. Or I’m letting it go. This infection fiasco set me back a bit, but I’m doing a lot better with not letting her get to me. Much better on the brain.

———-

The brain The brain. Oh how I’m loving the brain right now. I feel so damn good. Not crazy good either. At least I don’t think. I have no desire to do any of the things that usually come along with an up state, so I’m thinking that this must might be an honest to goodness good mood. And what a crock is it that I feel the need to share it like this. Twisted life I lead.

But anyhooo, I feel great. Better and better. Not buzzbuzzbuzzing, but my hands are kinda shakey. Only downside I see is an increase in appetite. No, really. Like I was on the Zoloft. Like move the fuck over people there are chips over there. Like no you can’t have any chips because I hate them all – without stopping. Hell, without breathing. Like I’m so stuffed after dinner but I can’t stop thinking about food and the second – THE SECOND – I have even the tiniest bit of room in my belly I’m stuffing it full of whatever I can get my hands on.

Today? That’d be water. I have signs to myself all over the kitchen. Not so nice signs, seeing’s how I’ve gained 8 pounds this past week. Egads. Can’t wear my damn clothes. Polly don’t want no more fucking crackers. Scale was kind this morning, but there is still work to be done.

———–

My boy comes home today. Then I have all my babies here for about two weeks before another mini-vacation for MB1 with his youth group. And then it’s time to get ready for school. Which starts one month from yesterday. HOOOOOFUCKINGRAYYYYYYYY!!!!! I’m ready. I’m ready. I’m ready. I’m ready.

Here’s the deal. I have lots of DoodleBop goodies. A backpack, a tshirt, a coloring book, a magnet, and a music cd. I know some of your children love these guys, and I’m sorry. My kids like ‘em too.

Every person that has donated to Light The Night up until this point, and all those that donate until the ……. let’s go with the 18th of August, that’s about a month from now, will be entered in a drawing to win one of these prizes. It’s not much, but hey, it’s better than just giving them to my kids. At least maybe I can get an extra buck or two for LTN. I’ll do three drawings – the backpack, the coloring book with the t-shirt, and the magnet with the music cd.

I’ll take pictures of them here in a bit.

Ok, the infection is improving. The negative results simply meant that it wasn’t spreading anymore, and that the antibiotics were working. Then the culture came back, and because of the type of bacteria and where dad’s room is (in the cancer ward), the hospital’s infectious disease people stepped in and declared the isolation – not for dad, but for the other patients. Which is actually a good thing, for dad anyway. Means that his immune system isn’t the one they’re worrying about. Right now lol.

So, they still say he might get out tomorrow.
Let no more bad happen.

I swear I’m about to lose my mind. Mom just got off work, went up to dad’s room, and saw an isolation sticker on his door. Mom, being ….. well, mom, went on in anyway. Dad didn’t know much either, but something about Dr. So&So’s test results. They OBVIOUSLY differ from the earlier doc’s test results.

Ummmm…huh?

So, there are two different doctors giving out two different results. That’s all the nurse seemed to know, so mom sent her off (and I can only imagine how she sent her) to find one of the two docs. Or preferrably both. MD works his other job tonight, and until the grocery store will trade rump roast for some rump shaking, he has to go, or I’d go up there and raise hell. Maybe I can call a friend to watch the kiddos.

Didn’t something like this happen early on as well? Some sort of contamination? My mind just ain’t what it used to be. Think I’ll go back and see if I wrote something about it. Hopefully that’s what the deal is here.

Maybe they’ll let me take him to my vet. Then he’ll get a scooby snack AND PROPER FUCKING MEDICAL TREATMENT.

It hasn’t even BEEN 3 days – he went in Wednesday afternoon? It’s Friday morning? Not even 48 hours of antibiotics have cured him? Bullshit.

Either they fucked up before or they’re fucking up now, and this is NOT the kind of thing to fuck up. I wish they’d listen to me and take him somewhere else.

Mom just called. Said the word is that dad can go home tomorrow – because the infection in his blood is gone.

Is this fucking possible? In 3 days? Can it go from HOLYFUCK to ThankYouHaveANiceDay in 3 days? How can that be when we’re still waiting on the final cultures? I don’t understand. She had to run into work real quick so I couldn’t finish asking questions, but wtf?

