Wednesday, December 10, 2008

Channels


So I had the worst dream last night. My husband was killed overseas and they forgot to tell me. Which, now in the light of day, is laughable -- especially to my fellow military wives -- because how like them to forget to tell the wife! But when I was in the midst of the dream, it was horrible. The weight of the grief and the loss of our future was palpable. I remember just walking in circles in my dream trying to understand it all. And then the doorbell rang and he was standing there in a fast food type uniform so, obviously the serious part had given way to the Gatorade I had consumed before sleeping last night.


But I can't shake that feeling of grief. My husband, of course is milking it (when am I going to learn to not tell him dreams where he comes out a hero?). I think a lot of closure is happening right now in my life. I am feeling a bit more settled. I am not in constant wonder if hubby is going to be sent somewhere for months. I feel like my kids are in a safe school. My best friend's husband is finally home from a 15 month deployment. My family is all relatively healthy (if only my parents would stop falling down stairs!) The Monster 'Neath the Skin is a memory that I push out of my head so as to not wake it.


So I guess the dream just needs to dissolve a little more through the day. You know how dreams are...one minute they are messengers of a different outcome- a different world, the next they are excerpts from a short lived show. I just hope tonight's show is a comedy.


Friday, November 7, 2008

Domes


I've been thinking a lot about my hometown. The town I grew up in and spent eighteen years in and visited often for ten years after that. My family has moved away from that town so for me to go back and visit would be a real process. It is a far, far away place now.


One reason I have been thinking of it is because the town I am now residing in reminds me of H'town. There are hills and valleys, there is a downtown with shops and restaurants. There is a dome that shines through the trees as the car coasts to the bottom of the tall hill, bringing you into town. Geographically it feels like home here. But I have yet to feel it in my heart. I wonder how long it takes to feel a place in your heart?

It amazes me how quickly the kids adapt to and adopt their new town. If you ask them where they live, they quickly (butcher) say the name. Yet, there are still mornings I wake up and I have no idea where I am. I know, I know. It has been a hell of a trip for the last five years. Especially this last year. And, in fact, it has been a year almost to the day that the nightmare started.

I finally summoned the courage a few weeks ago and gave up my last dose of medication. One year ago I was literally begging for a cure, ready to end it all so I could be done with the pain. And now, I am medicine free, pain free and wandering around a town in the middle of nowhere, with no one knowing me or my history. A miracle? I don't know. I don't even understand what happened. I hate to even think about it. Because really, it's only in remission....I think. I guess I will never know until it happens again. I have a stockpile of the meds ready to go, but I have stopped packing them and taking them wherever I go. I think that is a good step. AND I am finally writing about it. Which I have been afraid to do...you know superstition and all. (So don't read any of this out loud lest the Monster 'Neath the Skin hears you)


And so I drive around this new town, I live this new phase. I think about my hometown and hope that my kids have good memories of this new place. I hope these good memories override any memories from the last year-- no one wants their kids to remember that. This new place doesn't smell of chocolate or have brightly lit stars atop mountains at Christmas (shout out to H'town), but I can make it just as a happy place for my kids...Daddy is not at war and Mommy doesn't need brain surgery...so all is good, right?


Thursday, September 25, 2008

Jump


Have you ever felt like you were standing on a precipice, ready to make a decision, take that leap, change your life forever? Doesn't it feel like our country is about to do the same thing? The funny (not really) thing is, I don't understand a damned thing that is going on the news. Am I alone here? I know I should be concerned. I know I should know what they are talking about. But all I keep wondering is:

Should I start stock piling food, water, etc in the basement?
Should I start saving aluminum foil like my Mema did since the last "Great Depression?"
Should I really be buying a bunch of things for the new house ( and how like me to finally own a house when all is about to go to hell?!)

Should I be getting a bunch of cash and sticking it in crevices in the walls (or a hole in the ground?)

Is anyone else looking around like me and wondering what is going on here? I don't GET it. I am not a stupid person, but I don't GET it.

I also took another leap this week. I cut out my morning dose of oxcarbazapine. (I finally learned how to spell and say the damned thing and now -- hopefully-- it will be exiting my life!) And of course, like the last ten doses of meds, my teeth started "twinging" a little, but so far I am doing ok with just ibuprofen -- whoo hoo! Three more doses to go and MAYBE I will be meds free.

I will always be suspecting that monster to claw its way into my face again. I will expect it to show up at the worst moment so as to not be totally comfortable in my life -- and at the same time I will be appreciative for not having pain in my life. What a horrible year I have witnessed.

And so I am standing on a precipice, scratching my head, looking around at the world with a perplexed mind, but I am pain free and willing to take that jump into the non-med life.

Even if it is from under the house with my ramen noodles, cash and a big ol' ball of aluminum foil.

Tuesday, September 16, 2008

Sleep and Such


Interesting. How else can I put the last few weeks? Living in hotels, living in the car, eating fast food for lunch and dinner (breakfast was the healthiest meal as the hotel quietly set it up just to have my kids run in and cause a ruckus). Our outlet for a restless day stuck in a car? McDonald's Playland (an inside one! whoo hoo!)


Everyone, at one time or another, had their meltdown. Including me. Especially after the "Front Desk" (remember The Desk? Apparently there are these all over the world!) called me to tell me of a Noise Complaint from our seemingly sleepy neighbor. Never mind that it was 8:30 in the morning. Never mind that I heard kids running around the hallways at 2 AM but didn't complain. Never mind that I had HAD IT. They were sleepy. Oh...I called that Front Desk back and gave them a piece of my mind. For whatever that matters. So, yes, I had my meltdowns. And new lows. (walking down to breakfast I spoke very immaturely loudly in the hallway-- I am such a bad influence)


Of course, hubby didn't have meltdowns or lows. I think they train soldiers to be completely numb to everything, but come on. This is considered torture. Three kids in a hotel, for weeks, in a car for days, and trying to buy a house in a town we don't know at all? And still....nothing. He sits with his eyes focused on the road in front of him. Listening to "Geronimo Stilton and the Cheese Pyramid" for the 642 time (yes I am glad my son likes audio books instead of movies...but come on. A little "Toy Story" or "Ninja Turtles" wouldn't hurt anyone right?)


He is a stone cold killer. His eyes sweeping the horizon. Ignoring the cries of desperation surrounding him (coming from me) he searches for his target. Nothing phases him. And then...there it is. A gas station with a slushy machine. Yes. Another mission completed. (as for me...I had to ONCE AGAIN drag my daughter with the smallest bladder in the entire world into another filthy gas station bathroom. Oh the horror. )


And then we get to our destination. Another week in a hotel/barrack. Post housing is what it is called. A tiny, tiny apartment. Two rooms and a closet for a kitchen. It smelled. I can't describe it. But the final kicker was when my oldest son came into "my room" and told me about the "sleeping mouses" he found in his room. I think I held it together very, very well.


I asked him to show me the "sleepy mice" and he did. And there they were. All curled up under the air conditioner stuck to a sticky trap. I had had enough. I called down to the desk and told the chirpy, helium sucking, brain dead girl unlucky enough to answer the phone at that moment to get someone up to the room to remove the sleeping mice.

I had had enough. (Never mind the fact that my son found the mice in the morning and didn't tell me until that evening because he thought he would get in trouble. What is up with that? Am I that horrible of a mother that he thinks I will punish him for putting mice to sleep?)


And then we finally get the house. And the house is beautiful, big -- not without problems -- but it is ours. Finally a house we can call ours. After nearly seven years together, all over this world, we have a home. Well...almost a home. As soon as we unpack and figure it all out it will turn into our home. But we have our own house. And that was my mission all along.


Now I am not saying the meltdowns have stopped (especially mine -- I can't find anything!) but at least I don't have to worry about the guy in the next room calling the Front Desk. I am the Front Desk in these parts. And my husband? He is still searching for the illusive slushy machine closest to the house. Life is getting back to "normal".

