Silly Girl, originally uploaded by Shylah.

Emily started second grade today. -sob- I had just gotten used to calling her a first-grader.

It seems like it was just yesterday that I was uploading her pictures from her first day of first grade. It seems so strange that a whole year has passed since then. I’m simultaneously sad and bursting with pride. I don’t know what I ever did to deserve such an awesome kid, but man, I thank the gods every day that I did it.

It’s hard for me to imagine her being smarter than she is now.. she’ll be a regular genius (no, I’m not biased at all ;) ) by the end of this school year.

Two-word meme, shamelessly stolen from Sarah.

1. Where is your cell phone?
My pocket.

2. Your significant other?
Doesn’t exist.

3. Your hair?
Too short.

4. Your mother?
Too far.

5. Your brother?
In prison.

6. Your favorite thing?
My baby.

7. Your dream last night?
Already forgotten.

8. Your favorite drink?
Herbal tea.

9. Your dream?
Finishing college*

10. The room you’re in?
Whole house.

11. Your ex?
Miss him.

12. Your fear?
Nunya Bidness.

13. Where do you want to be in 6 years?
Graduated. Successful.

14. Where were you last night?
Business meeting.

15. What you’re not?
Small girl.

16. Muffins?
Banana nut.

17. One of your wish list items?
Books. Lots.

18. Where you grew up?
All over.

19. The last thing you did?
Checked e-mail.

20. What are you wearing?
T-shirt, undies.

21. Your TV?
Love TiVo.

22. Your pets?
Psycho Puck.

23. Your computer?
Big laptop.

24. Your life?
Crazy busy.

25. Your mood?
Kinda sad.

26. Missing someone?
Definitely. Three.

27. Your car?
Blue Pontiac.

28. Something you’re not wearing?
Leather, lace.

29. Favorite Store?
Not one.

30. Your summer?
Too hot.

31. Like someone?
Yes indeed.

32. Your favorite color?
Purple. Sage.

33. Last time you laughed?
Last night.

34. Last time you cried?
This morning.

35. You are with?
My baby.

35. Who will re-post?
Don’t care.

*I had to echo Sarah’s sentiment on this one.

I started a new job just recently. I’m taking care of my friend Jo’s six children. They’re awesome kids, Emily loves playing with all of them, and I really enjoy it.

Jo’s mother, however, hates me. Mind you, the woman has never met me, never spoken to me, never had any contact with me whatsoever - but she can’t find enough bad things to say about me.

Her biggest beef is with me using Jo’s computer. She swears I’m downloading porn and viruses and all manner of other crap. She also seems to think that I sit there on the computer for hours on end. Right, because I don’t have anything to do with seven children in the house ranging from 15 months to 13 years.

Yesterday, she got pissed because Jo was at home, fixing lunch for the kids, while I had gone to the bank and downtown to pay a bill for her because her husband had their truck. “Why are YOU fixing lunch when that’s what SHE is getting paid to do?” Nevermind that I was running an errand FOR HER DAUGHTER - apparently, since I’m being paid, I should be able to run the errand and fix lunch at the same time. Money apparently gives one the ability to be in two places at once.

Apparently, the reason she has such a problem with me is because I’m Pagan. Jo and I met when she joined AUP about six months ago. Jo says that she wouldn’t have a problem with it if I were Christian.

I know that I shouldn’t be bothered by this.. and at first I was actually pretty amused by it. The woman has nothing better to do than sit around all day bitching at Jo for one thing or another. It’s hard to ignore, though, because she thinks I’m such a horrible person and she doesn’t even know me. It’s really getting to me.

This week has been almost hellish.

Monday afternoon, Emily got a fever. I couldn’t break it, so Tuesday morning, I took her to our family doctor, who said she had a UTI and put her on antibiotics for it.

By Wednesday evening, I still couldn’t get her fever under control, so I called our doctor again. She said she wanted blood work done and that I could wait until morning to get a lab slip from her or, if I wasn’t comfortable with waiting, I could take her in to the ER and they’d do blood work there. By around 8, her temperature was over 104, so I took her in. That was a complete waste of time, and I’m not even going to go in to all of it here because it’ll just piss me off again. Suffice it to say that I spent 4 hours, drove 50-ish miles so that they could administer a Tylenol suppository, give her a shot that made her scream like her limbs were being sawed off, and a nurse could be shitty to me AND Emily. Oh, and they didn’t do any blood work.

Thursday morning, we headed off to our doctor’s office. She said it could be a virus, ordered a CBC and blood culture, and sent us on our way. Friday, she’s still got the fever, and I call an advice nurse because I seem to be the ONLY PERSON who is worried about the fact that my child has had a fever all week. Unfortunately, there wasn’t a whole lot she could do except advise me to call the lab to get the results of the blood culture today (Saturday) instead of waiting until my doctor was back in the office on Tuesday.

