Saturday, December 24, 2011
Well, his penis anyway.
This is Reid McCoy Culver. As of yesterday, we knew he was in fact a he. And as of today, he's got his own special tag on my blog.
Of course with happy news comes aggravation.
No, we cannot star in a remake of "My 3 Sons" now. We already have 3 sons. This is our 4th.
No, don't be sad because I "didn't get a girl" or tell me how hard you were hoping & praying for this baby to be a girl. I don't care what we have. Seriously. I don't. I want alive. If you're the hoping & praying type, do it for a living baby. That is so much more important & concerning to me than male or female.
I'll get off my soap box now.
Happy gift giving & getting day, folks.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Alot has gone on in the world of Jessica Culver the pass several weeks.
Let us review.
I have a new job. Seems like I say that alot. Same place, I'm just now special. I'm a case manager, working full time. It's fun because we get breakfast sometimes.
And I wear a princess crown. Just because.
I'z still got a baybee in me.
Dottie, as I've labeled him/her, is all like "Hey hey hey!" We go on the 23th to find out if this baby has indoor or outdoor plumbing. At 9:20pm. Almost 3 hours away.
I've got some dedication.
Jules turned 4 on 12/14.
I went in with 30 balloons.
I made cupcakes.
Blair has been reminding me that my breastmilk wasn't very good because he's been sick. We now own a nebulizer!
AND WE WERE REALLY EXCITED!
Then, because he had so much fun at urgent care a few weeks before, he decided to face plant near the stairs & bust his chin open.
That is Blair awaiting his 5 stitches.
Here is Blair after his 5 stitches.
He obviously got over it quickly.
And 6 days later they came out & life went on.
Overall, they are just fucking awesome.
Not long ago I got pulled over for speeding. Jules was angry, yelling "you were just following those other fast cars!" I got off with a warning, which Jules still didn't like.
I hope this isn't a sign of how he feels about authority as he grows.
We are now, like many of you crazy fucks, are getting ready for the holidays. I'z a wrapping gifts.
I tried to be festive & listen to Christmas music, but it sucked because they are full of lies.
Anyone who thinks it's the most wonderful time of the year obviously have never wrapped ill shaped toys. People who create package shapes are assholes. Seriously. "I COULD make this a square, but it's make it a fucking hexagon just to scare with the poor saps who paid too much for this for their kid." That's how I imagine the discussion goes in the toy factory.
Truth be told, I'm pretty tormented this holiday season. I feel like this whole dead baby thing isn't just a thing to deal with, but a roller coaster. Constantly up and down. I don't expect to get over it, but I would like to cope better. I would like to not relive it so often. I'd like, well, some fucking peace. Screw world peace, I'd settle for inner peace. I'm not sure if it's being pregnant or just the fact that my baby died that's making this time of year so hard, but like everything else related to Joel that'll just be another question I'll never know the answer to.
And that's what's going on in my life. I'll try to do better, I really will.
Monday, October 17, 2011
I’d love to argue that, but jeesh, I kinda am. I love how I say “kinda” because that makes it right. The truth is that I am. I’m a breeder. I’m trying to accept this fact. I really am.
Thankfully, I’m surrounded by total strangers who are more than happy to tell me I’m a breeder.
“…so you wanted your kids this close together?”
Yes, strange lady in the doctors office, I did. Already had small kids, why not add another now instead of later?
“Hmph! Whatever you think, Ms. Jessica!”
I’m so glad this person could totally read my deep, inner thoughts asking for her opinion that I didn’t even know I’d had.
“Was this planned?”
Planned as in I went off birth control or planned as in we had pie charts & graphs? You need to be specific.
“You know how babies are made don’t you? Hehehe”
No. Please tell me.
That sure shut up the hehehe.
“You know, they are saying on TV that if you take Zoloft you should sue because your baby will have birth defects.”
Blair doesn’t have a tail. But that’s for your medical/legal opinion, lady working the front desk answering phone calls.
I'm happy it's happening all early this time around. That just makes it more fun. And by fun, I mean more interesting stories for blogs.
Friday, October 14, 2011
No bleeding or anything makes me feel better about that as well. And, for shits & giggles, all the test I've taken since have been positive.
The ultrasound on the 1st will give us the final answer, but until then I got my knocked up chick goodie bag.
...and coupons as if I were a smoker.
And I've got a couple awesome boys.
This shit better work out.
Monday, October 10, 2011
…yeah, soak that in, peeps.
A while back I told you we decided to try to breed again.
Apparently we did.
On my cheapo test I had negatives & positives…it was back & forth in the same day, for days. I decided my batch of test just sucked, so I bought I fancy overpriced store test & peed on it.
Truth is, I had a coupon. So I saved $2. Go me!
Anyway, I peed. That little hourglass blinked. And blinked more. I figured it was going to be negative because shouldn’t positive results pop up fast?
Well, not always. Because it popped up at the 3 minute mark. Finally.
And with that, I was safe. I told the world!
Then, hours later, I took the 2nd test in the box for shits & giggles. It took just as long, but I wasn’t worried. I’m pregnant!
Confused? Let’s compare.
Still confused? Same here.
Long story short, I was directed to the evil hospital I hates lab. They would do blood test for pregnancy without a doctors order & give results within 2 hours! Much better than going to the doctor & getting blown off a week from now. So I got my exact change of $10 & set out to the lab.
I got my blood drawn like a good little solider. I even made a fucking doctors appointment because I’m pregnant, right? Right!
My hCg levels are barely what a positive at like 2 weeks out has to be at the minimum, like the very minimum. I should be 4 weeks. So it’s likely a chemical pregnancy. Hence the back & forth test results, chemical pregnancies are famous for that apparently. Learn something new everyday!