Friday, August 22, 2008

Moving at the Speed of 40w




I. Can't. Sleep.

No, it isn't the book about vampires that I just finished, though I keep jumping at every sound and have turned on every light in the computer room (You know that does keep them away right? They hate the blaring light of a 40w bulb)(And never mind it is a book written for teenagers and is supposed to be a love story. I am still freaked out.)

No, it isn't my husband being in danger (unless the vampires ARE waiting under the bed like my mind keeps whispering) because he is home now.

And no, it isn't the excruciating pain that once held me captive at this time of night/morning.

I am popping Benedryl to aide in my sleep because I am moving in less than a week and I am not prepared for this at all. I am moving. In four days. Into a hotel. With three kids. And then out of the town I have known for the last four years. To move back into a hotel. Into a town where I know no one.

No, I can't sleep. And I should sleep because it will be the last few nights that I will have comfortable, private sleep in the house that I am used to. But, try to tell my mind that. Instead I am waiting for the soft blanket of Benedryl to cover me and lull me.

During the day I am the Happiest Mommy in the World! I CAN'T WAIT TO MOVE! Man, where we are moving is the BEST place to be, so Mommy says to the little faces peering up at her when she tells them they can't go to their school's welcome back day. Because it isn't their school anymore.

Their Concerns:
-How will our friends come over if we are there and they are here?
-Will Santa find us?
-Will our toys come with us?
-Will Aidan (the one year old) come with us?
-Does it snow there?
-Can we chew gum there?

And Neurotic Happy Mommy chokes out answers with a big, dumb smile, practically screaming:

"WE'LL CALL YOUR FRIENDS AND MAYBE THEY WILL VISIT! HURRAH!"
"OF COURSE SANTA WILL FIND US! "___" IS HIS FAVORITE TOWN IN THE WHOLE WORLD!"
"YES! EVERY TOY IS COMING ALONG! WHOOPIE!"
"YES! EVERY BROTHER IS COMING ALONG! YIPPIE!"
"YES! IT SNOWS ALL THE TIME! WHOO HOO!"
"YES! PEOPLE LOVE CHEWING GUM THERE! WHOOPIDOO!"

So I wait for the Benedryl induced sleep. And I wait for the 40w bulb to burn out. And I keep my crazed happy face on for the kids. And in four days I will be moving on....sitting in a hotel lobby so I won't keep my entire family awake in the middle of the night. Maybe I will run into a few vampires to keep me company...








Monday, August 11, 2008

Weeks


Where have I been? What has taken me away from my rants and raves? Let me see....


The Last Two Weeks:



  • All three children have strep. YES! Another ten days of forcing thick, nasty antibiotics down their throats every twelve hours!



  • Hubby comes home...in the middle of the night! All of those hours of working out, getting my roots "done" (you ladies know), eyebrows plucked, lip waxed, the perfect outfits for me and the kids (a subtle mixture of red white and blues), sign ready to be held at the air field or airport....all that and he walks in at two in the morning to a wife sleeping, no make up, hair in a pony tail/bed head, no cute outfits for the kids, no signs, nothing. One child wakes up and is so freaked out by seeing her Daddy in the bedroom she gets a strange look on her face and starts clacking her teeth together. Said child is so freaked out for the next two hours, wife (me) has to go and sleep with her in guest room. Welcome home honey!!!



  • I get a letter from the Mammography department saying I need to come back in due to irregularities in the last mammogram. Yeah...I don't really have time for breast cancer right now. Ok...push that letter and all that it entails to the very very back of my brain.



  • Hubby flies to the next duty station place and tries to find us a house or at least shelter to live in for the next few years. (yes, four days after he came home). He calls three days later, we bought a house. Ohhhhhkaaaaay.



  • Throw my son his 5th birthday party (phase one). Continue to plan and execute my husband's surprise party that I have been planning for the last couple of months. 17 men coming in from all over the country to celebrate him.



  • Go back to hospital and get my boob squished again. Half hour later, they give me the green light. No worries....just some tissue. Good! No time for anything but tissues. Continue to plan and hide party from hubby.



  • Have party. Hubby very surprised. Guys go out and drink. Everyone happy. I get wife of the year award.


  • Have son's birthday party (phase 2). Host some more people at the house.


  • Start packing for vacation.


The Next Two Weeks:



  • Go on our vacation. Have fun-- dammit.

  • Pack up the house, change address (to a rented PO BOX), cancel utilities, clean house, move into hotel in town (can't wait for that one she said sarcastically)

Three Weeks Later:



  • Drive to new Duty Station

  • Live in hotel (yes! another hotel in a town I don't know!! Whoo hoo!)

  • Enter the kids in preschool. One that I have not seen, nor do I know where it is.

  • Close on house (that I have not seen, nor do I know where it is)

  • Move and unpack into mystery house.

Four Weeks Later:



  • Open a bottle of Vodka. Drink.


I do not know what is in store for us. And isn't that a grand adventure? (have you been reading me long enough to know when I am being completely, annoyingly sarcastic?) I just hope that the new house, new town, new teachers, new doctors are all ready for us to invade. And I pray that the monster that has been quiet for the last few months (!) does not rear it's unpredictable head as I am trying to start a new life....





Tuesday, July 22, 2008

Vampires of Bergen County, NJ


Last night I dreamt that I was going through a flea market/garage sale at a huge mansion. At first I was finding all kinds of cute baby things. And then I realized I didn't really need those anymore. Then I was finding all kinds of toys that I had when I was a pre-teen. Barbie type stuff. But I realized that my daughter wasn't ready for that and we move around so much, I can't buy it and hold it for several years.

Then I found some pill cases. All kinds of pill cases. Days of the week. Hours of the day. Weeks of the month. You get it. I started to panic. So I went into another room. This room was filled with DVDs. I started pawing through them and realized they were all horror movies. Now, I hate horror movies. I am a big ole' wimp when it comes to gore and blood and heads being sawed off, etc. And then my dream turned into one.

Suddenly I am being chased from room to room by these vampires screeching at me and I couldn't figure out what they were saying. In every room someone was being chewed up, but no one had faces. They looked like hair on bowling balls. And suddenly I understood what they were screaming. "Call your mother!" What? "Call your mother! They won't get you if you talked to your mother today!"
Jewish Mother Vampires? Now I've heard of everything.

As humorous as it sounds now, twelve hours later, when I woke up I was frozen with fear. You know the feeling. Logically, with adult reasoning, you know there is no vampire standing at the foot of your bed, or in the doorway to your bathroom (and being the Jewish Mother type, wondering when the last time you cleaned said bathroom) but it takes you minutes to calm down enough to turn around. Right? And then it takes a few more minutes to get your heart calm enough to go back to sleep. Frozen with fear, but heart pounding.

And that my friends, is how I am feeling all of the time with the reduction in my meds. I am frozen with fear. I can't get beyond the fourth reduction. I am so scared of the pain that I may feel if I take another pill out of the equation, I just can't do it! I know I have to.

But I can't turn around and face my demons. I just keep running and denying it all. And no, I haven't talked to my mother today. I have, however, talked to my Dad and my sister. And that counts, right?

Friday, July 11, 2008

Dose Three/Four

Ok, fair readers, I have been slacking in the writing department. However, in the mothering department I am about to go insane, so take pity on me.

Tonight I am taking the last Neuronten out of the meds equation. Yes, it is a day late but I was too busy breaking up a fight last night to stop and think about what I was doing. And no, you don't want to know what the fight was about. Let's just say, wet toilet paper and coffee filters were involved, never a good thing, especially with a three and four year old. Sigh.

Anyway, the last deduction in dosaging (is that a word?) seemed to go over well. I did have some pain on the other side (lest I remind you, not a good sign) but it seemed to go away. So, I guess we will continue on like a good soldier.