Is his line still infected? Still red and icky? Does this kind of shit happen often? Are we going to have to get used to being yanked back and forth like this?

Damn. I feel like punching someone.

Still nothing new with dad. Guess that’s good news? Hope so.

Heat wave got a kick in the ass this morning. It’s a blessed 65 right now, and I could kiss someone’s ass for it. It’s raining, and I’m skipping down memory lane thanks to a friend who pointed out this website this morning.

Kids are still asleep. I got up at 5am with my husband. I don’t know why. Finding that I might like to go to bed early and get up early instead of late nights and late mornings. Much more peaceful.

Well, it would be if I knew dad was ok.

Still don’t know much yet. His line got infected (for the millionth time), probably last week based on the symptoms he’s been having (that were blamed on the medication that is supposed to be dissolving this “knot” that my parents still insist is a group of enlarged nerves or scar tissue, even though the docs are still in the “tumor” camp). They will pump him full of antibiotics every six hours and if it’s not gone in 2-3 days, the line goes byebye. They told mom that a new one won’t be put back in, but they’ll discuss other methods of administering chemo later. I hope that’s not a gentle pacification.

I know about as much as I usually do, which is shitsquat, but I guess dad has a blood infection from the line. You know, the G*roshong line that goes straight into his heart? Yeah, that one. They are admitting him now, and I’m wondering what this means exactly? Is this something that I should get my ass to the hospital for? I’m about to look it up, but I thought I’d ask here too. There’s a few great nurses that drop by sometimes.

MB1 has spent the past 3 nights away from home. No, wait – 4. And he leaves tomorrow for a camping trip with a friend and his family tonight. Will be gone a week. MB2 doesn’t get home until Thursday from his trip. It’s been very quiet around here.

But I am so enjoying the grocery bill.

—————–

MB5 still isn’t talking much. He flaps his right hand and nods when he wants oatmeal. Guess I should be happy that he’s learning how to talk to birds. He says zeeeeeeeee for c’mon eat. He says Baaaaaaaaaayyyy for ….well, for Bana. Noooooo[relievedgiggle]nooonoooooo with a head nod means yes, and NO! with a mind numbing shake of the head means no.

He is getting a few more sounds right – like Hmmph and crossing his arms and making that mean ass look he’s getting famous for around here. You can’t miss it in the new pics. He can tap his finger on his chin and say hmmmmmmm. He can throw something and say uh oh. I realize these things may seem pretty simple considering his age, but they are HUGE deals around here. He still doesn’t play the body parts game or things like that. Still has a lot of trouble with gross motor skills, yet his fine motor skills continue to blow me away. I’m convinced he’ll take longer to potty train than MB4 – and that’s scary.

——————

Speaking of MB4 – wow. Those meds – if it is the meds – just wow. He is still going strong a month or so later with this great attitude. Yes, he still throws fits, but NO WHERE near as bad as before. In fact, they are fits – not rages. Another HUGE difference around here. You have no idea how much this family atmosphere revolves around his mood – and it’s been absolutely heavenly. My mood factors in as well, but not the same way. When I’m raging, everyone is blah and quiet and afraid to breathe. When MB4 is raging, everyone else is too. Just a real nightmare. I’m glad for the break. For all of us.

——————

Once again, just a public service announcement from the local batshit crazy lady – having a bad mood and throwing shit and spending all of your husband’s check at T*arget doesn’t make you bipolar. You want the title? The crown? The fucking headache and pills and appts and shame and guilt and bullshit that is bipolar? Take your entire life and set it on fire. Then skip away eating jelly beans while it burns. The men from the hospital will fetch you shortly after.

Crazy women drive me crazy. -er
Whining women drive me crazy. -er
Dependent women drive me crazy. -er

When you mix all three together, it makes me want to eat a whole bowl of brownie batter. So I will, but it won’t be my fault.

Really liking my new logical brain.

I just called 6 businesses and I’m about to have a fucking heart attack. My gawd. And for all that trauma, I got one donation. One donation, two call back tomorrow and speak to so and so’s, one send a fax to this number, and two have no more funds in that account for this quarter’s. Honestly feel as though I could black out. Want to beat me in battle? Call me. Gah.

