Fake Green Grass

As Hubby gets packed to leave us for several months, and I swallow another round of pills to fight my condition, I keep asking myself, "Why are we getting put through this? Has God forgotten about us here???" We pray every night for people we know who are hurting, or who have new babies blooming in their lives and it makes me wonder if anyone is praying for us and if they are, why God isn't listening.

I remember as a child I thought God lived in our neighborhood. He lived in a white Capecod house with black shutters; most importantly, He had that plastic green grass on his front porch. Every single time we would go by that house I would say to myself, "Hi God, it's me again!" To my seven year old mind that was God's house.

Today I was driving home from having tea with some friends, one of which has lost her husband to a brain tumor in recent weeks. I thought again, as I navigated home, "Why has He forgotten her? Where is HE?!" I was pretty mad. I mean, I am no angel, but my husband going to war and me having Trigeminal Neuralgia is pretty brutal on the heart and mind.

As I drove along the same route I always take, there was a big yellow truck in front of me. One that I see occasionally in my neighborhood, and one that was driving as slow as can be. Normally I would fly down this road, but this truck was keeping me at a snail's pace. As I stared at the back of this truck, I started looking around me. To the left of me was a little gray house. On the front porch of this house was bright green plastic grass.

"God has moved down the street from me!" thought my seven year old self. But my thirty-five year old self thought, "Does that mean something? Or is it just a coincidence?" Oh, how I want to believe that God has moved for me. Oh how the mind of a seven year old wouldn't even question the appearance of bright green plastic grass.

Squished

The next few days will be so hard to get through. Between my meds and Daddy having to leave, I hope the kids will be able to cope. But I think kids are like playdough at this age. You can mold them into shapes and stick all kinds of different colors into them and, unless they are left out and forgotten about, they will remain soft and ready to play....just with a new shade of color. Hopefully I am correct about that.

My sister is going to come over to help me over the weekend. I still can't drive anywhere since I am completely zoned out during the hours of 10-3pm. I realized this morning that I haven't left the house in several days. My sister suggested (jokingly) that I get put on the Meals on Wheels list and I wouldn't have to cook for the kids! All joking aside, I don't know how I will handle this once Hubby is gone. I guess I will have to do everything after 3pm.

I will be the Vampire Mommy. Stumbling around Kroger trying to beat the clock home...before my next dose is due. It is like the dark Cinderella and the kids are my mice. Everyone says I look normal enough when I am out and about with the meds kicking in. But I feel completely not-normal.

I feel like someone was squishing me, mixing up my colors, leaving me under the kitchen table...and I am a lumpy ball of gray just waiting to dry up...until after 3pm when I am ready to be me again.

And the Award Goes To:

Last night was horrible. The pain started at 5pm and didn't leave until midnight or so. I tied an ace bandage around my head with an ice pack jammed into the left side of my face for some minimal relief. I couldn't even say goodnight to my kids. Conor was calling for me and I couldn't even go upstairs and talk to him.

I want to know why. Why did this happen? I am so tired of it. It has been four months of chronic pain. And every article or journal or medical website basically says: try these four or five things and if they don't work....sorry.

So in the midst of my pain I watched--through squinty eyes--the Oscars. There is nothing more that can get you fired up than watching the Oscars while you are doubled over in pain with an ace bandage tied to your head. Yes, yes...you all are wonderful playing cops and oil tycoons and queens. You all look so lovely. What a wonderful life you all have.

Me?

Oh, I like dressing up and playacting. I act like my husband isn't going to war. I act like I don't have a crazy disease that no one seems to know how to fix 100%. I act like I still have plenty of time to lose the baby weight. (Never mind that the baby is 10 months old now). I act like I don't feel horrible about asking my friend, whose husband has been gone for six months and who has three small kids, if she can pick up my children from school because I can't drive anymore.

Shall I go on? No? You have a party to go to?

Eventually I turn the televsion off. I don't want to watch the beautiful people anymore. I have to change my icepack. It has turned to slush and my thoughts have literally been squeezed out of my mind.

I truly hope tonight fares better. If only there were another awards show on.

Does Spiderman Wear Underwear?