Speaking of which. My hubby should be heading home fairly soon. Can you believe it has been five months? It seems like minutes (she said sarcastically). Do you ever feel like you are connected to someone because someone once related them to you? For instance, when I was young I had one of those street artists do a caricature of myself. He said, "You have Bette Davis eyes" and from then on I always thought she and I were connected that way (and yes, you will be singing "She's got Bette Davis eyes" for the rest of the day.) Of course my parents said "no you don't" when I told them of this interchange, but that didn't stop me from believing him.

And speaking of my parents- when I was little, they told me I was like a little Whoopi Goldberg when I told them a joke. So I, of course, thought Whoopi and I had that connection as well. Yes, I am a mix of Bette Davis and Whoopi Goldberg. What a picture that makes.

For the last four years we have been living in the same town, near the same people and saying goodbye to the same soldiers. I have been told I was a brave soldier's wife. No matter how much in denial I am of living the military life (moving around, husband at war, etc) I feel completely connected to the wives and children of soldiers. I do not feel like I am as strong as they are and I certainly don't feel like my husband is at war (that's what happens when you don't watch the news!) But I do feel a connection.


So today I am down to eight and a half pills, I have only a short bit of time left in this deployment and I am somewhere between Bette Davis, Whoopi Goldberg and army wives. And I am still picking gigantic spit balls made of toilet paper and coffee filters off of my couch. I told you don't want to know...

Sunday, June 29, 2008

Dose Two

I have given up my afternoon dose of Neuronten. So far (in a whisper now) so good. While I still have some weird feelings in my gum lines, there is no debilitating pain and this is a good thing. This Thursday I will give up one of my night time doses. (shudder shudder) Needless to say, I am walking on eggshells and just waiting for the other shoe to drop and all the other cliched sayings.

My ice packs are lined up in the freezer, ready and waiting. I take my bottle of Neuronten with me where ever I go. Neurotic, yes? Not so long ago I waited for four o'clock to hit to see if I was going to have a good night or not. Now, I watch the clock constantly to see if I will have a good life or not. Have I kicked this condition or is it lying dormant beneath the surface of my face ready to shoot fire and pain back into my life once I drop that one pill, that one dose at the one time on the one day?

So I continue to watch and wait. Dose two. Week two. Day eleven. So far: me=2, fire shooting monster beneath my skin=?

Monday, June 23, 2008

Dose one

I am so sick of hearing about whiny people who have to leave their kids, wives, husbands for a couple of weeks or a month or some short amount of time. I am being disgruntled I know. I just thought I would get it out there that these people (mostly on "reality" shows that I am sucker enough to watch) are weak and whiny and pathetic. There. Now on to more personal things.


So it has been five days since I gave up my 3 o'clock dose of Neuronten. So far, no pain on my left side. However, and really in this condition that is a horrible word, there has been some on my right. As I have mentioned in the past, this is NOT good. But I keep faith that the reason my right side is giving me a little (note: little) pain is because I am fighting some allergens in the air.


I am going to keep on dropping doses until I am free of all medicine and I can get back to the life I lead before this debilitating condition entered my life. And I have the confidence that I can do this. (not really, but don't tell anyone) Come on body. Come on trigeminal nerve, we can do this! (has it really come to this?)


I am also fighting something else. I am fighting the impulse to tell my husband to not come home when he is scheduled to. I look horrible. I mean, really. I am being a realist here and with the help of several people and their reactions to my current state, I realize that I am a disgusting mess right now and will not be able to look better by the time he is supposed to come home. And I have tried to prepare him for the inevitable by describing what effects the meds have had on me. I have not sent any pictures of me since he has left. And I know he doesn't believe me. But everyone around me knows. They all know that I am a mess. So I feel like going away when he comes home. Isn't that ironic?

So I have some things on my mind. (a crazy trigeminal nerve for one! ha!) But for now, I will wait until Wednesday to drop another dose and do a little dance to ward off any pain. And as for tonight, I will go watch "The Bachlorette" and listen to the beautiful people whine about ridiculous things. This is what my life has come to. Oy.

Sunday, June 15, 2008

Need

So my whole life (or at least the last thirty years of it) I have been consumed with trying to get my hands on a mason jar. Yes, my family who are reading this, you know. They know of The Jar of Little Things. When I was young my friend Robby owned said Jar and would charge me a dollar to gaze upon It.

You see the Jar held dozens of "Little Things". Things like miniature finger nails and dollar bills, dolls and postcards, playing cards and lipsticks. I have no idea how Robby got his greedy little hands on it (he would charge my sister and I a dollar just to walk into his room!) but I was fascinated with it. When my parents said we were going over to Robby's house for a visit I immediately started dreaming of going through the Jar of Little Things. I never had a dollar so I never got to go through it. Sometimes Robby would pick out one Little Thing (like fake teeth) and dangle it in front of my eyes. Mostly he would shut his room off and I would have to gaze at the fuzzy Rush poster on his door. You know the one.

And then we grew up. I had dollars. But I wasn't thrilled with life...where I was living, etc. I then started thinking about moving to Washington DC but couldn't make up my mind to do it. And then it happened. Robby dangled The Jar of Little Thing in front of my eyes. He said he would give me the Jar if I moved to DC. He happened to be living in DC as well.

I needed no more reason. I packed my apartment and drove the big yellow Penske truck to Arlington VA. I took the big step. I got a killer job (Director of Marketing at five brew pubs) and a killer boyfriend (now husband) and now I wanted what was mine. The Jar.

Robby gave me the Jar and we reminisced about our growing up together. And then I ran back to my apartment to sift lovingly through every desired piece. For twenty years I yearned for this jar. And now it was mine.

So the years have gone by and I have moved five times, across country, across the world. I haven't looked at the Jar in years. It has been perched up on a shelf in my daughter's room. And the other night I stole a look at it. (I don't want my kids to notice it. They ultimately will destroy it, I am sure) And then, I opened it. The kids were in a different room. I was so excited.

I pulled one Little Thing out. It was a miniature bottle of Coke. I pulled another out, it was a miniature compass. I reached in and then....I heard the kids stomping down the hall. Argh! I quickly put the flat top of the Mason jar on and screwed the lid over it.

Foiled again. Someday I will be able to open the Jar of Little Things at my leisure, like I did that one day in Arlington VA. Perhaps that was the last time I was able to do anything at my leisure. From that point on, I got married, got pregnant, moved to Slovakia, moved, moved, moved.


And the elusive Jar followed me. Never taunting me (as Robby did), but always there. Through childhood, through young adulthood and now through parenthood.

I always get a great feeling when I happen to gaze upon that silly Jar. When I am putting laundry away or picking up toys. I remember the feeling of really wanting something. Of wondering how I could get through the fuzzy blockade the Rush posters offered. And now, now I have it.

No dollars needed.

Wednesday, June 11, 2008

Loose Change

Here is one for you: I have no idea where I am going to be living in two months. I know that I won't be living in the house I dwell in now. But I have no idea where I will be, or where my stuff will settle. Not a great notion for sleeping well at night. Right now there is a lot of change happening in our family. Change of location, jobs, schools, medication....

I am especially concerned with that last one. Actually medication and location. My neurologist is leaving the hospital where I have been seeing her. Rather abruptly she told me she is leaving and asked me even more abruptly if I wanted to stay with her or with the hospital. Ummmmm...what? And this was followed by the fact I am going to take a tremendous step in testing the Neuralgia medication. So I guess since I have no idea whom I would call if stopping the meds was a bad, bad mistake, I will stay with her...right?

Yes, I am changing the meds dosage as of next week. Slowly I will lessen and lessen the dosage week by week, pill by pill. Until hopefully...knock on wood, crossing all fingers, kissing all crosses...I see that the pain is gone and the meds are no longer needed. Or....the opposite. Bad, bad idea... get those meds back in me...now now now! And then, I will schedule my surgery with the neurosurgeon. I think.