I can’t help it, MD will simply have to call the rest. I made a very nice and tidy list of places I think will help if they can, so he just needs to toodle on down it. ‘Cause I’m a wuss.

More information later when I’m not headed out the door, but I have come into a few Doodlebop prize packs, and I’m going to use them to boost LTN’s till.

Just haven’t decided how much it’s gonna take to score one.

There’s a friend of MB1’s that is allowing himself to be some bitch’s 2nd. Her Back-Up. The Just In Case guy. The one she cries to when her current assmunch boyfriend dropkicks her heart around. And he’s always there. Lending that shoulder or drying those tears or taking her just a little something to cheer her up. Always hoping that this will be the time she realizes that he’s the one she should be with. That he’s the one who truly cares about her. He hopes that she’ll be done with the dirtbags once and for all and they’ll live happily ever after.

I told him to punch her in the head or something the next time he sees her. That’s a surefire way to get her attention. She’ll fawn all over him then. Stop taking those phone calls and she’ll come a-running. Ignore the bitch for a change, because that’s the only way a 2nd has a chance. Some girls simply cannot date the guys that are actually good for them.

And if that doesn’t work, punch her in the head again. Just for fun.

I can say this shit ’cause I was one of those bitches. Gawd I hate me. These chicks around here better step up their game if they expect to play my boys. Not gonna happen.

MD was asked to work security instead at this volleyball place. More hours. Less chance of getting stiffed when a team no-shows. Possible work in the winter. Also means more time away from here. He sits around there in flip flops and shorts, so it’s not like it’s a demanding job, but I still feel bad that he has to do it. And even then, money is tight. I hate this part of the year when the need for school supplies and school clothes and school shoes are all coming at you. And if I remember correctly, the fees alone to start school last year were enough to kill a man. Can hardly wait.

So, today he’s gone at a tournament, and here we sit. Me and the wee one rather. Others have been whisked away by a friend of mine. More power to her. It’s too damn hot to move.

Had to call the pdoc and have an adjustment made at the start of the week. Just too damn low in the afternoons/evenings. She increased the Risperdal a bit. I’m to take a tiny dose at noon. Seems to be working. I haven’t cleaned the house like this in months. M-O-N-T-H-S. I keep thinking, wow, I must have been depressed before, because I feel great now. Till I feel even better. That’ll help more and more when those highs sweep in and neener neener me for having a shitty boring life on the meds.

Now I just need to work on using the phone. Gah. We’re going to have a volleyball tourney for LTN. I have to start calling for donations. Gah. Try to beg these people for anything and everything to raffle off. Gah. I have to work with a few other teams to make this happen. Gah. I might actually have to talk to everyone – the whole crowd – at the tournament. Gah.

Not sure any of that shit is going to happen.

Don’t ask about dad’s tests. I called mom to see how things went, and she tells me that she doesn’t remember telling me about a scope today. Fuck the fact that she told me and my sister both. That woman has lost her ever loving mind. I asked a few more questions, got a few more crazy ass answers, and decided to cut my losses. It’s hard to describe my mother. She’s the type that will fuck up and then turn it around to appear as though you’re the idiot, but she’s saintly enough to forgive your stupidity.

And I’m the one on meds.

Some have emailed and asked me to go easy on my mom. Some have commented to go easy on her. Some people haven’t walked in my shoes and had her shoes whipping at their heads all these years. Do I mean physical abuse? Not really. Not anymore. Oh, she was capable, but it really was more like shoe throwing when me and MS wouldn’t stop talking and made her die on Ms Pac-Man. How we made her die with conversation is beyond me, but we did it a lot. Pitfall too. The power of our words would just beam that little fucker right off the vine and into the gator’s mouth. And the shoes would fly. Needless to say, I spent a lot of time outside. And I still hate Ms Pac-Man.

Mostly it was mental torture. Can’t call it abuse, because it was so much more than that. Seriously, if I need meds, then that woman was ready for the nuthut back then. She would be all nicey-nice one day, buy me this gorgeous little dress for prom, and then call me a slut for wearing it. Ummmkay. Makes sense to me. Not.

She would flip the lights on and off at 6am on Saturdays and tell me to get my lazy fucking ass outta bed, and would have me clean all day long. We get along now – as People Who Talk. Not as mother and daughter. I never had one of those. Mean Motherfucker maybe.

