I'm alive

but just barely.

Also,  I haven't napped all day, so, I think that's good news.

Yesterday, after getting 9 hours of sleep, I came home from church, told the kids not to worry about me for dinner and they were on their own, went to my room to take a 4 hour nap, got up in time to put the kids to bed, watched TV for a couple hours, then got another solid 8 hours of sleep.

That has been pretty typical behavior for the past few days, only I'd watch more TV, or more exactly, fall asleep in front of the TV, and then John would convince me to go upstairs and get in bed and take a real nap for a couple of hours, then I'd get up, say hi to the kids, eat something, thank John for doing EVERYTHING, then get a solid 11 or so hours of sleep.

I want to say it started last Tuesday? or Wednesday? (it's all a blur) My back had been bothering me, but only enough to say "Hey, honey, while you're watching this football game, would you mind rubbing my back, for a little bit?"  but then one day I just bent over to pick up a shoe, and my back cramped or something. The doctor said something about pressure on nerve bundles or something to that effect.

Anyway, it hurt.  Apparently I was whimpering in my sleep. I went to the doctor and got lots of good drugs including a muscle relaxant and some painkillers, all of which had warning labels saying "may cause drowsiness" and so combining them meant I probably spent more time unconscious than I was awake.  I do remember going to lunch with John on Thursday, but that's all I remember of Thursday. 

And then, through the haze of painkillers, I started to notice one of my teeth were killing me. Like I couldn't even eat at all in case something accidentally touched that tooth.  I've been down that road before- I was positive my tooth was infected and needed a root canal. Of course it was Saturday and I had two days to go before a dentist would be open. At least I had some good drugs at my disposal.

So today, I got the root canal and more pain killers.  And antibiotics. There are now six different prescriptions on the counter with my name on them.  I just have a hard time remembering what I took and when.  As long as I remember the antibiotics I think I should be good.

Anyway, I tell you all this not to garner sympathy, but just a little understanding.  I'm not just being lazy. The plan was to take down all the Christmas decorations when the kids went back to school on Thursday.  The kids can help me decorate, but I am the only one to take it all down so it gets put away just the way I like it.   Anyway, the pain in my back made it impossible to bend, or reach, or stretch, or turn my head, or use my right arm, and the drugs made it impossible to stay awake, so my goal of putting away Christmas hasn't exactly happened yet.  I did take down the stockings and the wreaths today, so you know, baby steps. 

So if you stop by my house, and wonder why it looks like mid-December, instead of mid-January around here, that's why.  (and that's also why I haven't been blogging for the last week- thinking hasn't really been on the list of things I can do. Along with driving, or eating, or staying awake for more than 5 minutes in a comfy chair with a heating pad on my back)

But, I'm on the mend. My goal is to put Christmas away by the time John gets back in town, but I also promised John I wouldn't push it, so we'll see how far I get.

And in other news, I might have my Excedrin addiction kicked within the week as well. I can't take that in conjunction with any of my prescription pain meds, so that bottle has sat untouched for several days.  And I just opened one from Costco.  (of course give me a bad night's sleep, a killer headache, and a crazy busy day, and I will most likely once again find myself a slave to those little white pills)

Adding insult to injury

I mentioned that Nick caught strep a couple of weeks ago, and then passed it on to my mom.

What I didn't mention was that I was sure I was gonna get it too. All I have to do is hear a rumor of somebody somewhere getting it, and I will catch it. Add up all the times my family (parents, brothers, husband, children) have caught it, and you probably won't even equal half the times I have.

Seriously.

I've been sucking down the Emergen-C like it's my favorite drink in the whole wide world.

After two weeks I thought I was in the clear. Surprised, but really happy about it.

And then- I woke up Thursday morning with a sore throat and an ear ache. "It's just a cold" I optimistically told myself as I popped some Ibuprofen and Sudafed. And as the day progressed I felt worse and worse. Headache, body aches, swollen glands, and finally a fever and chills.