So, change is upon us. It has blown in and is swirling around and where it deposits us...who knows? Isn't is strange how big changes seem to always come at once? I pray that the biggest change for me is not where I will be living but how I will be living. I could be living in Kansas or Florida, Colorado or Kentucky but as long as I am living without ice packs and twelve dosages a day I will be okay. Throw my husband being home with us and life will be...good. And isn't that what we should strive for, wish for, look for? Life to be...good.

Monday, June 9, 2008

Escaping

Tomorrow I will be dropping off Symphony tickets to some families of injured soldiers, so that while they are visiting their soldiers they can get a little pleasure in their life...escape for a while. Sadly I am getting used to seeing young men limping around with canes or prosthetics. Do you look, smile sympathetically or nod your head in a weak attempt at a thank you or just completely ignore the canes, the limps, the burns? I don't know. I'm not even sure what to tell my kids who ask in complete innocence "What happened to that man's face Mommy?" I can't tell them the truth because then they will have nightmares about Daddy. I usually just say that man got hurt with fire...don't point.

Today I received a letter from a family member that I unfortunately rarely see. In it she writes of how hard I have it with the three little ones and my Neuralgia pain. It made me stop and think about how I have been able to get through the last few months. I can honestly say that without my family and friends I am not sure I would be getting through it all. They are my "tickets to the Symphony". I definitely have moments that I just want to walk out and never look back.

But mostly I have a desire to see this deployment through. Perhaps this will be our last deployment. I can tell in my husband's "voice" via email, he is ready to come home. Usually it is a "rah rah" email/letter, with: We are doing our part for our country, our kids. Feel proud of what we are accomplishing. We are doing good things here. Now it's a count down to when he will be home.

We are almost done with our fourth month apart. The kids are still drawing pictures, sometimes with Daddy in them, sometimes without. But mostly we just chug along with our daily lives. Me praying that the pain has been cured (we shall start finding out starting next week!), the kids talking about the impending move at the end of the summer.

I think of those families that are visiting their sons, brothers, husbands and the long road of recovery they have in front of them. I also am reminded by the house on the corner who has pictures upon pictures plastered to their fence of the men who have been killed in Iraq. I see women with pins on their shirts in honor of their sons, friends, husbands who have been killed. Suddenly our wait isn't such a huge deal. We can do it. As long as I get an email every day that tells me he is safe. And that is how I get through it.

Monday, June 2, 2008

B is for...

I find my life ironic on most occasions but this past week has proved it to be true. My birthday turned into several days of celebration with packages from Slovakia filled with a chocolates and a beautiful cross, wonderful people stopping by with a surprise "party in a bag" -- how I wish we were all staying in one place so we could all become better friends! -- and, of course, my lovely children not only inviting every person we came into contact with to a non existent party, but literally serving me breakfast in bed, (an Eggo waffle, a piece of string cheese and a piece of bread that I think was supposed to be toast) and giving me homemade birthday cards. Best of all my parents and my sister and her family came up and took me and my kids out to lunch and then had a party at my house.

Given past birthdays, I think if my husband were here, none of this would happen and my birthday would have been a couple of kisses and maybe a dinner out. Which is the ironic part. Since he is gone, I had the best birthday I have had in a long, long time. What does that say about my husband's birthday skills? They need to be improved. Of course, this is the same man who gave me cash (oh I'm sorry gift certificates) for Mother's Day a few years back. Yes, he needs help in some areas. Take my 30th birthday. A pretty significant date in my book and it was our first birthday as a married couple. What did I get for this important holiday? (yes, holiday!) A Happy Happy Headscratcher. I am not kidding. Have you seen these? They have a straight handle and about fifteen wired fingers sticking out from the base. You stick it on your head and move it up and down and it massages your head. Yes. He needs help in some areas.


Today I spent in my neurologist's office talking about weaning me off some of the meds to test the significance of my wisdom tooth extraction. I am terrified. I just so badly want the cure to this horrible nightmare to be the extraction, and I am not ready to be let down (not to mention the pain coming back...not ready!!) In two weeks, I will be taking my meds down one at a time until either a) the pain comes back or b) I am completely off the meds and cured. b b bbbbb!!!! Please be BBBBB!!!!!!

I pray that irony will not affect the outcome of this test. I pray that the good luck of finding friends in people that I didn't know cared will carry on into this process. I pray that having my family around will give me the strength to face the outcome. And I pray that I don't get cash in a card from my husband congratulating me on a job well done. Oh how I want to wake up with Eggos in the morning and not pain!!!!

Wednesday, May 28, 2008

Knock Knock

So tomorrow is my birthday, which I would have completely overlooked if it weren't for my four year old who keeps inviting people to the "huge party" that is supposedly happening. Which it isn't. And it makes me wonder who he is inviting. Lord knows who will be showing up at my house tomorrow as he knows our address. Isn't it strange when you get to a certain point in life and you need someone to remind you of your birthday? I think I will feel saddened when my children start forgetting about their birthdays (if I am still around).

So instead of forgetting about it (which is impossible since apparently I have to plan a huge party) I thought a lot about the last year and what I have learned and what I have dealt with. So here are a few thoughts about my 35th year:

* It can ALWAYS get worse.
* One of the best things about my kids getting older is their ability to tell a knock knock joke that is actually funny. (there are only so many times I can grin and fake a giggle to: knock knock, who's there? banana....over and over and over and...)
* Sometimes getting sick and/or having a condition allows you to conquer fears (like driving into a city you don't know, finding parking and finding the clinics over and over and over and...)
* Living near family is not only wonderful but is a requirement from now on.
* If the above requirement isn't possible, living near military friends is definitely a good second.
* Christmas at home and with family makes for a magical time.
* Somethings aren't as scary when you talk or write about them.
* Exercise is a must. When it is taken away I realize how much I miss it.
* Chocolate is a must. See above.
* Not watching the news makes for a peaceful existence. (what war? my husband is on a business trip)
* There are definite angels in the world (like waitresses who sit with two of your kids while you run to the bathroom with the third kid. trust me, she is an angel)
* Thinking the mantra: "someday I will sleep" over and over while rocking sick children definitely helps.
* After all of these years, I still want a cigarette.
* Sometimes sucky things happen, sometimes great things happen.
* Sometimes you have to make yourself a birthday party so that your kids can have a great day. This is what being a mom is all about.

And so I move on to my 36th year. I will be seeing my husband in the next few months. I will probably be moving in the next few months. I will hopefully make some new friends and keep my old ones close. I might be having brain surgery in the next few months, but overall, I look forward to the next year. Especially the huge party my four year old will be throwing. You are all invited.

Monday, May 26, 2008

Snacks

Like it isn't hard enough to raise three young kids by myself, have a condition that may require brain surgery and every day worry about my spouse out there, somewhere fighting in the sand, now I have Big Brother of the grocery store yelling at me.

I was pushing this huge contraption, the four and three year olds sitting on a bench-like seat and the one year old in the seat of the actual cart (he seemed so far away) and the kids were all whining and crying. The one year old was drooling, crying and trying to get out of the cart so I grabbed a box of snacks from the shelves, opened it and put them in his hand.....ahhhh silence. I could concentrate once more (for a minute or two)...and then it happened. I was in the soda isle (I am now addicted to diet Mountain Dew) and the loudest announcement came over the loud speakers: "For those of you who are opening food and feeding them to your children, this is strictly against policy and must be stopped immediately." OOOOOKAAAAY. What the hell? Big Brother is not only watching me, but yelling at me!

Now you have to understand, this is the Commissary. This is the store where all of us courageous and strong willed women shop while our men are gone. They know we are single parents right now. They know we are at our wits end. They know we don't have a break. And they still manage to yell at us (me) and embarrass us (me) for trying to get peace while shopping at their store.