So I called today. And that… -deep breath- that woman told me that I was not allowed to have the results of my child’s blood culture. Apparently there has to be a note on it from the doctor stating that I can have the results, else they won’t give them out. I was furious. So I called the doctor on call and asked HIM to call in and get them. Of course, he did, with no problem. And the culture was negative.

Oh, on Thursday afternoon, I got a call saying that the CBC came back showing that she has low platelets and that they were contacting her neurologist at Stanford to find out what, if any, treatment they can give that won’t interfere with her seizure medication. The neurologist called and said she’d like to leave things as they are for now. Depakote can cause decreased platelets, but she thinks it’s likely being caused by whatever illness she has now. So after she’s over all this, I’ll have her levels checked again and they’ll be compared to the ones taken this week. If her platelets are still low, it’s likely the Depakote and she’ll be changed to another medication.

So, here it is, after midnight on Saturday night. At around 10pm, her temperature was 103.7. This is day six of this crap, she’s miserable as hell, and I want to know what’s going on with my baby.

Bonus rant: I hate being on crutches. I hate it with the white-hot heat of a thousand suns. My knee is not healing nearly fast enough to suit me, and I’m pissed off by it. I hate that I can’t even jump up and run to the bathroom or hurry over to comfort my child when she’s bumped her head. I hate that my house is an absolute disaster and I can do very little about it.

Positive stuff: My mom’s awesome. My friends are incredible. I wouldn’t have made it through this week without you.

From the “never in a house without children” files:

“Get your foot out of my bra!”

And in a conversation about riding/driving motorcycles:

“I don’t want to have to concentrate on driving when I’ve got a big metal beast roaring between my legs.”

Sunday morning, I woke up to not only a sore, stiff knee, but an equally sore and stiff neck. It’s gotten progressively worse until I can just barely move my neck from side to side or up and down. My neck actually hurts more than my knee does.

I thought that it was because I’m on crutches, and those things are notorious for throwing everything else out of alignment. I called and made an appointment with my chiropractor (who, by the way, is the awesome Chiropractor in the history of Chiropractors; he’s coming in to the office an hour early tomorrow because his morning was already full) figuring an adjustment would make it all better.

Then I talked to my friend Carla, who is a nurse. She pointed out that it’s quite likely that I wrenched my neck in the fall, and that’s why it’s hurting so badly. That never even occurred to me. I really did think that it was just cause of the crutches. How naive am I?

My doc isn’t in the office on Mondays, so I’ll be calling her first thing tomorrow to make an appointment.

Two years ago, I injured my left knee getting in to my car at the grocery store. One meniscal tear, two months of physical therapy, and a set of very sore underarms (from the crutches) later, I was mostly ambulatory again. My left knee has never quite been the same, and to this day I find myself favouring it a bit just because it isn’t as strong as my right.

Or, it wasn’t. Friday, I was at a friend’s house hangin’ out while our kids (a total of seven) were in the pool. All, that is except for the baby - a 14-month-old ANGEL - who was happily babbling away while bouncing on my hip. I was in the kitchen, getting ready to head outside, and next thing I know, I hit a puddle of water on the floor, my right knee did some sort of twisty-poppy-kablooey thing, and baby and I both were on the floor. Just to demonstrate how much agony I was in, it was a full minute or so before I could even ask if the baby was OK. (He’s fine; he’s a chubby little thing and had much padding to break his fall. I also managed to hold on to him until he was about a foot off the floor.) At one point, I looked up at my friend (she’s also my boss) and said, “Please don’t fire me!” and she responded with, “Please don’t quit!”

It took me about 20 minutes and the help of my friend to get up off the kitchen floor. As it was Friday, I was reluctant to go to the ER, despite my mom’s encouragements, and decided to tough it out overnight. Saturday morning, I went in to the ER, had xrays to make sure there were no bone injuries, got crutches, pain meds, and a note for work. The doctor also told me that I should wear the stabiliser I have. I hate that thing.

I know as soon as my doctor hears of this, she’s going to order other tests (especially in light of the fact that I’ve injured both knees repeatedly) so I’ll find out if there’s any tears or anything like that hopefully pretty soon.

Updates from your uber-klutzy hostess are forthcoming…

me: I’d like a three-piece chicken strip meal with a large diet coke, please, and that will be all.
drive-thru employee: Do you want three, five, or ten strips?
me: ..three.
d-te: Would you like Coke to drink with that?
me: ..no, I’d like diet coke, please.
d-te: Medium or large?
me: Did you hear ANYTHING I just said?! Large.
d-te: Will that be all?
me, wishing I could cram something in her ears to clean them out: Yes, thank you.