I couldn't drive so I asked John to take me to the Urgent Care down the street.

I walked in the door in my pajamas, thick socks, and my warmest fleece jacket. I was freezing.

"Hi, how can we help you?"

"I have strep throat."

"Oh. Well then why are you here?"

I bit my tongue, but what I wanted to say, was "because you have the drugs. I might be able to diagnose myself on the rare occasion, because you know, I've been through this before, several times in fact, but I'm pretty certain any fungus I might be able to grow in my fridge is not the medicinal kind."

I'm probably making a bigger deal out of this, but seriously "Why are you here?" ?!?!

Does it really bother medical personnel that much when people like me with no medical training diagnose themselves? And do they have to be snotty about it?

They couldn't just humor me, and say something patronizing like "you won't mind if we have a real doctor confirm that with a strep culture will you?" Did they have to be rude about it?

And then they wanted me to fill out their information form, only instead of paper, they gave me a mini computer thing, kind of like a chunky ipad. It took some time for me to convince them that I wasn't going to steal it, but I really just wanted to stand outside in the glorious 110 degree heat (I never thought I would prefer the Arizona heat in July to air-conditioning, but the day had come) because my fleece jacket was no match for their air-conditioned waiting room.

I don't know, maybe I looked like some junkie off the street. (I looked pretty bad) I did leave my wallet at home, and therefore had no ID with me (John had to run home and get it) but still, when you've got a girl who's strongest desire at that moment is to lay on the sidewalk that's been soaking up that hot Arizona summer sun, could you try to be nice to her, or at least not so rude?

That's all I'm asking for. Oh and drugs. Anti-biotics at the very least. And I wouldn't say no to some painkillers either. Percocet is my fave.

(PS in the end, the medical staff that actually treated me were very nice and professional, but I have no desire to be BFF's with the girl at the front desk any time soon)

(PPS- and I was so right. It was strep. But I am feeling much better now.)

1st day of school

Yesterday was the first day of school for my older children. Christopher starts pre-school tomorrow, and then (cross your fingers) hopefully he will get into a special needs pre-school in a month or so.Zach is in 3rd grade. I think it will be a good year for him. He came home excited about his class and his teacher, Mr. Hansen.

Madison is in 5th grade. She's also super excited about school, class, teacher, friends etc. She's excited to have Mrs. Ramirez. I've only heard good things about her. And I think she has bought caramels from me through my kids before, so I know how to bribe her.

Nick is in the 8th grade. His day was good and bad. One thing he is especially excited for this year is he is taking a drama class. When I told him that I probably couldn't count on both hands the number of times somebody has said to me "have you ever thought about putting Nick in drama?", he wondered why. It wasn't really his first choice (I think he wanted shop- or whatever they are calling it these days) but talked non-stop about it for quite awhile when he came home. His day wasn't the best because he hates dealing with his contact, it fell out during lunch, he found it, but never got it back in. He missed most of his lunch dealing with that issue. Also, it was his first day back on his ADD meds, after being off them all summer, and he didn't seem "right" all day long. I think it's a side effect that will hopefully wear off soon, but I miss My Happy Nick.

I think I have a Honda Civic in my mouth

When John and I were first married, we both owned Honda Civics. At one point I think, they were both reliable cars, but by the time I had anything to do with them they were giant money pits.

John had had his car for a few years, and as a teenager just ran it into the ground. Put a bunch of miles on it, didn't change the oil enough, you get the idea. We were repairing and replacing something every other month. When they finally said "you need a new engine", that's when we traded t in for something more reliable.

My car was just as bad if not worse. I bought it used, from a neighbor who bought it used, and she only had it for a couple months, and probably had no idea how bad the car really was. Near as I can tell the car had probably been in some kind of pile-up as it seemed both the front end and the rear end had major work done, and then there's the fact that some mechanic commented (during one of many repairs) "wow, it looks like this thing's been on fire."