My four year old son is obsessed with wearing a Spiderman outfit that I gave him. Which is good because last year at this time he was obsessed with wearing various princess costumes. Now I have to pry Spidey off of him in order to get appropriate clothing on him to go to Walmart or church. Today I was in the midst of this and noticed he wasn't wearing any underwear. I asked him why and he replied, "Mommy, Spiderman doesn't wear underwear!" I had no retort to this. Except to state to my son, "Yes he does wear underwear so you have to." To which he replied, "How do you know Mommy?" At this point I was almost dropping my ten month old, the three year old was managing to toast her picture -- don't ever get a step stool for the kitchen-- so I just went with it. "Fine, don't wear any" and I stomped away thinking:

Semper Ubi Sub Ubi

That is the only sentence I remember from my years as a Latin student. I felt like yelling that at my four year old. It would have gotten the same reaction that "because I said so" gets. A stare, a stomp, and a slam of a door. Maybe if I start speaking in Latin my kids will start listening to me. Because then they'd have to figure out what I was saying. I will try anything at this point.

Does anybody really know if Spiderman wears underwear? Can you email me and let me know so I can win the argument next time?

Quite the Night

Well I survived another night of severe pain. I had to walk around the house-- serving dinner, cleaning up after dinner, getting the kids to bed-- with an ice pack ace bandaged to my face. My four year old son started crying when he saw me. My husband is picking up a lot of the slack (almost all of it)...which is great but he is supposed to be leaving soon. We just keep waiting for the meds to kick in full time-- not just during the day.

I ended up sleeping alone last night due to, I am sure, the sounds of the ice packs moving around as I toss and turn. My dreams are quite vivid (last night I dreamed that my Dad and I were driving around, got lost, and ended up on a ferry to nowhere. Then, same dream, I was riding bicycles in my childhood neighborhood and ended up at my Dad's old office -- do I want to be a kid again??? YES!) and I am sure I act out during my sleep. Who wouldn't with all of the drugs in my system.

I am a bit worried that if/when Hubby is gone, I won't be able to hear the kids at night. He is always saying that they "cried out" and I NEVER hear them. Scary. I used to be up at the slightest noise. Now....nothing gets me up.

So I wait until four o'clock and see if the signs of a bad attack are going to hit me. That is my witching hour. If I can make it to six or seven, I know I am in the clear. If not...

And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

One of my favorite poems..."The Second Coming" by Yeats. Never heard of it? Here it is:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Second_Coming_(poem)

How the War affects My Teeth

Yes. The war affects my teeth. My jaw. My tongue. With so many injured guys coming back from Iraq and Afghanistan there is no Pain Management or Neurologist available to Dependents (i.e., me and my kids). The doctors are devoted only to the injured soldiers. So, for the last four months I have sat in the Emergency Room on various occasions holding ice packs to my face and trembling from the pain. I literally got lectured at by some male nurse as he took my vitals. He told me "you need to figure out who is going to manage your health care." I just stared at him and started to cry from the insanity of it all.

Thanks. Really, so helpful. We "dependents" get bounced around from clinic to emergency room and then we get lectured. We literally have to meet people in parking lots to get medicine because there are no appointments available.

The war is taking a toll on everyone. There are not enough doctors to help the families who are on the home front. I haven't seen a doctor but two times in the last four years. And one was a narcoleptic and they "couldn't find him anywhere in the hospital" Nice. They had to reschedule my visit. They couldn't find the guy.

So my teeth hurt for months because there are hurt soldiers. I understand that. Really I do. I am a soldiers wife. God forbid he gets hurt, I would want the best doctors to take care of him. But what about us?

What about the families who are home and fighting our own battles? Doesn't it affect the soldiers too? Knowing that if their wives, or kids get really sick or hurt...there isn't anyone to help unless you go to the ER several times until someone finally takes you seriously? Doesn't that make for distraction on the front?

My teeth hurt. My heart hurts (my husband is leaving in a matter of days) and I am incredibly mad that we are treated this way.

Skull Crackin' Fun

I should have known it was going to be a day of contrasts. We left the house with big, fluffy snowflakes falling around us and darkness surrounding us. By the time we got to Vanderbilt, the snow was gone, the sun was up. By eight-thirty, the Neurologist was having me walk toe to toe across the floor.

Yes indeed, it is Trigeminal Neuralgia and we can go two ways. We can try meds until I can't it anymore, or we can just skip on ahead to surgery. Surgery of the head. Meaning, they will cut? drill? slice? a hole into my skull and move my brain over to reach the Trigeminal Nerve and place a Teflon disk in between the nerve and the pesky blood vessel that has been the cause of all of my pain. Hmmmmm....meds please.