And I won’t make excuses for her behavior. She was like this to me long before I went all loco on the world. It just got worse when I stopped putting up with her shit. When I stopped letting her freight train all over my ass every day. I cleaned the house, I cooked the food, I did the laundry, I kept straight A’s, I worked 40+ hours a week, I was a volunteer at the hospital and the rectory, I was Girls’ State, I was National Honor Society, I was TEC, I was TI, I was first chair flute, I was State Track, I was everyfuckingthing you could ask for – but it wasn’t enough. Never enough.

I would ask dad back then how he lived with her – ’cause she wasn’t nice to be around for anyone, just absolutely horrid to me. His answer? She put up with my partying days – I owe her. Ummm… gotcha. Whatever. He would beg me to just stay away from her and to remember that it wasn’t me. That he would talk to her again, but the poor man worked so damn much he was never around. Never there to step in and save me. I didn’t want him to worry about me though. I know he stressed over it. I tried and tried and tried to get along with her. But yeah, I gave up in the end. It got pretty bad my senior year. Knocked her ass flat once. She’s lucky I didn’t beat her unconscious. MS was the only reason I didn’t. I joined the Army on a dare to get away from her. Far far away. Pissed away a 14k scholarship to get the fuck away.

So no, no I don’t feel sorry for her. Fuck her. Fuck her and her feelings. I honest to gawd do not give two shits about how she feels these days. Honestly? I think living with her has done this. No, I’m not kidding. She doesn’t talk about dad as though she’s concerned and daze-like with shock. She talks like she is air-headed from not paying attention because it doesn’t really matter anyfuckingway and that stupid online game she plays is soooo much more important and she can’t be bothered with real life shit. Will it rock her core to lose him? You bet your sweet ass it will. I know she loves him, she just isn’t capable of playing the role. I know she loves me in some warped ass way. She falls all over herself to help me nowadays. I’m probably the only one on the planet she is nice to now, other than MS. Why? I don’t know. Guilt? Maybe. I know when she tells me to go easy on one of my kiddos for something, I tell her to kindly remember how lacking her mothering skills were. Is that nice? Not like I care. I don’t do it that often. Just enough to back her ass back down and let her know that although I talk to her now, I will never forget. I can honestly say that MS will have to care for her when she gets older. I’d just as soon roll her ass into a closet all day than take care of her. Guess that makes me a horrible person. So be it. She should have thought of that a long time ago. Like when she stopped hugging me at five. Or stopped tucking me in at seven. And I merely mean shutting out the lights – no hugs and kisses. I must have already pissed on her parade by then.

So if you want to feel sorry for her, go ahead. MS does, but I don’t blame her. Mom wasn’t mean to her. And I don’t hold any grudges against MS either. I couldn’t have handled it if mom had gone after her like she did me.
Right now the only thing I care about is dad. The only bright light in my childhood was dad. I wouldn’t have survived without him. Wouldn’t have been reason to. Mom can deal however she wants. It’s none of my concern.

There is no way in hell I would be getting through any of this without the friends I’ve made through this blog. Or friends I’ve made by reading their blogs. Or whatever. No way in hell. SO thank you.

There’s this one gal, I won’t say her real name, but she’s real busy, and yet she still has time to stop and pick me up each and every time I trip and fall over this cancer hoopla. What’s more, she’s going through it herself within her own family, and she has every right to simply kick me as she walks by and tell me to stop my bitching. And my whining. But she doesn’t.

Matter of fact, she actually read my mind this morning, and it blew me away. No lie. She fucking read my mind. I’ll get to that in a minute, but I want other people to know that this mystery woman is probably a fantastic nurse somewhere and they are really fucking lucky to have her.

But anyway… something has really been bothering me for a few weeks now. But it doesn’t sound right to say it, and it definitely feels wrong to think it – so I have been trying to squash it. There’s no way in hell I was going to post it, but since

whatever’s on your mind isn’t too morbid, or negative or is even “giving up”

I’m going to ramble on about it for awhile. If it makes you sick, or you think I’m an evil bitch – I get it. Just send all the hate mail in the mornings, ’cause these pills made me lower than low at night.