I'm sure you can see where this is going.

At one time my teeth were perfect and wonderful, and I never had cavities, or needed braces, and life was good. And then I got pregnant. And now I am wishing I had taken better care of them when I was pregnant. Besides those little leeches growing inside me, sucking all the calcium out of my bones, flossing made me want to puke, so I rarely did it. (besides, I rarely flossed before, and I never got cavities, so I guess I figured it was optional or something)

Years, and years later I am paying the price. Instead of replacing whole transmissions, I am getting implants and bone grafts. Instead of major repairs draining our savings, I am getting root canals.

Such was my life last week. I knew I was in trouble when one of my teeth starting hurting. I'd been there before. I put it off, just in case it was nothing, but I knew. There was also the fact that I had already spent all my dental insurance money (and then some) this year, and anything wrong was going to come straight out of my pocket.

"Please be just a regular, little cavity... please be just a regular, little cavity...", I begged with my fingers crossed under the leaded apron they throw over you during the x-ray.

It was not to be.

I had a massive infection and needed an immediate root canal. One of the huge cavities that I had filled years ago, (from not flossing) had gone bad and needed to be fixed. The dentist said he was surprised it had lasted that long.

I pleaded poverty and they sent me home with a referral to a specialist, and prescriptions for pain killers and antibiotics. And a warning that if I didn't get it taken care of soon (insurance or not) I'd end up losing the tooth entirely and be faced with a gaping hole or another implant.

Despite the fact that I immediately started on the antibiotics, the infection was pretty bad and I spent the night with a fever and chills to prove it. (I'm still amazed I didn't bite through my tongue trying not to let my teeth chatter- anytime my bad tooth touched anything, it sent shooting pain through my jaw.)

I called the root-canal specialist the next day - I think it starts with an "o" optometrist oncologist obstetrician ornithologist endodontist!! (so sue me- there are two o's in the word- close enough)

So I called, and they got me right in, took care of my tooth and gave me better drugs than the last doctor. (yay for percocet!)

Unfortunately, while I do like the loopy-loo-ness the percocet does to my head for a little while anyway, it gets really old, and after a couple of days I start missing the ability to drive, or read, or think, or stay awake. (hence the lack of blogging.)

moral of the story- floss your teeth. Even when it makes you want to barf. Also, drink lots of milk. Even if it makes you want to barf too.

why baking and drugs don't mix

I'm doing better than I expected, for the most part anyway. The last time I had that tooth worked on, I was in a sorry state. Even with the drugs I was pretty miserable.

This time was a little better. I even made it to Zach's and Maddie's piano recital last night. I was tired and really loopy, but I still enjoyed it. I didn't even think to bring a camera, (no surprise there) but luckily they had someone else taking pictures. I think I'll do a whole blog post on their piano recital when I get the pictures.

Today was actually worse than yesterday. I don't know if I over did it or what, but I wasn't up to much today. My biggest accomplishments for the day are that I took a shower, got half the dishes done, and tried to bake.

I need to take a dish to a baptism on Saturday morning. They sent around a sign-up sheet at church for people to sign up for donuts or milk. I want to help and contribute, but would you think less of me if I said I felt donuts were beneath me? Absolutely there are certain times when donuts are the answer. I LOVE a good donut, but if I'm going to sign up for a baked good, to help celebrate a special day in someone else's life, I want to bring something a little bit nicer.

I remembered my mom talking about these Lemony Blueberry Streusel bars and I thought that was the perfect answer to my dilemma of what to bring. (It's at 7:30 in the morning) So I thought I would make a trial batch to see how they turned out.

Unfortunately while the Percocet makes me feel better, it also makes it difficult to think straight. And so it is with that clouded judgment I attempted to make something I have never made before, and won't even be able to taste until tomorrow morning. (after my final weigh in!)