I mean, when they say "move your brain over" where exactly is it moving to? There doesn't seem to be a heck of a lot of "moving" room in there. I guess they just squish it like a sponge. I just hope they aren't squishing a real important part of my brain. Like the part where I keep my memories. The math part...well they can basically extract that part. I have never been able to get much out of that part of my brain anyway, so squish away doc!

With Hubby deploying to God Knows Where, I don't think I want to have "brain moving" surgery. But if the meds stop working, or worse, never work at all....I will have to sign up for the surgery. I can't live with the pain. But can I put my kids through Mommy in the hospital, Daddy at war?

Oh the timing of it all.

The Irony of it All

Unfortunately for me, I "spoke" too soon. I am no longer PAIN FREE BABY. I am FULL OF PAIN BABY. My meds stopped working last night. But I am holding on. I just have to get to Tuesday and I pray that the Neurologist that I am seeing will have a potion to at the very least get a grip on this searing, unstoppable pain.

I just want to pull out all of my teeth. I just want to deaden the nerve that is causing all of this. I just want out of this.

I suppose I will be prodded and poked on Tuesday. I suppose I will be tested for Multiple Sclerosis as well. And that, on top of the hurt, is the part I am most frightened of.

Is there anyone out there like me? I've been waiting for the "Big One" to hit. You know, the illness that will define my life, or the end of it. You know, breast cancer, thyroid issues, some sort of tumor. I wear the pink to support the breast cancer cause, but in a way I wore it to "ward off" the illness. I figured, not consciously mind you...but I think I wore the pink, the red, all of the colors to protect me from whatever it stood for. Subconsciously. Consciously I really do want substantial treatments from the medical community to help the victims of said diseases. But in the waaaaaaaay waaaaay back of my mind, I figure maybe if I wear it...it won't happen to me.

Crazy right? But now....I don't think there is a ribbon for Trigeminal Neuralgia. So, ironically, I couldn't wear it to ward it off. I wonder what color it would be anyway. Probably, it would look like bird poop because it is a very annoying and debilitating condition. Kind of like bird poop on your new car, or your nice sweater. Anyone who has been pooped on knows what I mean. And anyone with this condition (is this a condition or a disease or what?!)definitely knows what I mean. We are dealing with the bird poop of all conditions here folks. Stick that ribbon on your lapel.

Another Saturday Night

Amazing what a week can do. I am no longer in any pain. I am able to interact with my kids. It's a miracle! Bridget still pretends she is Mommy and holds ice packs to her face and prays to God that her teeth will be ok. Poor kid.

I got my hair colored today; a week ago, I couldn't have imagined someone pulling and tugging at my head. It looks terrible. But I really don't care because I am PAIN FREE BABY! I met my husband and kids at a store afterwards and my darling husband had my kids say: "your hair looks beautiful mommy!" when in actuality I look like a giant strawberry. I asked for Mahogany Violet. Sounds very dramatic and mysterious right? It came out on my head as bright strawberry. No deep dark mahogany. No fun, spontaneous violet. Just bright red. With blond streaks, that actually appear to be gray on top of the bright red.

I didn't have it in me to question the hair dresser. To be honest, I was looped out again on these wonderful pain management pills. She could've turned my hair blue and I wouldn't have cared this morning. La la la! I am out in the world and I have no pain!!!

Perhaps if you have never lived with chronic pain it doesn't seem like a big deal. The notion of it sounds bad, but it is just a notion to most people. It is like hearing about your Aunt Ida who has terrible bouts of some horrible debilitating something or other. Your mother calls you and tells you about it once a week, and it brings some sympathy to the listener, but in reality as soon as the line is disconnected Aunt Ida is forgotten. And then it hits you.

Every single minute, every single day, every single night...PAIN. You go to bed hoping you can get a couple of hours of sleep without waking in pain. Upon wakening- you know that first few seconds of consciousness where you forget your daily tasks and wonder what the world has for you-- pain! And the day just goes down from there.

And you're still supposed to function normally. Kids don't get put on hold. Husband is doing his best but really does mind having to cook every night. Friends are being patient. ARGH the pain of it all.

And then some doctor is called. Some person knows how to help. Some miracle happens and you are pain free for the first time in MONTHS! You want to have a party. You want to call the doctor back and bless him and his family. You want to play with your kids like you did back in September...before all of this.

And so our day was typical and normal and wonderful because I looked like a moldy, gray strawberry and had a smile from ear to ear.

Another Food holiday!