Of course, the real fun here is that I have to go to my doctors appointment tomorrow & they will do further blood work, but I’ll also receive my goody bag of baby things I’m sure.
Honestly, as I type this, I’m trying to convince myself things are fine. I did this convincing thing before…on the drive to get induced with Joel. He was still dead though. And I waited for him to cry after he was delivered but guess what? Dead.
Sure, there is still a chance. I’ve had friends tell me their levels are as low as mine & they have baybees now. But a bitch hasn't been that lucky before. Or even if this is a miscarriage, I can have another baybee. I sure did after Joel, so this shouldn’t be any different. But honestly? I can’t do it. I can’t see myself risking this shit again. And I’m not really sure I can survive 9 months of waiting for yet another dead baby.
My genes, body, or whatever else has failed me again. So I’m pretty sure I quit now. After whatever happens with this. As fucked as it may sound, I'm not even sad over the dead baby idea as much as I am feeling like a complete failure of being able to keep one alive.
Oh. It was nice coming into work after this & seeing my newly popped co-worker. And I can't wait until Wednesday with my class full of preggos, including the professor whose taken to rubbing her belly through class lectures.
Wednesday, September 14, 2011
There are various reasons this is stupid. Allow me to list some.
Oh, & money.
OK, there are more specific reasons but at the end of the day it’s the money aspect. For example, our house is wee. To have more room, you need money. Kids need clothes and everything else. Money. I’m not sure if we can fit an extra baybee in our car. Need money for a new car.
So see? Money. Makes the world go around.
Of course, now that I’ve accepted that we CAN make it work by some miracle, I’m remembering how involved pregnancy after Joel was. I’ve not even thought about how scary and stressful it is, I’m talking about the ultrasounds. The doctors visits. That last trimester of weekly visits & scans. Waiting to be told your baby is dead every time. The extra blood work to make sure homocysteine levels are good. Taking an insane amount of pills, mainly folic acid, to ensure my homocysteine levels have a chance of staying good so I can avoid blood thinners. Taking MORE pills to ensure the folic acid I’m taking gets the best chance of being absorbed as possible. I took at least a dozen of these pills every night because my insurance hates me & refuses to pay for the pill that I can take ONE of a night & be everything. But since they won’t pay & I can’t pay (see, money) the $200 a month for the pills, I’m stuck with taking my own super combo of hell.
I hate taking pills. So much.
I’d, again, be the time bomb everyone is waiting to detonate. I get to be the knocked up girl who many wonder “why is she risking it again?!” Always fun.
I’d be sick. Tired. Feel like crap.
So really nothing new there.
There are times I feel like a shitty mom anyway, do I really need to add another in the mix? Nothing major there, just the tired & running late for work Jess with crying or questioning children. It’s a fun frustration that I’m sure all parents know.
Then I wonder WHY I would want to do this again. And to be honest, the most disturbing answer is this…I want to know if I can.
There are various reasons, that’s not the main one, but it does bother me that part of me wants to do it as…an experiment? I want to see that I can indeed grow and birth a living baby. I’m selfish like that.
I wrote all that a few days ago. I was full of confusion. I was full of doubt. Fear. Can’t forget the fear. But something clicked. I look at it & realize that down the road I’ll wonder what if. And I have a lifetime of what if crap to deal with for the rest of my life.
And, with that, my IUD was pulled out.
We’re gonna make a baby.
Hold on, folks. We’re in for a hell of a ride, no matter what the outcome is.
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Here is what you’ve missed.
Jules is now in 3 year old preschool.
Still no hair cut. He doesn’t even like me to cut mine. He tells me, “if it gets in your eyes, just shake your head!” He also has been introduced to Pez candy & Patrick Swayze.
Blair is full of awesome.
He’s really just a baby, so nothing major to report, but he’s so cute I can’t stand it.
Jules is full of awesome & imagination. Here he is taking a bath.
He had his first show & tell last week. He took a Batman toy. He told the class, “This is Batman. He’s cool & fancy. My mom takes me to his place to get ice cream…Batman & Robbins.”
Adam is in the world of stand up.
We go out a lot…but only for stand up.
We got a new pet. A dog. Everyone say hi to Batman.
Jules named him. He came from a woman who was like 8 months pregnant & smoking like a train. He reeked of smoke, it was quite sad.
I’m back in school, again. No picture, but take my word for it. I’m there.
I got yet another new couch & stuff.
I got my $1300+ couch 3 weeks old from the public housing area for $300. I took advantage of someone’s misfortune. I’m American like that.
I’ve started selling tutus & other girly stuff. You should totally buy one (or 15). https://www.facebook.com/rainbowbabydesigns
I got a job. Not subbing like I was previously, but a real job that I go to. It’s part time, it’s in community mental health working with at risk kids. It’s good, I like it. I think I’m good at it. But it does keep me out 4 days a week until the kids are both in bed or until Blair is at least.
In the works I have a food blog, a cake blog, an entertaining blog about what happens when a fish dies & you don’t want your toddler to know, a maybe ttc blog, & maybe a blog that will cause drama!
Those are in no particular order. But they are upcoming.
Monday, September 5, 2011
So, let’s share some facts.
• Stillbirth is the death of an infant in-utero at 20 or more completed gestational weeks. More than 25,000 babies are stillborn in the United States each year
• Almost 50 percent of these deaths occur at or near full term and often seem to be otherwise healthy babies. The majority of stillbirths (85%)occur before delivery with 15% occurring during labor and delivery.
• It is estimated that nearly two-thirds of all stillbirth deaths remain unexplained. Researchers feel that this is more likely due to a failure to investigate the deaths, rather than a medical mystery.