They mostly turned out okay, except I only put in half the amount of butter in the crust. (It calls for two cubes, I only put in one) I thought the texture was too dry, but proceeded anyway. I think the rest of it is okay- (I haven't tasted it yet) but the crust is definitely to dry. Too powdery even.

So tomorrow I think I shall sober up and try again. -you can look for the follow-up on my food blog if they're successful.

Apparently blogging and drugs don't mix either. I had typed this whole entry in my food blog before I realized that I was in the wrong place. I had to get John help me fix it.

D***ed if you do...

Excuse the language.

We've been working on Nick's school work issues for several years now. I finally break down and take him to see a specialist. He's officially diagnosed with "borderline ADD"- She wants to take it slow, I am happy with it. She prescribes omega 3 pills. No change. She prescribes the lowest dosage of Ritalin. No change. We up the dosage, but he has a hard time remembering to take it every day (part of the ADD thing- he seems to have trouble remembering if the pill he remembers taking was this morning or yesterday, or whether he brushed his teeth 20 minutes ago, or last night, etc), so I buy one of those old people pill boxes with the MTWThFSS written on the little compartments so he knows if he took his pill that day or not, and magically he starts doing a lot better. It's that easy. Only noticeable side effect seems to be a loss of appetite, but he seems to make up for it on weekends (he only takes the pills on school days). I am ready to cry I am so happy. (I'm being cautiously optimistic- I've had too many disappointments)

So...

After years of me yelling at him, his dad yelling at him, his teachers yelling at him (actually I think Mrs B was the only teacher doing any real yelling) him being grounded all the time, life generally sucking for him, it seems that we have found a solution, and life is good, and life is grand, freedom and sunshine have returned, and the yelling has stopped,

Except...

Mrs. B made Nick stay after class the other day so she could yell at him "for getting all good grades the last two weeks." She was actually really and truly mad. He explained it was the medication, she said she didn't believe it was the meds it was that actually he was finally choosing at the last minute, the eleventh hour, to try and do well and bring his grades up, and that obviously he was capable of it all along but he had chosen not to, and now was hoping to make up for it.

Grrrr.

She's not getting any caramels at the end of this school year.

in a previous life, I was a doctor. I just know it.

Okay, so I know I've been slacking on the blog thing. But here's my excuse- I've been tired. Like, really, really, tired. Like, if I didn't know it were totally and completely 100% impossible, I'd be freaking out that I was pregnant. So I would get up in the morning (after 7-8 hours of sleep), and be so exhausted, and stay that way all day. Caffeine doesn't help. Exercise just wipes me out. My house is a mess, projects are staring me in the face, my to-do list is a mile long, and I can't even get jazzed about reading. It makes me tired. I have been getting the basics taken care of- there's milk in the fridge and food in the pantry, and the kitchen gets cleaned, but my bed hadn't been made in over a week (what's the point when I am hoping to crawl back in it?), and the kids don't ask "what's for dinner?" anymore, it's more like "So, uh, is dinner just whatever?" (whatever they can find and make themselves)


And so I know, you're thinking- "Too tired to sit at a computer and type?" No, just too tired to do anything interesting, and too emotionally exhausted to come up with anything worth blogging about. And my stupid computer is on the fritz, and it doesn't seem to like blogger, and so I am having a really difficult time uploading pictures, or viewing anyone else's pictures, so my super tired self is just saying "it's not worth even trying".


So being the super awesome uneducated don't have a clue self diagnostician that I am, it occurred to me the other day I might be anemic. It occurred to me the day after John had a business meeting at a steak house. I told him to order the biggest steak and bring me the leftovers. He did. And I didn't even bother re-heating it. Or using a fork. I just sat there on the couch, eating it with my fingers, savoring every last bite of it's medium-rare goodness. And when I couldn't stop thinking about it, and all I could think about was getting myself another big ol' hunk of red meat, I started to think there might be a problem.