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I know my dad is dying and I want someone else besides me with the balls to say it. I am sick and tired of pretending that this chemo is going to do anyfuckingthing but push back the inevitable. I want people to stop hinting that we should spend more time together and just come right out and say we should make the most of the time we’ve got. I want to stop sneaking around trying to get photos of dad without him seeing me so I don’t upset your father. I want him to know that I wish there was something I could do but I can’t and that it’s ok with me if he wants to stop all this chemo nonsense. I want my mom to fucking think about how proud my father is and how important it is for him to die with dignity – not with a bag attached to his body that can’t be put back while he’s taking treatments. I want him to enjoy every drop of life he has left – not spend it suffering to eat because his throat is bloody and raw.

I know that sounds like I want him to stop treatments and die, but I don’t. If no change to his liver is good news, then go ahead and keep on keeping on. But my gawd, don’t insult me by talking about resection surgery when we all know that ain’t never gonna happen. Not a doc on this planet that would even consider it given the original diagnosis/condition of his insides.

I know it sounds like I already have him “dead, eulogized and buried in my head”, and in a way, I guess I do. In a sense. I am slowly coming to terms with this in bits and pieces. My own way. Couldn’t possible handle the crushing weight of it all at once. I am trying to accept what is happening so we can start enjoying what time we have left.

I feel as if I’m already actively grieving, and no one else is. I feel like I’m over-reacting. Like I shouldn’t be bursting into tears at the oddest moments when I get a reminder.

They think I should be yay yay yay, chemo will save the day.
They ask why I’m sad when he might have years left with us.
They ask why am I so concerned with every little ache and pain he has when they’re just side effects of chemo – the doc said so it must be true ’cause he wouldn’t dare tell a lie to my mother just to shut her the fuck up even though she is STILL questioning him about these liver/lung spots, they could be something else, right?

No one even cares that HE might be ready to accept the hand that was dealt. What if he has? No one will ask him, or let me ask. That might destroy his will to live. To fight. I’m not trying to, but damn, what if he’s ready to grieve a bit and then party hearty?

I don’t want to miss the opportunity to send him off in style just because everyone’s afraid to say the D word. You can think that sounds bad if you want to, but if you knew my father… if you knew the people that look up to him and respect him and love him and are going to be fucking devastated when he ….. dies – I just want him to know what he means to us. Now.

‘Cause Ang don’t believe in heaven.

*People = mother
*They = mother
*No one = mother

We’re not quite sure how the law works in this situation. My parents have contacted a lawyer, but until yesterday, they weren’t sure if they needed him or not. Now they’ll meet with him I guess.

Hard to say though. The law does talk about protection for people like dad, and returning them to comparable jobs when they return to work after Family Medical Leave and whatnot, but it also states that they don’t have to create a position for them if they cannot return in the same capacity – and he can’t. He used to work out of town as a superviser. He now has chemo every other week, which makes a 6 week stint in NM impossible. However, he is qualified for numerous other positions around the company – and the company is huge. Huge. Maybe too huge. They damn near own this town. Have the best lawyers too. I’m sure they have a loophole.

Shitty thing is that he was cleared for full duty a month ago. No restructions, other than treatment. He could have come off of leave full time and used a few days at a time for chemo – that’s pretty much how I understood it to be used anyway. The FML, that is. But they wouldn’t allow him to even talk about coming back until the leave was over. Had to run it dry.

Needless to say, MD will continue to work there (as long as they don’t cut him loose too), but we’ll keep our eye out for something else. I hope the pricks read this too.

I thought that maybe I could post this later and it wouldn’t sting so much, but it looks like that ain’t happening. They are pretty certain it’s another tumor, so they’re doing a scope on Friday. They were able to rule out a few things with the scan I guess, like cysts and all that, but the scope should do the trick.

The scan also gave them a glimpse into how well the chemo has been working on his liver. And it hasn’t. No change at all. None. Zilcho. Dad hasn’t spoken since the appt. I can’t even imagine what’s going through his mind right now. How many treatments does it take to see some sort of results? I know everyone is different, but on average?

Work made it official this morning – they have nothing for him and are letting him go (bye bye insurance), and then this news at 2pm. Had he known this before his meeting with his boss, I bet he would have told them he could return to full duty – and gave a hefty fuck you to any more chemo treatments.

I’m going to go eat a box of crunch bars to clear my head.