• Stillbirth deaths cut across all socio-economic classes, races, religions and maternal age groups. No woman is immune.
• Some of the more common diagnosable causes for stillbirth are: placental abruption and other placental problems, birth defects and chromosomal abnormalities, uncontrolled diabetes, pre-eclampsia, cord accidents and infections.
• The risk factors for stillbirth include: advanced maternal age, maternal obesity, maternal smoking, prior stillbirth, neonatal death or other fetal losses, uncontrolled maternal diabetes and maternal hypertension.
• After a stillbirth, few hospitals offer an autopsy, placental exam or clinical testing to the parents to determine the cause of death.
• Mothers who suffer a stillbirth do not receive recognition in 39 out of 50 states. There is no certificate of birth — making these babies births "invisible".
Joel died at 40 weeks. And on this remembrance day I have only one question…
...when was I supposed to forget in order to remember?
Monday, August 22, 2011
I wonder what he'd be doing.
I would have been a good mom to him.
Or maybe I didn't deserve him.
I feel like I'm going to self destruct. Just explode from sadness and sorrow. I just want to scream until that happens. As loud and as long as possible. And even then, it won't express what I feel.
Drowning. I feel like I'm drowning and going to lose the few things in life that make it worth living. And sometimes, I don't even care. Because never having him made him my world. My world is gone forever. And that's unfair to everyone here. But it's the truth. I want HIM.
You always want those you can't have I suppose.
I want to hold him. Alive. I want to tell him I'm sorry and to not be scared. I want him to be warm and safe.
I don't know how one survives a lifetime of this.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
That is me. That is my story. The story that makes me angry, ashamed, and worried all at once.
Angry because Joel died.
Ashamed because I let it happen.
And worried because of any potential backlash I could end up dealing with because people may interpret it wrong. Strangers or close friends. But my note & the editors note are true. I hope people can realize that.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
Time. Reading. Searching. Asking. Seeking. Crying. Researching. Google. Checking with other medical professionals. I've spent two years doing this. And I've finally come up with completely fucked conclusions.
-Joel may have died no matter what.
-Joel never had a chance.
-I was given, at best, lackluster care. Between my worries and concerns being blown off I was flat out told inappropriate things.
-Doctors didn't test everything like they should have. In fact, the most basic fucking test weren't done. They noted I had an infection...but no testing was done to determine if the infection or the dead baby came first.
-Not only was shit done wrong and ignored, it was covered up. I've found that some results were never given to other doctors investigating the stillbirth. Results that would have likely lead to more questions.
-My results were withheld for 7 weeks, 6 weeks after they were completed and available. Only when i called hospital supervisors did my test magically appear in the hands of those who were suppose to relay them to me. Forms to do further test on Joel were also withheld until then. Forms that had to be signed and returned within 2 weeks to rule out possible causes, none of which seem likely. But since they were never done, they couldn't be ruled out. Therefore, the pool of maybes didn't get any smaller.
-My body likely killed my baby. And if it didn't, it didn't help his weakness.
-It could have been prevented.
-He could have had a chance.
-My life was ruined. And it was ruined further by fucked up loyality among professionals.
I feel as though, finally, tonight, I had that lightbulb moment.
And there is nothing I can do about it.
Unless I decide names and actual issues shouldn't be protected any longer.
Maybe I'll just start protecting them as well as my dead baby was protected. I actually wrote an angry letter for healing purposes directed to my midwife. Now I believe it'll see the light of day.
Though all of this...and so much as of late, my entire thought on so many things have changed. It's actual a bit scary.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
Actually there are no other tales, just the one that will now forever haunt me and piss me off at myself.
Blair had a birthday party. Yep, he's a elderly 1 year old. Fun was had by all. Until...the incident.
Obviously, our friends know about the whole dead baby thing. Not really a secret, in case you didn't realize it. Shit, 10 minutes before the incident, we'd talked about Adam's getting his vasectomy reversed, which everyone knows the reason for. I'd just got out of the pool myself and was sitting on the deck, making random amusing small talk. One guy mentioned that his new apartment had baby diapers thrown out the window on the lower roof. Jokes were made about how he could show everyone around and mention "and here are the dirty old diapers." Then...then I heard it.
"At least it's not a bunch of dead babies."
I heard where it came from. I knew the voice. I turned to that person and asked, "what did you say?" She stumbled on her words before finally pointing towards the diaper apartment guy and said, "he said it." I sat there. I looked straight ahead. I didn't want to cry. I didn't want to have a hysterical melt down. I wasn't going to do it. I heard Adam say something about how the dead baby subject wasn't cool, to paraphrase.
But I felt it coming, so I stood up and left the deck. I made it inside before the tears started. Made it upstairs before the complete hysterics started. And there, in the bathroom, I had my hysterical melt down. Wish I could say that it was the first time, but I've had many meltdowns there over Joel. It's, sadly, the most common place.
I hear people walking around downstairs, going out the front door. I assumed, and was right, that they were smoking. Adam came in after a couple minutes and called up, I told him I didn't want to talk to him or anyone, which I didn't. I wanted to be left alone so I could have my meltdown. Adam said "everyone feels really sorry about it" to which I screamed out "Good! Everyone fucking should feel fucking awful about it!" As loud as I shrieked it, I'm sure people could hear. I was looking for clothes at the time to change out of my swim suit, so I was in our bedroom, which has the window like 15 feet from the deck. Fuuuun.