And to top it off, when I was paying (yes, I was paying Mr. Big Brother with the big mouth) the cash register lady was saying to the other cash register lady, "Man I can't wait 'til five o'clock, I am out of here!" and me being me couldn't let that go. I said, "I wish I could get off of work at five but I don't get off of work. I work twenty-four hours a day." That shut her up.

I think the bagger man saw my frazzled, pissed off aura or something because on the way out to my car, he said "You are doing a fine job Ma'am. You hang in there. You are doing a fine job. Have a good Memorial Day. It's for you too." I felt like hugging him. Instead I stuffed more of MY snacks into the one year old and strapped in the three year old.


Happy Memorial Day to all of the soldiers who fought, all the soldiers who are fighting and all of the wives who do what they can to get through each day...it's for you too.

Tuesday, May 20, 2008

Ha

So I woke up this morning with an ache. A small ache, but an ache non the less. The thing is: the ache was on the wrong side. The other problem is: I don't know what "normal" pain feels like anymore. I don't know what a head ache feels like anymore because every time a bit of pain hits, I wait for the train to crash through my head. I brace myself whenever a twinge finds itself in one of my teeth. Do people have twinges? Do teeth ache for no reason? I can't remember. How very sad that is I think.

The reason I am so afraid that the little ache is actually the monster under my skin, scraping it's nails against my teeth, is it is on the wrong side. The ache is on my right side. I have been dealing with my left side and that monster. If it is scraping along my right side, then that introduces so many scary conclusions. Conclusions like: there is no help, no cure. So sorry. If the TN is on both the right and the left, then the surgeries they are proposing are dashed away. The surgery option is gone. They will not operate. There is no cure. The monster wins.

So I spent the day trying to calm the right side of my face. And I bought myself a very expensive wallet for my birthday. Take that monster.

Sunday, May 18, 2008

Clorox, Downy and Dial Oh my!

Oh the horror. I have been pooped on and vomited on for the last four days. I have been doing laundry every two hours to get said poop and vomit out of several sheets, towels, blankets and stuffed bears. I have cleaned bathtubs, toilets and sinks with bleach and soap. I have rocked children, held children over sinks, Rubbermaid tubs and toilets for hours. Oh the horror. We have got the bug, the virus, the sickness.

And when the bug hits us, it hits hard. And I have never missed my husband more. And I have never cursed out my husband's job more. I can not get the smell out of my nose. I am too tired to change my own sheets. Why bother when someone might come downstairs to tell me "Mommy I don't feel goo--bluuuuugggg" (sound of vomit spewing out of child).

Oh the horror. How do I take care of little ones when I have caught the bug too? We RAN through Kroger today. I was praying that no one would vomit in one of the isles. We have already baptized check out line #8 with pee during potty training. I didn't want to dowse isle 4 with more bodily fluids. Every time the baby pursed his lips and looked up at me, I was ready with my diaper bag held open in front of him. I know I looked crazy.

If anyone looked at what we were buying, they knew to stay far away from us. Gatorade, Pedialyte, Saltines, Ginger ale, chicken noodle soup, etc. I wanted to tell the checkout girl to wash her hands after us. (Do you think they notice what people buy and come to conclusions from the items?) I wanted to wipe the shared pen that everyone uses to sign their credit card slips with a Clorox wipe. (Does it bother anyone else to use a community pen at the pharmacy? I mean, a lot of sick people use that pen. It is one of my pet peeves to use that pen, but I always forget to bring my own. I hope someone invents a germ repellent pen)

I am going to do another load of laundry. The smell of Downy has a new meaning for me now. Blech. My son's teddy bear has never been so clean and so gross at the same time. I pray that no one vomits or poops tonight. Please God. I need sleep with no weird sound emitting from the monitor. I need a night with no visitors in the middle of the night. I need a night to myself.

I have not been alone for more than a ten minute shower for four days. Oh the horror.

Tuesday, May 13, 2008

Two Weeks

I've been asked by several different people if the pain has come back. And I have been quick to either dart around the answer or to whisper it, "No, BUT it's only been two weeks...so...." I don't mean to sound like Negative Nelly (she is so annoying) but I have been in "remission" for a month at a time and the pain has reared it's ugly head, so I am so scared to get excited. It's only been two weeks. But it has been a wonderful two weeks. (Though every time there is a twitch, I brace myself for the pain)

The other subject I have been neglect in catching everyone up on is hearing from my husband. Yes, he did contact us! He is safe (relatively) and actually got a chance to send some letters to me and the kids. It took him three months, but he did it. I thought it would make the kids excited and thrilled but the three year old completely melted down last night screaming for her Daddy. I guess not hearing from him cushions her from the ache of missing him. I don't know. She fell asleep with tears on her cheeks and the word Daddy repeated over and over in a moan. It breaks my heart and I know it kills my husband to hear about her.

This week I will be meeting with the Neurosurgeon. Since I am in remission (in a whisper) a part of me feels like skipping the meeting (the positive happy, full of faith, little sprite part.) But the realistic part knows I have to set myself up for if (when) the pain does come back. I guess the questions I have for him are the normal questions you ask someone who is about to drill into your skull.

It has not hit me that I may be having this brain surgery. Me! Having brain surgery! So this week I will ask the doc my questions, wrap my three year old in bubble wrap so she doesn't hurt anymore (sigh) and check my mailbox for more mail (that probably won't come.) I keep telling myself that there is only a few more months of being a single parent. But I am not sure that is the hardest part at this point. At this point, it is the apprehension of hearing from my husband, (last night I got a call from a name and number I did not recognize and my heart just skipped a beat and I started shaking...that doesn't happen in the civilian world does it?) and waiting for the pain to return....those are the hardest things.

How does one live while constantly waiting?

Thursday, May 8, 2008

Excuses

I was told to call a certain person if I hadn't heard from my husband in several days. And there was a stretch there for a while but I just couldn't pick up the phone. I mean, what would I say? Worse yet, what would they say?

I remember during the last deployment my brother and his wife came to visit. They drove a Taurus or something similar. He had Virginia plates. When they parked in front of my house, both of my neighbors, who were not only friends but were wives of deployed husbands, freaked out. They thought the worst had come. They thought this was it for me and my family, "They" had come. It is the wive's biggest fear: an official car filled with people coming to knock on your door to give you the news that your husband wasn't coming home.


We don't watch the news, we don't read the paper, we listen to the artillery going off in the distance and pretend they are fire works. We try not to think about the wives we have had to visit whose husbands weren't coming back. We keep a list of foods we will make when "They" call on us to offer a hand or two to a family who is grieving.

My kids wait every day to hear from Daddy and I have to make up excuses like: Daddy is so busy helping people, he couldn't call today, maybe tomorrow. I don't think they buy it. The hardest part for me is when the four year old draws pictures of his family and Daddy is no longer in them.


Daddy is just a voice on the other end of a phone that has stopped ringing. But I know he will call when he can and that is what I tell my kids and that is what I believe. Soon enough my heart won't skip a beat when the doorbell rings unexpectantly. (I bet the UPS guys don't think about that when they are knocking on people's doors around here) Soon enough Daddy will be the biggest stick figure on the family portrait. Soon enough the phone will ring.

Monday, May 5, 2008

Coins


Isn't it great when you can buy something and suddenly you feel like a grownup? Today I feel like I took a major step in becoming a full blown adult. I bought a fruit basket tower thingy. (Ok, a few steps backwards now...what is that called exactly?) Anyway, I bought it and put it where I have seen it in other people's kitchen and in magazines -- in the corner of a counter. Ok, so it is a little big for my kitchen, and yes, the three apples that I have placed on it are old and spongy and bruised (note to self -- buy prettier fruit and a lot of them) but I feel very adult-like.

Somehow standing behind it as I answer questions my young ones throw at me during dinner I feel empowered. I am Mommy of the Adult World. I can answer anything without swearing and I can cook meals they will eat without complaining because I have the fruit basket tower thingy. (I need to get a superhero outfit with a picture of that basket thingy on the chest.)