There’s only one e*b*a*y, and it takes two seconds to rat a tat the extremely short URL into the addy bar…… so why do I pulling up google to search for the fucking thing? That’s not even laziness. It’s just me being a moron.

Dad should be getting the test results right about now. My stomach is doing these amazing flip flops waiting for the phone to ring. I wrangled out of mom last night that they are investigating the problems, the pain, and a knot. Let’s hope it’s a knot. Or scar tissue. A girl can dream, eh?

I realized a few things today. Why no one talks to anyone. Dad goes to half of his appts alone, and doesn’t discuss shit with mom because it upsets her. Gawd knows what he knows. When they go together to the other appts, they won’t talk to MS because duh, stress causes cancer. But I couldn’t figure out why they won’t talk to me. I’ve always been the strong one. The one who can shut down emotionally when needed and do what needs to be done. But I wasn’t carrying the bipolar crown before. Maybe they think they’ll cause bad ju-ju’s if they throw too much my way. Probably my fault for talking about my progress/setbacks where the meds are concerned. Wasn’t my intention, but I bet that has a lot to do with it.

And it is hard to deal with. Harder. I know that these pills have stripped me of that armor I used to carry around for times like these. Hell, I wore it all the time. I picked one helluva time to try out some real life emotions for a change. One helluva time.

After I pick up some disposable snot rags and wet wipes and antibacterial hand rubby rubby, I’m done school supply shopping. Yeah, I know. But I smoke your ass every year, so stop crying. Go to the store like I did today and stock up on 10 cent notebooks and 20 cent crayons and every other cheap ass special they have right now and cross this pain in the ass chore off your list.

One of these days I’ll buy a shitload of extras and sell prestuffed backpacks to parents who wait until the night before school starts to shop and have to damn near stab the other procrastinating bitches in the eye with a pencil to snag the last protractor.

I think I’d clean up.

My third baby boy turned 11 today. He’s one helluva kid with a heart so incredibly big I’ve got good reason to believe they switched him at birth. Surely he’s not my son. I’ve never met anyone as giving and unselfish and kind and just downright honest to gawd good as this kid of mine.

May he never turn into a shithead.

They won’t have Dad’s test results until Monday.

My parents are acting funny again. Stammering to answer questions about what the docs are looking for exactly. About what kind of problems and pain dad is having. He’s wearing a pain patch because the three other pain killers he was on didn’t cut it – and my dad has a tolerance for pain that you would not believe. Every little girl thinks her dad is superman, but when it comes to pain – my dad is seriously made of iron. To see him wearing that patch today and still be in obvious discomfort makes me sick to my stomach.

I managed to get out of mom a bit ago that they are looking for another tumor. That about knocked me over. The fact that they could possibly fathom another tumor growing that damn fast is hard for my brain to comprehend – and then I remember that the first one grew in less than 12 months. He hasn’t had a scan in ?? how long? Just a couple of months – like right before chemo started. Surely nothing could grow in two fucking months.

And if his cae count (cea count?) went from over 300 initially to where it is now at 72 – that seems to mean that he’s getting better? At least in some small way? If it’s not another tumor, then what the hell is going on? Why do I get the feeling that something else is going on? I hate that they are keeping shit from me/us again. Why is he sleeping all the time again? Pain meds? Dad is increasingly edgy and not exactly pleasant to be around, and while I don’t see any particular reason for him to be anything but edgy and shitty to everyone about everything, it’s a total 180 from where he was a few weeks ago. Why does each passing holiday feel like our last one with Dad?

Is it any wonder that I’m having some weird ass mixed state of up and down right now? My whole life feels like a yo-yo. Of course my mood would reflect that. I can feel myself really starting to feel the weight of it all again. Gets better for awhile, then it creeps back in and tries to break me in half. I hope the doc knows what she’s doing by increasing my depakote right now. I sure as hell don’t need another downer in my life.

Dad is having a lot of tests ran today for some problems and pain they can’t explain. Bleh. Good news is that his biweekly blood work results still look good. I hope that actually means something and not just a line of blahblah bullshit to make us feel good. I want them to check out the pain he’s having down his throat, but I guess it’s being explained away as chemo aches and pains. I hope they know what they’re doing.