I calmed down after a few minutes. I changed. I'd hoped I could finish my cooling down alone downstairs, so I went downstairs...perfectly timed to see everyone basically walking in the dining room door in a neat, shameful line. I wasn't really ready to see one person, much less 10. But hey, what can you do? I start just picking some stuff up to throw away to avoid eye contact for a couple more minutes. One guy Adam use to work with, who apparently said something after the initial comment that I didn't even hear because it was during the point where I was trying to not cry, apologized. I didn't even hear him outside and I really still wasn't prepared to talk about it, so the tears suddenly came again and I said I didn't want to talk about it. I turned and went into the kitchen to throw stuff away, and as I turned around I see the parade of people making their way through my dining room and out the front door. Adam tells me something along the lines that everyone is leaving because I was upset. That upset me even more, because not only do I feel like an ass because I just had to hide myself in the house to chill out, but now this is how the day was going to end. My emotional melt down and everyone leaving the house all together suddenly. I exchanged words with Adam, thinking he told people to leave or something.
Fast forward a couple minutes and it turns out people were just going out to smoke, Adam had said bye assuming they were leaving, which confused everyone I guess. Or maybe Adam begged them to come back inside so his wife wouldn't feel more like shit than before. Who cares, they did. We ended up making balloon animals. Seriously!
But I got a couple hugs. More apologizes. Offers to allow me to yell at people. Things were OK. So, finally, I wanted to know what the fuck happened. So I asked. I asked who said what, because I was confused. I'd heard the one person say what I wrote above, but she'd blamed someone else. I didn't think he would say that, plus I was sitting closer to him so I know I didn't hear him say it. So I got the run down. The chick who I thought said it first did in fact say it first. Diaper apartment guy did follow up saying something about it was good that it wasn't dead babies, which I kinda heard but didn't process. Guy who Adam had worked with followed up with, "If it were babies maybe someone would have cleaned it up" or something along those lines.
So I looked around. We were missing someone. We were missing the chick who said it first. I asked where she was. She flew the coop fast. That annoyed me because how the fuck do you not wait around to talk to someone? I figured I'd get an email, text, or something. Adam told me that after I'd gone inside, she flat out admitted that she said it and shouldn't have. She told them all what she said, didn't deny it. She said it. So I was waiting for my message, the message I'd get expressing regret or something else that I could accept and move on without leaving so much hurt behind and a bad memory on the stain of Blair's party.
And I did get a message. From my other friend. My friend who just met this chick. My friend who apparently received chat messages from dead baby chick right after she got home. So instead of sending me anything, she searches my friends list and tells her version of the story to a total 3rd party. Says she never said anything. Says she tried to apologize. Blames diaper apartment guy again, saying he said it and she hadn't.
I stew. But it gets worse.
Again, I'm contacted by another totally random person who is told about the entire incident from this chick. Now I'm really upset. It's bad enough I have to live with it and knowing that everyone is going to remember me having my melt down, but now having other random people who didn't even know about it or need to know about it just made it worse. It killed me that this person was talking about it...but to anyone but us. Finally, I told Adam to please send her a message and tell her to stop talking about it to people. And he did. And she replied. Replied with, again, saying she never said anything to upset me. And this time even added on to the story that she was told to leave right after it happened and she did against her better judgement. Then added that it was nice getting to know us and wishing us luck in our future endeavors.
OK, that very last part was added for humor sake, but it might as well have said it.
And that was that. Someone we considered a friend said something totally awful. And even if by some chance it was a total misunderstanding of what she said or what she thought someone else said, it doesn't matter. Because flaking out when you owe someone an apology is lame. Convincing yourself you were in the right shouldn't be more important than making sure the person who is upset and hurt, even if it were during the course of a misunderstanding, knows that it wasn't intended and that you're sorry.
But...I'll never have that.
So while the wound of what happened that day would have always been there...it didn't have to be so apparent. So sore. Such a huge fucking scar. It could have healed nicely with just a couple words. But it didn't. So the wound is healing as a huge ass scar and we lost a friend.
Of course now I get to be Adam's wife, the crying hostess. Not sure how fun my parties will be from here on out with that title. I liked it better when I was just his bitchy wife. So now I'll just have to be a huge bitch to win that title back.
I'm up for the challenge.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
We had a cookout with friends & family (the ones I've not totally alienated by my bluntness). And a rainbow cake, made by yours truly. A 14 inch, 6 layer cake.
It was a good time (but be sure to scroll down for the quick not so good time mention).
Of course, shit can't always go well. Stay tuned for the story about how my rainbow babys party ended up being interrupted by a DB joke. Seriously.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
So the days came and went. The death date and the birthdate. It was hard. It sucked. People who didn't last year actually remembered. Of course disappointment continues when some people didn't. Can't ever be perfect. If things were perfect, I wouldn't be talking about my kid dying.
Yep, still hurts. Nope, never thinking it will end.
Getting through it. That's about all.
Planning a birthday party for Blair now. Well, we've been planning it. But actually moving forward. A week from now my baybee will be one. He's walking like a pro. It kinda makes me cry. He's a real by now.
I just wish all of my boys got the chance to be real boys.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
It's just after midnight on May 25th. It's officially the eve of D-Day.
That's death day.
I can't remember him. And some things, I never even thought to look at. So some things I don't know.
I hate myself for not knowing. I hate myself for not making myself realize that I needed to look at little things to try to remember them. I hate myself for not taking more pictures. I hate myself for letting him die. And I hate everyone who forget him or refuses to remember him over the next couple of days. And I hate anyone who only took his death as a story to spread around like cheap gossip.
And I hate spam comments, like the following one which was on this post about Jules saying he was going to die like Joel:
Those little guys are the craziest, toddlers are the funniest haha
I hope people that should care about him actually do over the next few days.