When I was a little girl I was anemic. I don't remember much about it except having to go to the doctor so he could prick my finger and test my blood, and there was this huge brown bottle full of disgusting medicine that I had to take every day.

So adding those three things together- fatigue, red meat cravings, history of anemia, and the fact that I hadn't been eating many foods rich in iron lately, I concluded that I am, in fact, anemic. I probably should have a real doctor confirm my diagnosis, but I'm too tired to deal with that.

One evening as I sat pondering whether or not a Double-Double from In-n-Out was a good idea or not, I realized that it might help for the moment, but what about tomorrow? Or the next day? The extra long drive thru line made up my mind for me and I went to Sprouts instead. They were having a sale on vitamins. I bought a bottle of iron and came home and announced my diagnosis and treatment to John.

He thought it sounded reasonable, except he said that anemics are generally low in B-12 as well, and as B-12 aids in digestion, the best way to take it is not a pill, but a shot in the bum. (We already know this as he has a B-12 deficiency and I've been giving him shots for years.) So he talked me into letting him give me a shot, I think he was just thinking payback for all the years of me sticking a needle in his backside. But truthfully what really convinced me to let him, was the fact that I saw an advertisement for some weight loss Dr.'s office advertising "B-12 shots", and I was wondering what they charge to do that. The stuff is fairly inexpensive, but you need a prescription to get it because you inject it, even though it's just a vitamin.


So I'll try to let you know how it goes. I'm on day three, and feeling a little better I think. I actually think that cleaning out my closet doesn't sound so overwhelming any more. I am also going to try and figure out how to fit some iron-rich, weight watchers approved foods into my diet. My problem is that while I love a good spinach salad, what I really love is all the stuff in it that isn't so good for you. Currently I am harassing this poor woman at my church for her salad recipe. It had spinach and tortellini and onions and candied nuts and strawberries (I think) and the dressing was to die for. It's probably like a million calories though.

first, do no harm

I've made no secret in the past of my frustration with Nick's performance at school. In some ways it's getting better, in other ways, not so. When he was younger, in first grade, he was such a happy cheerful, bright, intelligent kid. (Still is) His teacher, Miss Wong, called him her little song bird because he whistled happy little tunes all the time, even during class time when he wasn't supposed to. His desk was against the wall away from other kids because he couldn't keep his hands to himself- touching, feeling, poking, driving his Scooby-Doo Mystery Machine lunchbox on the kids near him until I was asked not to send it to school any more. Despite the fact that the teacher obviously cared for him, and recommended him to take the ALP test (which he passed) he still ended up "flipping his card" each and every day to "double red" (green-yellow-red-double red).

We moved to a new house and a new school in the second grade- The behavior issues got slowly better over the years, but back then his grades would be good, but the citizenship part of his report cards was far from acceptable for awhile there. At first he had a hard time making friends, but he has found a few really good friends that are the kinds of friends you'd pick for your own kid if you got the chance, and I am so grateful they are a part of his life. It seems though that it's a different story for most of the other kids in his grade however. He tends to be a bully magnet and a loner, and spends most recesses by himself reading. I can't tell you the number of conversations he has had with me that start something like this: "there's this boy/girl in my class who hates me...". He thinks maybe it's partly just left-over irritation with him from younger grades. This bothers me and I am not sure what I can do about it, but just remind him what a great kid I think he is, and tell him the other kids are missing out. He has a positive attitude and it doesn't have any effect on his love of school and learning, for which I am grateful.

Our biggest struggle lately however has been his grades. They seem to slowly getting worse and worse as the years go on. As the teachers stop babysitting and hand holding and the kids are expected to take responsibility for themselves he doesn't seem to be stepping up to the bat. It's frustrating. I have this great kid of whom I am very proud to be his mother, who has been officially classified by the schools as "gifted", but his ALP teacher doesn't think he fits the "accelerated" label because he's not organized, and "maybe he would just feel more successful if he quit ALP". Who loves school, who reads his whole Social Studies textbook in three weeks and then asks the teacher if she has another one cause he's "done with this one", but went from an A+ to an F in Social Studies for not turning in any assignments for more than a month. Who wants to go to a good college and study history or science, but has an F in science. Who would rather read than do almost anything, but has an F in reading. Who says he loves the viola, but his viola teacher (whom we love) has threatened to kick him out of private lessons because after many months he just hasn't shown any improvement which is the result of his lack of adequate practicing.