I am a little curious why this makes me feel empowered. I even came up with the Jar of Shame as I stood next to the Tower today. Every time I swear I will put money in the Jar of Shame. "But what will we do with the money mommy?" my kids ask me as I peer through the wires of the Tower. "We will buy treats for children who know not to repeat the horrible words Mommy sometimes says" (when she is far away from her power source the Fruit Tower Thingy)


Now don't get me wrong. I am not a constant swearer. Although I do need to curb it a bit. But come on! Take last night for instance. The one year old broke out in hives after feeding himself-- and slopping the food everywhere in the kitchen--so I took him up to the tub. I was feeling pretty good. The other two are starting to take showers now, so I only had one more back breaking kid that I had to bathe. Two more years of this and I am home free in the bath department. Whoo hooo oooohhhhh shit. He pooped in the tub. And pooped some more on me when I picked him up Nooooooooo. Dammit! And some more on the floor. NOOOOOOO SHIT! (My kids are sooooo damaged from living with me) So, the Jar of Shame earned a bunch of coins from last night.


You see, what I need to do is stand by my Fruit Tower Thingy and decompress. I will not swear, I will not yell. I will be a very calm, loving Mommy. I have a Tower in my kitchen. I can do anything. . My kitchen could be in one of those magazines. I am an adult now.

I just have to buy some fresh fruit. Dammit.

Thursday, May 1, 2008

Fairy

It's funny how much I miss my wisdom teeth. My tongue keeps poking around back there, trying to feel the hard and bumpy surface that once took up space. Now it is just a bunch of stringy stitches and gum hanging on. Remember the feeling of a loose tooth? Rocking it with your tongue, feeling the sharp edges digging into your gum, the trickle of blood that oozed out of the gap? And then out of the blue, the tooth releases and you have a gaping, smooth and spongy hole in your mouth.

It has been 25 years since I have felt that. I used to get excited for the tooth fairy. A quarter under the pillow and the long wait for the "grown up" tooth to come in. I don't remember being quite as excited to feel the replacement tooth as I was losing the baby tooth.


This time, I am excited for different reasons. I am filled with hope (false hope?) that this loss of teeth will bring relief on a much higher level. I pray that there was some connection between my wisdom tooth and the Trigeminal Neuralgia. Needless to say, I did not have an attack after the extraction. I did have one going into the surgery. In fact, the Oral Surgeon was hesitant to even go through with it since I was having the attack.

I hate to even bring it up, so consider this a whisper: the attack went away as soon as the tooth was pulled out. Granted, I was completely out of it during and post extraction. But so far, no pain on that side.

Does that mean anything? Could it be? Should I even wish upon a tooth? Is there really a tooth fairy that will take the pain away? Oh I can only hope. I can only pray. I can only play with the stringy things attached to my gums, search for the teeth that no longer exist and wait for a miracle.

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Tickles


Tomorrow marks another day in my life that I hope to get through with flying colors. Or at least flying black and white....or grey. I am getting my wisdom teeth pulled tomorrow. I seem to have gotten a cavity in one of them and of course, in the irony that rules my life, the cavity is on the trigeminal neuralgia side. So to avoid thinking about any of what could happen (i.e., the possibility of an attack after the surgery) I have been asking my kids all kinds of questions about my husband just to see what they say.


Me: Do you guys remember what Daddy looks like?

Them: Yes!


4 year old: Big and tall and brown skin with not a lot of brown hair. (brown skin?!! for those of you who don't know...he is white, like Irish white.)


3 year old: My daddy is big! And he sounds like this (cue a very high pitched tea kettle whistling) weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! (OK, just be assured he does not sound like that)


Me: Do you know where Daddy is?


4 year old: Yes! Mommy do you have the number to call Daddy? (I wish!)


3 year old: Daddy is helping people. And all the teeth in the world. (my poor kids are so confused)


Me: What else do you think of when you think of Daddy?


4 year old: Big, huge muscles! (if Daddy is reading this, he is smiling from ear to ear)


3 year old: Daddy has tutus! (mental picture of Daddy in a tutu! ha! Daddy's smile is gone)


Me: You mean tattoos?


4 year old: Yes! Johnny Cash on his arm.


3 year old: And a puzzle around his arm. (a Celtic braid)


4 year old: And a chain on his ankle, but I can't remember which one. (pathetically, neither can I...sorry honey. and it isn't a chain. it is barbed wire. )


Me: What is your favorite thing about Daddy?


4 year old: When we wrestle! (I too miss those after-dinner wrestling matches while I do the dishes and listen to the kids laughing and laughing)


3 year old: My Daddy tickles me. (this is where I start tearing up...sniffle sniffle)


1 year old: MAAAAAAAAAA! (In the most obnoxious screeching noise ever...and he is saying "more" I think...this is where the sniffles and tears are gone)


So for a few minutes I forgot about my impending procedure. I wish I could look into the future (like three days...not so dramatic right?) and make sure that an attack is not going to happen. I wish I could look into the future (like four months...again, not so dramatic) to make sure my husband comes home safely.


Tutus and all.


Thursday, April 24, 2008

0545

Apparently I am not meant to have a better day today. I should have known it would quickly spiral down when my four year old wakes me up at 0545 (that is 5:45AM to all of you sane civilian people) to tell me not to open the front door until I turn off the alarm, ok? Ok, so I have set the alarm off a time or two, and yes, by doing this I have ruined my children's ears, but who hasn't.

So somehow I manage to get all three up and ready and out the door to go to CDC (no, that isn't Center for Disease Control, it is Child Development Center -- remember, we are dealing with people who like lots of acronyms, doesn't matter if they have already been used) for which there is an expectant time of 0900 that my children need to be there. About half way there, I realize that I have forgotten all of their bags which contain their EpiPens and diapers and everything else required.

Needless to say, I was late in dropping them off and we got the baby room ticked off at us because they were waiting for my one year old so they could take the babies to see a HumV. That's right. A HumV. For the babies to gaze upon. Moving on.

After I deal with CDC I drive over to the Sports Center where I signed my son up for TBall. And once again have to confront The Desk. You remember The Desk. Apparently, I wasn't supposed to be charged what I was charged, so I had called them previous to going over. "No problem, just come on in, we'll fix it!" No Problem is what The Phone said. But The Desk says, "You need a manager to refund this." I say, "Please get a manager then." The Desk says, "There is no manager here." I say, "When will manager be here?" "Don't know," says The Desk. I say, "But the Phone told me..." blah blah blah. We've all been there. I still don't have my money back and somehow I have to guess when the manager will appear at The Desk. (The Phone and The Desk never have the same answers I have come to realize.)

After a couple of hours of doing dishes and folding laundry (Wrinkled, of course. That is what you get when it sits in the dryer for a few days.) I pick up my kids, "We didn't put him down for a nap, figured you didn't want us to," (why wouldn't I want you to? now I have to deal with cranky baby for the next hour -- thanks!) and went to ....wait for it....Walmart.

Yes, three kids, including a baby, who has not slept in several hours, off to Walmart. The mothers out there are cringing and those who don't have kids are rolling their eyes (ugh...it's that family.) So let me just run through a few of the highlights:

* Can't find what I am looking for, and of course there is no one to help. Every isle is crammed with older people who apparently can't find what they are looking for either.

* I lose my car keys somewhere between whispering threats to my four year old in the electronic section and stuffing snacks into my toddlers mouth in the shoe section. I did not realize I had lost them until I was half way into the food section. Four year old is crying because he thinks we are stuck in Walmart and therefor he will not see his Bear again.

* Two of the three kids melt down in the cereal isle (who is the bastard who designed that isle? I hope he/she is plagued with preschoolers)

* One child wanders off with a different family (Freudian?)

*As we are checking out, the man in front of us wants to purchase some sliced meat. There is no price. Of course this delays the checkout by what seems like hours. Then the same man forgets his wallet. More delay. Finally, our turn. "Mommy I have to pee pee!" oh god, no... She couldn't wait. We are in the middle of our checkout. I don't know what to do. Three kids, half way through check out. A line of people without teeth (not kidding) behind us.