Sunday, May 15, 2011
In case you're wondering why, when Blair was about 2 weeks old I noticed while feeding him that his eye seemed gunky. Being a hippy, I put breast milk in it. OK, I put it all over his face & eventually got some in his eye. Bad aim, I'z got it. Anyway, after a week & no improvement we started our doctor cycle. His eye was always gunky, but often I'd be green or yellow. Blocked tear duct is a fairly normal thing. But we were dealing with constant infections. Eventually we were sent to an eye doctor who told us what we already knew..."massage" it to get the gunk out, or as I started calling it, "milk his eye," use ointment when bad or gunk is colorful, & just wait for it to open or wait until the 1 year mark to probe it. That, my friends, is called a wasted chttp://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gifo-pay.
Anyway, I became an eye gunk milking pro. Kinda scary really. I have weird talents, none of which will get me far in this world. But I do what I do. Back to the topic at hand. We went back last week for his close to one year mark. His eye had been getting better, but still had bad days. Here we are, doing a myspace picture at the doctors office.
We were bored, don't judge me.
Doctor comes in & tells me, again, things I already knew. Asked if we wanted to go ahead & do the probe, I said sure. She ask, "how's tomorrow for you?"
Ummmmm...honestly it's shitty. I have a job lined up, babysitters ready, & overall totally unprepared for the idea of surgery in like 12 hours.
But that doesn't come out of my mouth. What comes out is, "Oh, that's fine!"
They tell me they are calling to check to see if it's available, which it is. I'm sent home with instructions about pre-op, but I just keep saying, "yeah, he just got ear tubes, we know the drill."
Rest of the evening is pointless to the story, so let's fast forward to the morning.
*hack hack...hack hack*
"What is that?" I ask Adam. He tells me it's Blair coughing.
A few more times over the night & into the morning...
I kept thinking, "I should just cancel" but I thought it was that not wanting to do this surgery thing & I pushed those concerns back. The coughing stopped. We make our journey over to the hospital before 7am. Park. Walk, in the rain, to the door. Get up to the hot outpatient center & answer a bunch of questions that were already in the computer. All during this, I'm wrestling a baybee that wants to be down moving & shaking, not held by me while I report that Blair is unmarried & a non-smoker who doesn't drink.
Go back, nurses are all night. He gets a gown nurse says she's sorry it's pink. I'd like to meet the parent that gets pissy because their childs surgical gown is gender inappropriate.
"I know my kid is about to get surgery, but this pink shit is fucking stupid!"
He's 23lbs. He's 29 inches, maybe 30. He's got a heart rate & an O2 rate which was only 98 but they figure it's just where he's squirming around. It's just after 8 when a nice anesthesiologist comes in. We go through general questions, I tell him he had tubes & did fine...
Doctor stops & ask how long he's had that cough. I tell him "overnight & this morning. But it's not very often."
...I think my son just called me a liar.
Doctor makes some faces. Goes into how if he'd had it a while it'd be less of a deal, but where it's new it could be new inflammation, which could cause complications. As he's saying this, he makes he way over to a chair for patients. As I see this, I go ahead & start making Blair a bottle knowing this shit wasn't going on.
I agree that we don't want to take any chances with his airway considering how tiny it is in a baybee Blair's age. He goes to call the eye doctor.
Blair is all like "LOL, you think I'm going to let you do this to me?" *hack hack*
I send Adam a text, to which he responds with "..." but once I explain the situation, he agrees that it makes sense.
But now we've got to wait on our discharge papers.
Blair is all like, "What you doin' sitting?!"
"Come up lady, smile, you just cancelled work & all that jazz for a practice run at surgery! And it's 8am & you're going to get to carry me out in the pouring rain again already, woohoo!"
"Come on bitch, let's hit the bricks."
Oh crap, I'm a baybee, how do I get out of here?"
"Ummm...this doesn't lead anywhere?! What's up with this crazy place?! Baybee's can't just get out easy?!"
"Oh well I'll just flop down & make baby noisies. *hack hack* By the way, you know if grandma ever finds out you let me lay in this hospital floor, she's totally going to go off on you. LOL at you mom."
Blair has a real potty mouth sometimes.
I loaded up. Made my way out of the overly warm hospital. Made my way through the icky rain to the car. Make my calls to let people know that Blair doesn't have surgery afterall. He would cough sometimes during this time to let people know he was hacking & totally wasn't faking.
I called his doctor, since the hospital told me to. Like I knew they'd tell me, unless it's with other symptoms they don't think there is anything to do since it just started within the past few hours.
So once again I'm reminded to always listen to my gut because I knew better than to take him with that cough. Hell, I knew better than to do something like that at the last minute. Life lessons, I keep going through them.
He's fine. The couch just started up again today, I'm guessing it's from allergies. Adam has the same issues, which started after a rain storm started oddly enough.
Now I'm hoping his eye gets all better on it's own. Because I can't deal with another event like this. I think my baybee has had enough hospitals & doctors for a long time...I'd like to stop it now. It's not fun for any of us.
If you need an eye milked though, you know who to call.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Yes, I'm serious. I figure this also updates you on my life. Enjoy. Unless you're my facebook friend. If so, experience some deja vu.
Today's Maury..."Test me! Am I the father of my brothers baby?!" Now, I'm not a medical expert, but I'm thinking that's biologically impossible.
Jules is ignoring everything I say, house is a mess, Blair got a chip bag & shook it all out, & on my way out of the house, 10 minutes late, I found a dead mole in my dining room. So, basically, a normal day.
Someone come clean my house...I'll give you some pussy*.
*Pussy cats, of course. Your pick of the pack!
Happy mothers day! A $300 bill for the ent, on top of the $500 bill for the surgery center for the tubes. Those things better stay put.