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MB5 just blew a 5 outta his nose. A square rubber 5 from a calculator the kids got from some asshole on Halloween. What kind of dillweed gives out calculators on Halloween? Anyhooo, MB5 was biting off the buttons back then and sticking them up his nose. I thought I threw them all away. Either I didn’t and he found one and gave himself another snort, or he’s been carrying that bastard around for the better part of a year. Given his runny nose the past few days, I’d say it was a recent treat. Thank gawd. How nasty.

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I hate living on a budget. A really tight budget. So tight it’s squeezing the fucking life outta me lately. Adding up shit as I grocery shop. Planning meals carefully and throwing in those kind of meals more often than I’d like – you know ……. spaghetti and shit like that. Barf.

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Our tv picture tube went out. It’s not like we don’t have three more in the house, but this was the main tv – the bigger one. Notice I didn’t say big, as we don’t spend heaps o money on shit like that, but it was at least big enough to watch without binoculars. MD gave up the tv I bought him for his bday, so now the living room is happy again. The dvd player I bought him broke as well. It doesn’t seem to like it when MB5 beats the dvd holder thingy part with a weeble wobble. Now it won’t open. Scared shitless I imagine.

So now we have no dvd player and no tv for the bedroom for MD to watch at night while falling asleep. Also means that we‘re tv-less and dvd-less in the bedroom for the weekends. Will the torture ever end??? I don’t ask for much in life. I’ll eat the fucking spaghetti, but my gawd – now I have to give up watching movies with my husband too?

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On the brighter side of life, starting next week, my wonderful mate who looks very delightful with or without clothes will be able to leave those pesky clothes off more often as they push back the opening time of the shop from 6 to 7. Which means he’ll be able to stay up an hour longer. That’s all I need folks. Hell, I only need 5 minutes, but this way he’ll be able to stay up later than the little ones who I swear are already little bipolar creatures who never seem to need more than 7 hours of sleep a night when the older boys always slept 11-12 at this age.

He’s actually almost finished fixing up the problems, which will mean he’d be going in at 7 soon anyhow, but this just speeds things up. Yay me. Go in at 7 and go home at 4:30. Geebus, we might actually have a life. We’ll be too poor to enjoy it, but what the fuck, you can’t have everything.

I suck at taking pics this year, but I just put a handful up in the Gallery. I need to get a better pic of MB2’s new look. It’s actually starting to grow on me. He’s decided to go with blue streaks instead of red ones, so I’ll be taking him to get that done this weekend.

If I’m feeling nice, I’ll warn MD before we do it.

Not exactly sure how this appt went today. New doc is very nice, but I can tell we are off and running in a new direction. Not sure if that’s simply because she has a different take on things, or if my jacked up mood chart from this past month sent her into a tizzy. But I thought I was doing better lately. She kinda has me thinking twice about that. Or rather she gave the impression that it’s not done with me yet. That I need a bit of tweaking to settle down a bit.

But maybe that’s true. I lost about hour at the store today. Not sure how it happened, but I know I entered at 6:10pm, and I got in the car at 7:30. I bought exactly three things – coke, toilet paper, and cat food. How that takes an hour and twenty minutes, I don’t know. I remember being confused as to why the cat food wasn’t in the grocery section, and then I got pissy because the toilet paper wasn’t by the tampons. But a fucking hour? I don’t know. Shit like that bothers me. I called MD twice to ask his opinion on where shit might be in the store, and I think he thought I was just being a smartass. Probably better that way. He’s already standing by my side to make sure I take my pills every day.

All this to say that they’ve raised my depakote again. Levels were low, I’m flying high – yay me. I’ll be drooling by the weekend. I was also put on Risperdal. She said it’s just temporary until things calm down. I’m not exactly sure what it’s supposed to do. I looked online, but I saw the words anti-psychotic and clicked the X. Brain is still too sensitive for shit like that right now.

Finally, for the first time in months, I’m tired. Tired as hell. Could sleep for a week tired.
Too bad MD let MB5 and MG nap for 2 fucking hours today.

Joy

My dad applied for disability 3 weeks ago. He’s been approved already.
Should that scare the shit out of me?

Remember that link you click to fund free mammograms? Remember how you did it a few times and then forgot about it? Well, here it is. Bookmark it this time and click it every day.