I must have looked frantic because a lady comes up to us and says, "Go ahead and take her, I will watch the other two." I look at the woman with a mixture of gratitude and suspicion. I mean, who is that nice except for psycho killers? She had a Walmart badge on her -- a manager badge! I say, "Thank you! Boys, stay with this (stranger) lady!" and run my daughter to the bathroom:

"Hurry up, ok sweety? Mommy left the boys with a stranger and all of our food!" oh my god, oh my god, oh my god. Do psycho killer kidnappers dress like Walmart managers? oh my god, oh my god, My mother is going to kill me when she hears about this! " Are you done sweety? Good, no time for washing...we will Purell later!"

Needless to say, the woman was a manager, we finish up at Walmart and drove home with the keys I finally found (in my pocket). We pull into my garage and the kids run up to the door to go into the house and start yelling "Ewwwww! Mommy quick!" Now why would I want to see whatever it is they are ewwwing about? But I go. I see the entire door is completely covered in ants. After an hour of getting children in the house and killing off the ants I get back into my car to move it again and what song is playing on the CD? "The ants go marching one by one."

I swear I can hear Him laughing when I have days like this.

Tuesday, April 22, 2008

List

My friend was teasing me because I am so over the town I live in as well as the people in it. She calls me a "short timer" since I will (maybe) be leaving soon. I don't think that is what my problem is. My problem is: I am fed up with being a single mom and dealing with people. Doesn't matter where I am living. I am fed up with people. Let's give some examples:

My Oral Surgeon. Had me waiting over an hour in the typical doctor's room. Tiny, stuffy, nothing to look at. Usually you can hear signs of life outside the door right? Well, after forty minutes I heard nothing. Not a peep. So immediately I thought: they forgot about me and went to lunch. Now when my mind gets paranoid the thoughts immediately go to reality. Now I am very upset because they forgot me. I got up and went to the front. Nope, still there. The receptionist with the sugar smile. Apologizing and probably cursing the doc out herself since she was missing her lunch hour. The consult was quick. Pull your teeth, blah blah blah. See you Monday. (I will get back to that at another time)

My Lawn Guy. My front lawn is literally a foot high. My kids are out there yelling "look at this one Mommy, this one reaches my belly!" I am sure my neighbors hate me. No one else's lawn looks like this. My backyard is even worse. My daughter took off her Crocs in the grass last night and we couldn't find them. I was on my porch scanning the field (ie, my backyard) and couldn't locate them. I know for a fact my husband set up a lawn service. I even know the guy who does it. He has come to mow my neighbor's lawn twice now. Can he not see the jungle that is my yard? Does he get a kick out of the different shades of green and yellow? I want to throttle him. Worse, I have to figure out how to mow this wheat field (my lawn) with the three kids in tow.

Civilian Workers on Post. Today I thought I would go sign my four year old son up for Tball. I was fairly excited. Why? It is a fairly momentous occasion in any child's life to sign up for "baseball." I should have known that my excitement would be dashed and crushed on the floor by the bureaucratic civilian workers behind The Desk. You know The Desk. If you have ever dealt with the Government, you are familiar with The Desk. And the people behind It. I brought everything I could think of to sign him up: a copy of his last physical, his birth certificate, my military ID, my check book, and my wallet. The lady behind The Desk takes a look at his physical and says: "he's got a heart murmur?" To which I reply, "ummm....no?!" (I mean first of all where did she even come up with that and secondly, why would I sign him up if he did have a heart murmur)Then, "says here he got asthma." (yes yes. My child cannot breathe nor can he run because of his heart condition, but I want to see him out on that field!) That is what I wanted to say. Instead: "ummm....no, no asthma. Where are you looking?" I thought maybe I had taken someone else's (sickly child's) physical. I looked. She was reading it wrong. It read: "Physician Denies: heart murmur, asthma, eye problems..." Denies. Apparently, The Desk wipes out all brain cells upon sitting down behind it.

My Husband. Yes. I know. I should be running around with an American flag and my husband's picture plastered to my heart. But I am fed up. I am done being single mommy. I am done being the good wifey. When my kids get hurt, who do they cry for? Daddy. And yes, I understand they miss him. Blah blah blah. But what would it take to get a letter? It has been two months and nothing. An occasional email. There had better be a good reason (that I will never know) for that. When the kids ask me if Daddy has sent anything, I say with a huge smile, "why yes! let me get it! " and I quickly write a letter and read it to them. They then take the letter that "Daddy" sent and hug it and talk about it for the next day or two.

I am tired of the people. I have great hope that this will soon pass. If it doesn't you can find me and my kids hunting for Croc's, reading pretend letters, and taking it easy due to heart murmurs and asthma for the next several months.

Saturday, April 19, 2008

Stage




So I met with the neurologist again last week. She gave me a bunch of new and exciting ways to take my meds so that I could possibly go a while longer before I had to succumb to surgery. But first I joined the Trigeminal Neuralgia Association. And they sent me a plethora of information some of which struck me as being so out of my realm of being; and yet I am one of them now. In fact, that very sentence was one of their topics. The stages of learning you have this rare disorder. (hey...I've been wondering what to call it, and now I know. A rare disorder everyone! Can I get that Medium rare?)

The first stage to finding out about this condition --oops! I mean disorder! -- is denial. Yeah. I can say I am in complete denial. I keep waiting for the doctor to find something like a really deep cavity and be like: oh my God! All you have to do is pull that tooth and you are good to go! So sorry! And speaking of that, I am going to meet with an Oral Surgeon on Monday. Because, as if my head isn't going through enough....I have to get my wisdom teeth pulled!!! Hurrah! I honestly keep thinking this is it....this is when they will fix it. My tooth will come out and all will be better. Yeah....back to the whole denial thing.

The papers from the Association basically goes through what we all know as the steps of dying (though, luckily, this won't kill me! hurrah!! this will only hurt like a bitch the rest of my life!!!). Acceptance is the final stage. "Finding your new normal" because, like me, most people just want their old life back. The life they had before they started hurting. I remember the day I started to hurt. We were at Lowe's. Just a normal day. And ever since then, I begged God to give me the day before that day over and over again. I am not ready to start my "new normal." I want my old normal. I like it here in denial stage. I am too much of a fighter to get to "new normal" stage.

With that said....I am going to meet with the surgeon next month. I am hoping he can tell me more about the radiation therapy and the MVD surgery (the cutting my skull open surgery.) I am hoping that either the Oral Surgeon, the Neurosurgeon or the Surgeon General (had to throw that in there) can tell me SOMETHING! Throw me a bone here guys. Just something to hang onto. I will be sitting here in stage one. I will be the one holding the Lowe's bag waiting for a cure.

Tuesday, April 15, 2008

Heroes


I am off to see the neurologist (again) this week. I am not even sure what to say to her. I feel like someone who was dropped off in a country I don't know, with language I don't know and people I don't know who can't give me directions to places I don't know. I don't even know what I want to see her for. I guess so I can be referred to a surgeon so I can discuss a surgery that I am not even convinced I am ready for.

Some family members and I sat down this past weekend and discussed my options. I kept asking them, what would you do? What would anyone do in this bizarre turn of events. I just never expected to have to deal with something that I didn't even know existed! I am still in a state of shock. And having to think about it with no one else in the house every night. And having to deal with the children every night without a partner...well when the pain hits it is from hell. Straight from hell.

Have I described the pain yet? I just refer to the pain usually. My family members asked me to describe it. I tried to figure out what it feels like. Why it is called the "suicide disease." Why I am such despair when I am having an attack.