Someone parked outside the crack house is blaring Elton John's "Benny & the Jets." I'm annoyed, but impressed all at the same time.
Just saw my first ever hooker pick up.
Cockblocks. My house is full of cockblocks.
It's nice that people have changed their profile pictures, but I suddenly feel like all of my friends are kinda old.
There. I changed my profile picture to a picture of me & my mom.
Thank goodness I have an iPhone. How else would I watch videos of fat cats anytime I wanted without it?
Jules made this. Seriously.
There is a thing going around saying that if you're a proud mom, you'll post your kids birthdays & stats. Well, folks, I'll do you one better. I'll tell you that I've had 11 stitches in my vagina & my abdomen cut open & glued back together. I've also got an ass load of stretch marks & nursed children with my ample bosoms. I'm awesome.
Watching another "got lost in West Virginia, end up being killed by a inbred psycho" movie. In defense of my home state, I think the annoying fucks in these movies would be killed by someone in any state they got lost in. We'd just do the rest of you a favor.
I finally let Adam touch some pussy...as he plants it.
I'm trying to work on the invites for Blair's birthday party. I'm having a hard time though, because all I keep wanting to type is "GODDAMN MY KID IS CUTE!" & I don't really think that's appropriate.
Did you know it was national depression week? Finally, a week in my honor! I'd have a party, but I don't want to get out of bed.
I want a copy of my cps file. They now tell me it'll take about a week longer. Why? Because the supervisor has to count the pages to tell me how much it'll cost for copies. A week to count pages? Really?
Oh & when I was shocked about that, she explained that she's "not even had time to go to the bathroom today." I told her she could count in the bathroom. No response. Mind you, I first requested them on April 22nd.
I guess that supervisor took my suggestion...I'm off to obtain my whopping 20 pages of file from cps. I'm considering paying the $5 in pennies.
And I did.
CPS is fucking shameful. My report is full of quotes from people they never spoke to. The quotes aren't even possibly correct, like one talks about us watching "all of her children" when she only has one. Worker took what I said & claimed it came from others. Fine for us, but what about kids who really need help? Pathetic.
Update on this in the future...may have cost someone a job & reporting them to the license board in the state.
While looking at my "recommendations for Jessica" I netflix, I mistakenly read a movie title as "Eat Me Out."
Camo tarp's daughter just called me a skank. Some may be offended, but I'm thrilled. This is the first time I've been called a skank! At least to my face. I feel like I should get cake or something.
Self fulfilling prophecy: this afternoon I was called a skank...tonight, I'm texting pictures of my boobs to other chicks.
Little penis condoms? I had an ex who used these. Seriously.
Me teaching French? The only french I have experience with is that we joke that one of our cats is French. And he only says "sacrebleu" to everything.
I bet Toby Keith has been up all night, writing like 3 albums.
After the news of Osama's death.
Life lesson 3674...even in the freezer, shit can spoil.
Life lesson 3675...one should think things out better then to throw away a shit load of frozen foods & meat in May when trash day isn't until 4 days from now.
Today Jules told Blair, "this summer, you're gonna grow up & be my best friend."
As he throws food to the floor & looks for Murphy, Blair says "doh doh doh!". Either he's trying to say dog or he's Homer Simpson.
What my students can use for their math test.
It's April 28th. That's 23 months.
What's this rash on my kid?
Jules is allergic to amoxcilian (however the fuck that's spelled). Like mama!
I think it says something special about me when, on their way over to my house, my friend text me asking if I'm wearing pants.
Just realized that The Cat in the Hat is the story of some weird guy going into a house alone with kids whose mother is away & playing weird games with them. Hmmmm...
Jules shoves tp in his butt crack & tells us he has a tail.
I'm happy we can share these things with each other.
Charlie Brown came in my house & was all like "cook me some lunch, bitch." And I did. Because he's cute.
Jules is so imaginative. Like just now, he wanted the "map" I was holding, which was a roll of cotton.
On a side note, ever think tampons look like maps? If you're 3 they do.
Why does the word "peanuts" have to sound so much like "penis?"
I had a 2nd grader tell me I bored him & to never even look at him again.
So I went & sat beside him.
Feel safe coming to our house if you have kids! All of todays guest have been checked against the sex offender registry, they are all clear.
We had a cook out.
It took 2 employees & the guy buying them to load 4 bags of concrete while I, beside them, loaded 4 bags of 50lb sand in my car alone. Pussies.
Jules found a shovel from his Easter basket. When Adam asked who he thought it was for he answered, sadly, "the orphans."
Jehovah witnesses just came to my door...and asked to speak to my mom.
Meet me at the ice cream truck, I'll buy you some ice cream!
Guys, I don't play farmville or any other ville game. I've got enough people, animals, & shit to keep alive in my real daily life, I don't need fake things to have to worry about, too. I can only care for so many critters at once. If I'm busy feeding fake cows, I'm going to be down a cat.
Have a drink? Why yes, I think I will!
In other news, Blair is getting eye surgery tomorrow. Clogged tear duct since birth, constant infections & gunk. So he's getting probed tomorrow morning. Poor kid.
Oh, just for the hell of it...
Friday, April 29, 2011
I was happy when I met this woman & she wasn't annoying. I didn't dislike her. That's awesome because I dislike a lot of people. And she wasn't some overly happy rainbow & sunshine chick, which was nice. I don't want to just be told “but look on the bright side!” That's annoying.
Anyway, she referred me to their in house shrink a couple weeks later. That, my friends, was an adventure.
I didn't go in with expectations of compassion or support. He was an older foreign man, I didn't expect his hear to bleed for me. But damn, once I shared with some people what he told me I think many of my friends wants to hunt him down & bash his brains in.