Happy Valentine's Day! I can't tell you how much anxiety goes along with Holidays for our family. It seems like the preschools make everyday a "learning with food" day. I have to provide snacks for my kids, plus any extra "special treats" in case another child brings in a birthday "surprise" treat. My kids have food allergies! My kids could die from the various surprise treats that are brought in EVERY day. And people wonder why our children are becoming fat at such early ages. I see why. Food is a HUGE part of their young lives.

An ice cream party at school makes me shiver with worry. A table full of sack lunches makes me grimace ...just how many peanut butter sandwiches are lurking in those colorful cooler bags? I make my kids promise they won't touch other kids food. I make my kids realize that sharing food is a BIG no no. And I watch them-- with the pride of a mother lion -- say "no thank you, I have peanut allergies" when someone tries to give them something to eat. My kids are four and three. They will probably always have to sit at "another table" so they won't get sick from food. I will always have to pack them separate chips, cookies, sandwiches. They can't eat the Chuck E Cheese cake at thier own party. They eat the cake I made for them. They know they could get sick, could "go to heaven" if they ate something I didn't approve or make.

And the most wonderful thing, the thing that makes up for all of the worrying: they have never complained, never whined, never asked "why me?" I realize that they are capable of dealing with this condition...now we just have to train the rest of the world!

Filling Frames

SO....my kids are loving the new me. The new passive mommy that doesn't yell as much, that doesn't care as much if you spill your plate of chicken nuggets in the family room (which she told you not to bring in there). The Mommy on Meds sits at dinner staring at the baby as he tries to feed himself smushed pears and greenbeans. The Mommy on Meds doesn't seem to realize that he is far too young to do this...but really it doesn't hurt anyone to have smushed pear in the nose or the eyebrow. The four and three year old think it is neat how quiet and smiley Mommy on Meds is. "You don't even need an ice pack anymore Mommy!" the four year old squeals as the Mommy on Meds pours him a big glass of pink juice. Not watered down. WE LOVE MOMMY ON MEDS!

Today I wandered around the house filling all of the frames that have sat on dresser tops for the last four years....the whiteness of the slip of paper that came with it screaming out "PUT YOUR FAMILY HERE" . So, now the frames are filled with pictures from the last year. Mostly, they are filled with pictures of Aidan as a newborn since I happened to have a pile of them that never got past the junk pile on my desk 9 months ago. And what is true is they will never change. I will never go back and change them. They will always be of Aidan at one month old. He'll be heading off to college and they will still be in these frames.

Does anyone else have a box full of frames and pictures that are so outdated you just put them in a box out in the garage instead of changing them? You know the ones...goldish-brassy frames that are hinged in the middle so you can open or shut them and two pictures fit in them. Two horribly outdated pictures. I don't think any amount of Meds would make Mommy on Meds go out there and start changing all of those bygone frames. But you never know. Nuggets have fallen in stranger places.

Someone is having a good chuckle

As I am now medicated to stop the searing pain of Trigeminal Neuralgia, I have to stop and connect my thoughts to "reality". Not so good with three young kids running around me on a normal day. And to add to the fog of strangeness that has enveloped my family (Mommy is acting kind of weird Daddy) I am now walking around the house with cabbbage leaves stuck inside my bra. Yes, Aidan and I stopped the nursing cold turkey. Very upsetting for both of us. But I had to. The pain was stopping me from functioning on a normal level. So, we have Mommy on top of a cabbage salad (My mother would love that...anything on top of a salad! boobs, left overs, you name it!).

The cabbage salad is fitting since I feel as though I have been shredded like cole slaw. The "why is this happening to me's" are starting to subside along with the pain. Only 15 people out of 100,000 have this condition. Why couldn't I have won the lottery or something? No, instead I got the prize behind door number 5. Which equals the number of emergency room visits and dentist visits and oral surgeon visits that I had before they finally figured out what was happening. (Thank goodness I didn't go through with pulling out my teeth!)

So now we cope. We try to get through the day with medicine that makes me loopy and, yes, a little more relaxed than normal. Driving is a lot nicer...the meds seem to zap away the Jersey in me. But I don't feel like I am HERE. I have to pull myself out of concentrating on the stupidest things to NOTICE my kids. (putting groceries away, folding laundry -- suddenly facinating). They try to get my attention and I pull myself up? out? of the "fogginess" and I can interact again. Oh...I hope I get back to normal. I don't want to miss out on anything with them. But the pain...oh the pain. I would rather be this flakey, foggy mom than the one I was last week.

Must go change the cabbage. Victoria's Secret, here we come!