The only way I can describe the pain is this: There is a burning hot knife cutting into the gum behind my teeth where the top and bottom jaw meet. There are also what feels like hundreds of bees stinging my gums above and below my teeth. And then under my tongue there is a pinching sensation that comes and goes. Add to this every tooth in my mouth feeling like there is an exposed nerve so when I breathe or drink or talk, the teeth pound with pain. Sometimes these different pains are individually happening. Other times they all occur at the same time.

I guess the reason it is so terrifying as well as painful is because I don't know if the pain is ever going to stop. For some reason the meds have stopped working enough to allow the pain to come back, so what if the meds stop working all together. What if I have to live with this horrible pain? What if I never go back to my normal way of life? I can't go on like this. I can't live with this amount of pain. And that is why they (who?) call it the "suicide disease." I guess some people just couldn't wait for that next day to find out if there is another drug, another ice pack, another miracle.

My family asked me if I ever considered suicide because of this condition. I guess in a way I have. I know when I am having a long, horrible attack, I know that I couldn't possibly live knowing that there is no end to it. I just keep the faith that by morning or by the next day the pain will subside. That the drugs will kick in again. That the ice packs will provide relief.

And I keep the faith that upstairs from me are three kids whom I pray to God will never, ever have to deal with anything like this in their lives, and who I couldn't leave in this world without seeing them grow to be happy adults. I also have faith that my husband, wherever he may be, is coming home and we can fight this together.

I am wandering in a foreign land dealing with a foreign disease, but my kids and husband are my oasis. They are what provide me the reassurance that I will end up back where I should be, back where I belong -- pain free and happy again.

Friday, April 11, 2008

Packing


It is almost ten at night and I am finally feeling some relief. It has been a bad pain day. And I feel so responsible for the day my kids had. My four year old ran away (walked really) from home. My three year old cried for most of the evening. My one year old, well he was fine.

I cannot subject my kids to me in this state any longer. My three year old prays for "all the teeth in the world" every night. I mean, who does that?! My four year old wants to live at his friend's house; hence, the running away episode. I tried every trick in the book. I told him to go ahead and to watch out for dogs and cars as he walked to his friend's house. I thought, surely he will come home after that statement.

I soon realized that he wasn't coming home. As I stood in the doorway watching his little body march down the street, my three year old sobbing, "I don't want my brother to go! Come back! Come back!" I knew I had to go get him. The tricks in the book obviously weren't working. I yelled to him, "You need to come and say good bye to your sister!" When he came back and hugged her, I told him that we want him to come home and we loved him. He nodded and came into the house.

Does this happen to other people who don't have severe pain ruling their world? Even as I type this I can barely focus on the screen due to all of the drugs I am taking to get through the night. Yes, we are barely hanging on. Sometimes I believe we are a family in crises. At least today we were. As I sat on the floor with ice packs stuck on my face I cuddled my kids as they cried for Daddy. I just don't think we are handling our life well right now.

I am going upstairs with jerking hands and blurry vision to check on my sleeping children. And when I come down I will be researching the brain surgery that I think I will have to have. My hands are jerking, my face is hurting, and my heart is breaking. I wish I could run away too.

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Lipstick


I took a big step yesterday. I hired a cleaning lady. As you can surmise...I need the help. But it is a big step because it is a big admission: I can't do this, so you do this. You are officially handing over the mop. I have had cleaning ladies before, some good some really really bad. Good or bad, these ladies know your family better than anyone--even your friends and relatives.

When relatives come over, the house is sparkling (or at least twinkling). When friends stop by, the house is straightened. But the cleaning lady knows how disgusting you and your family members are. She sees the tubs, the toilets, the corners and crevices. The little ice dispenser tray on the front of your fridge. (actually in my case, my sister was able to come to the nasty conclusion that I have no idea how to clean my house by picking up the ice tray. I honestly never even thought about that little thing. I won't describe how it looked. Seriously, I don't even get ice out of there anymore)

And if you have ever stayed home while the cleaning lady/crew are doing their job, it is one of the most uncomfortable days of your life. First of all, you sit there feeling like the laziest person alive. (yes, yes, clean over there....and over here. Hurry up darling, my show is about to come on! ) It is really pathetic.


When I lived in Bratislava, Slovakia I had a wonderful cleaning lady who is now practically a member of our family. But before we became close, I would try to describe using body language what I would like her to do or didn't have to do. After a while I just gave up. She knew what she was doing.

She was a wonderful addition to the family, but I am sure she thought I was nuts. At one point, when she was cleaning the wooden stairs, I was in the kitchen opening a package from the States. In it was a tube of lipstick that I thought would look nice on her. So instead of waiting, I rushed over to her and handed it to her. I said in slow English, "I think this would look great on you!"

She took it, and looking at me, put it on. Right there on the stairs. And then continued to clean the stairs. I stood there in horror. Oh my God. She thinks I want her to wear the lipstick while she cleaned my house. She looked at me out of the corner of her eye while she rubbed the stairs with a rag. I could only imagine what she was thinking. "Okay lady...whatever you want. I always heard Americans were weird."

I was completely embarrassed and felt like an idiot. From there on I didn't give her anything while she was cleaning. I waited until she was done and my husband could translate everything for me.

This time I am going to be out of the house and no gifts for the cleaning lady or her crew. I am comfortable in admitting that the house is too much for me right now. I am fine in paying someone else to handle the cleaning. I'm even okay if they think we are disgusting. I just don't want another person to think we are weird.

Too late, right?

Tuesday, April 8, 2008

Cricket

Have you ever felt like you have lost complete control of your life? Yesterday I had that feeling and then some. I guess it is normal when you are the only adult in the house and the four, three and one year old are ruling the roost. We had a meltdown in Walgreens. One of those meltdowns that make the entire store (remember, it is Walgreens, not a massive Walmart. Tiny.) stop and see how you, the Mom, are going to handle the situation. I am quite sure I did everything wrong. It all started because the three year old wanted toothpaste with Dora on it. The four year old wanted the watermelon one. And stupid Mommy tried to give a lesson in being a smart consumer. The conversation went something like this:

"I want the Dora one!" said the whiney three year old.
"I want the watermelon one!" said the whiney four year old.
"But look, the bubble gum one is less money and more toothpaste! Let's buy this one!" whined the twenty-eight year old Mommy. (It's my blog, I can fib a little)

"NO! DORA!" yelled the three year old.
"NO! WATERMELON!" yelled the four year old.
"No, bubblegum," said the very calm, nurturing young mother. (again, my blog)

"DORA!!!" screamed the three year old.
"WATERMELON!!" screamed the four year old.
"Bubblegum my sweet children," sang the beautiful, skinny mother. (what?)
"Hi!" said the one year old.

At this point I realized how ridiculous we all sounded and I took all of the tubes of toothpaste and threw them on the shelf. I grabbed one and headed for the check out. Which prompted an even bigger tantrum from the three year old. I had grabbed the watermelon one.

I just knew everyone was thinking what a horrible mother I was. I could read their minds. Don't people know about birth control? and I would never let my kids act that way.

We finally made it to the checkout. The four and three year old were both crying now. The young clerk rang me up quicker than anyone has ever done. I felt like grabbing the intercom phone and saying, "I am all alone in this! You try to do it better!" But I didn't. Instead I hustled everyone into the car and ignored every plea for every children's song or audio book. I just ignored them. And miraculously, they all fell asleep for the ride home. I had a few minutes of peace and quiet.

And then the evening. I thought I was being a strong, take no prisoners mommy. I had found a cricket under my bed (ewwww...show no fear, show no fear) and because my four year old was with me, I had to remain calm. I quickly got a bag and tried to make it bounce into it, but my four year old started crying hysterically when the cricket jumped towards him. So I put the bag over the cricket and tied it up. My son is still crying and my daughter is now asking to see the cricket, where is the cricket?, where is the cricket? (over and over and over while clinging to my leg)

As I am dragging both kids and the bagged cricket over to the back door, I walk into the kitchen to see the one year old has found a new ability:

"Hi" he said.