Obviously, Joel came up in my entire history. Or, as he kept calling him, “the dead baby.” Fun questions like, “did you get to see your dead baby?” & my person favorite was, “so he was dead, he never lived, so you never had to bond with him or anything, so you shouldn't have many issues with that.”
I just kinda stared at him thinking, “is this really happening?” but it was. He said some other zingers as well. He also asked some more entertaining questions like, “you don't think anyone is following you....mafia, terriorist, or anything like that? How about when you watch tv...do they talk to you or about you?” He asked if I drank, I answered that I drank socially. Not sure what that answer really means, but I always use it as a way of saying, “yeah, I drink, but I'm not a wino or anything.” He asked me to clarify, how often & how much. I told him a couple times a month, 2 or 3 drinks usually when I did drink. Then he asked, “how about first thing in the morning?!”
Long story short, he explained that after 6 months of having a baby I'm not longer postpartum, so I can't blame my crazy on that. And I also can't blame any crazy on Joel being dead because grief like that should only last a year.
...read that again. Last a year. My dead baby...I should only need a year to work through that?
He thinks I think about Joel too much. I think about him every day. I don't think that's weird. Because I have vivid flash backs, for lack of a better term, he also thinks I'm dealing with some post traumatic stress. Gee, you think? He said my main goal should be to work through my dead baby problems & focus more on my new baby than my dead baby.
If anything, that pissed me off more than anything. That implies I'm too wrapped up with my dead baby problems to think about my new baby, which isn't true at all. That's comparing apples to oranges.
Now, before you join the kick ass gang, please know that my therapist is not an idiot & doesn't feel this way at all. Honestly, she seemed a bit mortified by my experience. I, again, wasn't. Which got me thinking...why not?
Then I remembered holy shit, that's really not a lot different than what other people have said. I'm use to people being insensitive fucks. That in itself is sad, that I'm so use to people saying awful things about my dead kid.
Which brings me to my main question...does it get any easier?
Well, time heals all wounds.
Who ever said that was not a dead baby parent.
The truth is that yes, it gets easier. But it doesn't. Allow me to explain.
I obviously don't walk around crushed & hysterical as I was once I saw Joel being rolled out of the room for the last time. You can't function like that & eventually that intense pain...it does diminish. And in that respect, time does heal those wounds.
But the problem is that there are constantly new wounds added. Or maybe the scab gets picked off the original. However you want to look at it.
For example, every time I see a kid that is Joel's age I think about what should be. That he should be there with that little boy, playing & laughing.
When I think about how Joel should be all over the place & learning to talk up a storm?
When I think about everything that he should have been doing & could have been doing. Each thing. Small things from rolling over for the first time to getting married. Every single thing, it's gone. When your baby dies, so does this entire life you planned to have in yours & the dreams you had for it. So it's not just a person missing, it's everything. And that never stops. Never. So, how I wonder, is time suppose to heal wounds that aren't even yet really created?
I think of Joel everyday. Every. Single. Day. He's usually the last thing I think about before I go to sleep. He'll likely be part of my thoughts the last moments of my life. If that deserves a diagnosis of post-traumatic stress syndrome, then so be it. I'll hold onto what I got. I wouldn't have it any other way. I don't think that means there is something wrong with me...I think that means I'm the mom of a dead baby. I'll never move past it in many aspects. I don't believe it's possible. I think we cope, we deal, we move on because that's what life calls for.
Little man with his heart so pure
And his love so fine.
Stick with me and I'll ride with you
Till the end of the line.
Hold my hand and I'll walk with you
Through the darkest night.
And when I smile I'll be thinking of you
And every little thing will be all right.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Being a sub, I actually knew it was just a matter of time, but that didn't help the hit.
Overhearing a punchline, I asked if I'd heard right. He said yes. I asked why he thought that was ok. He told me they were better than racist jokes.
I told him those were bad obviously, but dead baby jokes aren't good either...espiscially since I have a dead baby.
The room, you could hear a pin drop. He stared at me. Others looked at me & back to him, this clueless 10th grader who had just made me want to scream. He continued to stare. I said, "I have a dead baby. My son died. Dead baby jokes are not funny when you have one."
He muttered a "I'm sorry" but it wasn't one that let me know ge was sorry for telling it, but that he was sorry he was stuck in this moment with a dead baby mom.
The rest if my day wasn't fun. I mainly sat quietly the rest of the day. My kidding around, good time spirit is gone. I did my job &, well, survived.
I hope that kid actually felt bad. I hope he felt like shit. If not now, I hope he does someday. I hope he looks back & can understand how this, even in a small amount, how that 10 seconds effected me. And how it's now seared in my memory.
I feel empty, but at the same time I'm full of an anger & sadness that makes me want to scream, cry, & break things.
Monday, April 25, 2011
Today we got final word that the case was closed. In fact, it was found totally unfounded & didn't even go any further than meeting with us & seeing our home & kids.
So, mysterious person, you can suck it. :D
Friday, April 22, 2011
My back hurt...my back hurts mommy and that means I'm going to die...like Joel.
I felt like I was punched in the gut. He has no idea what he said, but I'll never forget it. It's not like I'm mad or anything, but that feeling is something I'll never forget in my life.
What more can I say?
Sunday, April 17, 2011
My breast milk didn't get the memo because poor Blair has had more ailments than I can count. I also didn't lose any weight, so I guess my body didn't get the message about what wonders breast feeding are suppose to do.
But that's beside the point.