What's a mother to do? I KNOW he's bright enough, and capable enough. I've bribed, grounded, threatened, screamed, yelled, lectured, taken all his books away, made promises, begged, cried, pleaded, helped him organize his desk at school and home, helped with homework, met with teachers, bought every organizational thing I could think of, checked snapgrades daily, rewarded, hugged, kissed, praised, bought his own set of textbooks to keep at home so "forgetting" them is never an option, sought advice from friends, family, strangers, prayed, and still...Nothing seems to work.

The other day I posed a series of questions to him "Do you like school? You like your teachers? You think school is important? Do you want to go to college? Get a degree? Get a good job? Do you really think these things, or are you just telling me what you think I want to hear but secretly have plans of being a starving artist or a famous rock star or a super star athlete and so you don't need a formal education?" (and then I started getting ridiculous) "Do you drink? Do drugs? Are you suicidal? Are your parents getting a divorce? Did somebody you love just die?" Most of those questions were met with a totally incredulous look, or total offense, but I explained I just needed to cover all my bases. Maybe I'm missing something, but generally speaking, a kid as smart as he is shouldn't be failing school for NO REASON.

And so today we took the first step that has been a long time coming. We went to see a specialist. Apparently these days the pediatricians don't hand out Ritalin like candy anymore, they're careful, and refer you to somebody better trained to make those kinds of decisions. They're slow to dish out the meds, which is good I think. So far he's been diagnosed as "borderline ADD", and they've suggested things like Omega 3 fish oil, and a website with helpful hints, and we have another appointment to go back for more testing in a month. I'm glad they are taking it slow. I've fought this decision for a very long time. I didn't come to it easily. John and I have discussed it off and on, and we've finally decided that it's worth a shot, and better to try this out now than later on in his life. His second grade teacher had pushed for it, but to me it felt like laziness on her part. "I don't want to deal with your child, please medicate him so he's easier for me." A friend of mine who was also a teacher at that time confirmed my suspicions when she said- "Absolutely that's what she's after. I think they should put Ritalin in the drinking fountains. "

Fifteen to twenty years ago, Ritalin was the favorite drug of doctors, teachers, and moms alike. My brother was on it for years and he hated it. He hated the way it made him feel. It left him feeling depressed and suicidal. He liked being off it because he could feel something- joy, rage. A lot of rage. He needed it though. He had so many problems and we think the medicine is responsible for him even graduating from high school. As siblings we were also cruel. He was the little brother, and anytime he was remotely irritating we'd say things like "Go take your Ritalin, you're bugging me." We treated him as though we didn't want to be around him unless he was on his medicine. He wasn't accepted for who he was underneath it all. I feel terrible about that, and the thought of my own kid ever feeling that way hurts.

But I don't know what else to do. Next year he'll be in jr. high. At that means new friends, new opportunities, honors classes, and every thing gets harder. And if he can't keep track of his homework now, I don't want to know what next year will bring.

I have to try. I have to do something. I want to see him be the person he's capable of, and bring home a report card he can be proud of. I want to see him achieve his dreams, whatever they are, and I just pray I am doing more good than harm....

a side effect

John's been sharing his vicodin with me. He doesn't like the loopy feeling it gives him, and my throat and ears have been killing me these past few days so I have been dipping into his stash. With the exception of the loopy-ness which I totally don't mind, one little side effect kinda does bug me a bit- it makes my nose itch. Is that weird? Does that happen to anybody else, or is it just me?