*twitch*

I went to the ER again this morning.

The nurse called me back and took me to a room, and then spent about 15 minutes fiddling with a light, trying to figure out how to turn it off. She gave up (the switch was broken) and said she’d call maintenance.

Shortly after that, the PA comes in. She was a bitch. She accused me of not taking care of myself because I was “severely dehydrated”. She pounded on my back in the general area of my kidneys, and I told her that didn’t hurt. Then she beat on the part that DOES hurt, and didn’t stop or get more gentle when I said it hurt and tried to move away from her. I wanted to stab her with a pen. She said that she’s pretty sure my problem is a kidney infection, but she’d need a sterile urine sample to confirm it. I’ve had catheters before, and when they’re done right - and GENTLY, ffs - they don’t hurt at all, save for a little discomfort. This woman.. crispy christ on a cracker, I thought she had coated the tube in sandpaper and was going to cram it all the way up to my throat.

As soon as I sat up after that, she tossed me a box of kleenex and said I could clean up if I wanted to, but proceeded to just stand there. So, um, I decided to wait until she left the room. A minute later, the nurse comes in and says she has someone from maintenance to look at the light. I kinda panicked and asked if I could put my pants on first. She said yes, and then let the man in the fucking room. So there I sat, half-exposed, trying to cover myself with the hospital gown they gave me, while this strange man is in the room. Then she says she’s going to move me to another room. CAN I PUT MY PANTS ON PLEASE?! Sure, she says, and then just stands there, watching me, waiting. What the fuck? I scrambled into my pants as modestly as I could with my ass hanging out of the gown.

I get into the other room and put my shirt back on, because I’ve had enough of the indignity of that goddamn gown, and the doctor comes in and informs me that my urine is as clear as a bell. No infection. (Toldja so, bitch.) Instead, she gave me valium and a shot of toradol, and sent me home with a prescription for muscle relaxers.

I’m really frustrated. I didn’t have muscle spasms until my doctor did the trigger-point injection on Wednesday. I’m happy to have that treated, but I still have the issue of the underlying pain, the pain that started all this mess. She ignored it entirely because she was so convinced I had a kidney infection.

(written yesterday)
Yesterday morning, around 3am (after sleeping fitfully for about two hours), I was awakened by this awful pain in my back. It was so bad that I couldn’t sleep, no matter what position I was in. By 5, I gave in and got up. When it hadn’t gone away by 8 and I couldn’t get in to see my doctor, I went to the Emergency Room. It was so bad that I couldn’t stand up straight or get a good breath.

I’m not entirely sure what happened there, cause the doctor was very noncommittal. He said it MIGHT be a kidney infection, so he put me on a three-day antibiotic and gave me the first dose there in the ER. He also said that while my x-rays were mostly normal, I had spurring on the vertebrae in my thoracic spine, which is an indicator of early arthritis. Maybe that’s causing the pain, he said, and gave me ibuprofen and darvocet.

I stopped at Target across the street from the hospital when I left and picked up some yogurt - drank a smoothie right away - and somehow, by the end of the day yesterday, I had an awful yeast infection. Insult to injury, that.

Last night, around 4, I got up and took two Darvocet and two Aleve. The combination of the two knocked out just enough pain that I wasn’t gasping for air and I was able to get about an hour and a half of sleep. I saw my doctor this morning. She was concerned about pericarditis, so did an EKG there in the office - all is fine on that front. She thought maybe it’s muscular, so decided to try trigger-point injections which, if the muscles are the problem, provide almost instant relief. No dice, although when she had the needle in there, my muscle DID seize up so badly that it BENT THE NEEDLE. She decided to send me for an ultrasound, in case the pain is being caused by my gall bladder (by this morning, it was wrapped around my midsection - just below my bra line.) So I get to the radiology place, and they try to take x-rays. Long story short, she ordered the wrong test, and I refused the x-rays because I just had them yesterday. I’ll have to call her in the morning to ask about the ultrasound.

The pain is almost bearable during the day, but at night, for some reason, that’s when it gets really bad. I’m literally writhing in bed trying to find some position that isn’t agonising.

—

I am headed back to the ER in the morning if I have another night like I’ve had the last three. This is killing me - I’ve had chronic back pain for years, but this puts that (and everything else, including childbirth) to shame.

“Finger-painting is like painting with a brush, only you use your fingers.”

I swear I’m not ignoring you on AIM. I can’t send you messages when you appear offline.