The point is that about 3 months ago, Blair got sick. I gave it time to clear up, since it just seemed to be a simple cold that we all passed to each other. But he never really got better & was quite the unhappy baby. Cue me feeling like a shitty mom when I found out he had an ear infection...a really. He never pulled at his ears or anything, we did notice he didn't like laying on one side, but we thought that was just a comfort thing. Nope, turns out I'm a shitty parent who never once thought, "hey, maybe something is up!"
Anyways, Jules had an ear infection once. He was about 4 months old. Took antibiotics & he was all good. Has been since. I figured that's how it went.
Again, I'm an idiot & was wrong.
A couple days before his 2 week re-check of his ears, so just a couple days after his meds are finished, he's miserable. Up all night screaming. To urgent care we go.
Ear infection. More antibiotics.
This...this will kick it's ass! That's how these things work. And it did.
Until 2 days after he finished his new antibiotic. Then we were back to being miserable. Back to the doctor we go.
Another ear infection. This is really loads of fun, let me tell you.
This time his doctor says this earns the poor guy a referral to an ENT.
I was hoping that this new antibiotic would be the cure that I wanted.
Wrong. About 3 days after that one was done, scream & miserable again.
BACK to the urgent care. Another antibiotic. A doctor who talked about his ex-wife the entire visit. They aren't on good terms, let me tell you.
A couple days later we get to go to the ENT. Shocking...he has lots of fluid behind his ears, still a minor infection, & his tonsils were stage 4. Don't know what that means? Well, 0 is not there. And 4 is as large as they can possibly be. The ENT said they usually assume the adenoids are the same size as the tonsils.
Tubes. That was the word. And that was our decision. Of course, it was hard for me because growing up my parents thought tubes were pointless, they refused to have any inserted in me. I was a sickly child. Same reason, "not believing" in getting things like that or tonsils removed was the reason I had to have my tonsils out at 22. So I had to keep telling myself that this was the right thing to do. And even if they popped out in a week, at least the original fluid & infection would be drained & hopefully that would be enough to clear up this infection from hell.
At this point, I decide that Blair is totally my child. Seems to have my immune system. Let's just hope he's got my wit, too.
After lots of paperwork juggling to make sure they got paid by my insurance, we had a nice pre-op appointment so they could weigh him & look in his ears. Totally worth that 90 minute wait to see the doctor for 2 minutes, let me tell you.
In our waiting, I got tired of trying to keep my nosey baby contained. So I decided to let him just be nosey.
Of course, then he found the papers.
We got to play alot of "mommy, fetch!" while waiting on the doctor.
Of course, I was also stared down by good mom penguin.
I kept thinking she looked smug, like she was saying, "look at me bitch, I'm taking care of my baby! Your kid has to get man made materials put in his ear drums...lame ass mom, you!" Or maybe she was thinking, "Oh bitch, what would babycenter peeps says if she saw your kid out in PAJAMAS?! Lazy whore of a mom you are, bet you don't even put your shopping cart back places either."
Eventually they wanted the crazy lady (me) out of their office, so they finally tell me to leave. As I'm leaving, a nurse asked if he could have a stuffed bear. Being tired & trying to joke, I blurted out, "As long as it's not stuffed with used needles, sure!"
...that got me some looks.
Speaking of looks, check out what a looker he is.
He's all like, "pre-op...is that what it's called when you feed me noms?!"
I then go home & clean because I'm a good wife & mother & that's what we do. Yep, we do.
Eventually the surgery center called. They wanted to do intake stuff over the phone, but still wanted me to come in person to do the money talks. Ugh...money talks.
I got to answer fun questions about Blair at this point.
Is he married?
Does he work?
...I finally asked if she knew he was 9 months old & she told me yes, as if I was weird for wondering that. I guess they get lots of working, married 9 month olds. My kids are lazy though, Jules still won't get a damn job.
Anyway, I was coming up with reasonable answers until, "does Blair have any reglious or cultural beliefs that we need to be aware of?"
I couldn't help but to respond with, "Yes, yes he does. He belongs to the Church of Wonderpets & he thinks this is swerious."
At least she was some what amused by my response.
Later in the day I got to make the journey over to the surgery center, where I was given a number on a piece of notebook paper & told to wait. So I did. While no one else was there. And they were getting ready to leave in 45 minutes. Finally, number 27 was called. I jumped up like I won the lotto. Little did I know that they'd won the lotto from me.
Long story short, they wanted $500. She asked how I'd like to take care of it then. I asked if she would point me to the money tree, that's how I'd take care of it for her. She laughed & whispered that she hates to ask people that, because she knows people don't randomly carry hundreds of dollars on them, but she has to.
As I'm waiting for her to type in stuff that says I'm a poor person who has to pay this $500 over payments, I look at the sheet of stickers she has for Blair's chart. Something is...off.
Like the fact that Blair is not a female.
I asked if F did indeed mean female, & she assured me that it did & that they put that on there because they don't want to mess anything up.
I then said, "I don't even want to know what surgery you'd mess up that you need to put that down, but I can assure you my Blair is a boy & I'd like him to stay that way."
They fixed it. Thankfully.
And finally, it was surgery day.
They did indeed fix it.
Every time I see his name & middle initial, I always want to yell out, "Blair-O!" for some reason.
He got a little baby surgery gown.
And he was all like, "do they know this is swerious?!"
They took him back. Then it was over. Then nothing happened. It was a very anti-climatic ending to the story. He came home & crashed.
And later that day, he was like nothing ever happened. It was shameful really. Here he is playing peek-a-boo.
And now, he is healthy. And now, helpfully, he stays that way. He just finished up a week of topical drops for the light infection he still had, so I'm hoping to get through the next few days without a trip to the doctor or urgent care.
But if there is, there better not be better-mom-than-you penguin in any room I go in. I can't take her stare.