Happy Valentine's Day

Cam is all decked out for the day of love.  We are going to participate in a rally at our State Capital this evening for gay marriage, as our legislature is about to vote on it this week.  We were asked to wear red, I think Cam has it covered.  :)

Birthday pain.

We had Cam's birthday party today.  We invited my siblings, their spouses and kids, my mother, Rob's father, and our four really good friends and their kids.  So a small party of 18 (including wee ones), with just an ice cream cake and beverages.  I am not a huge fan of throwing parties and our house is really just a doll house, so this was perfect.  We waited until the last people arrived, waited about five minutes and then got the cake ready.

Important note:  If you have a Bruster's around you, make sure you get the vanilla and strawberry with yellow cake.  It is to die for.  I have been dreaming of this birthday cake since November when my best friend had one for her daughter's third birthday.  So good.  Nom nom nom. And I ordered one for 25 people so I would have plenty left-over.  I now have half a delicious ice cream cake waiting for me in our freezer.  It brings me the kind of joy that having a full liquor cabinet used to bring me:  immeasurable.

While everyone is making small talk, I go get the cake, plop the "1" candle down on it, place the cake in front of Cam, light the candle, start singing....and that's right about the time Cam grabs the candle.  In all my life, I have never seen a baby grab the candle, which might explain my slow reflexes in grabbing her hand.  At that point, it's the open-mouthed silent scream, followed by the saddest wail I have ever heard.  Tears are literally shooting out of her eyes landing on me and the tray, and she's trapped in her seat, with everyone still singing...and laughing.  Because that's what adults do in our family, we laugh at your pain.  I cannot wait to see the video.  I try shoving Cam's offended fingers into the cold ice cream, but she is now flailing her arms and looking at me like "What the FUCK, mother!?!" while screaming louder.

I lick enough of the purple icing and ice cream off, to see no red mark, no blister, nothing, but still she cries.  I wrangle her out of the seat, and do what any good mother would:  I found a cookie and gave it to her, effectively teaching her that emotional AND physical pain is overcome with delicious baked goods.  When she develops an eating disorder, I can come back to this post and see where it all began.  Cam calmed down immediately.  I mean, who wouldn't, it was a Raspberry Milano by Pepperidge Farm?  Back in her seat, cookie in hand, tears assuaged.  My poor sister-in-law tried in vain to get the obligatory baby-devours-and-becomes-sticky-mess picture, but Cam wouldn't touch the trauma-inducing cake.  She nibbled the cookie to death, then begrudgingly touched the melted puddle, and realized it was tasty.  You could see the surprise on her face, eyebrows shot up, and she smacked her lips.

My fervent hope is that my kid doesn't now associate birthday cakes as sugary masses of pain, because that would just SUCK.  For me, her birthday cake -loving-mother.  Happy Birthday Campbell, next year I promise I won't try to burn you.  :)

Cam is ONE!!!

Today our beautiful, funny, feisty baby girl is a year old.  This past year has flown by in a way that is hard for me to fathom.  Every day this kid does something that makes me smile, laugh, shake my head in amazement, and puts a tear in my eye.  She's been healthy, and has met almost all milestones on time, or more often than not, early.  It was her first milestone, smiling, that caused me some grief and panic.  Cam didn't give a hint of a smile for what seemed like an eternity, but now thinking back, I cannot remember how long it took.  It wasn't long after what the books say is "normal", but like the new mother I was, I thought her not smiling was some huge issue.

My baby girl is walking now.  After months and months of cruising the furniture she let go and has been a walking machine since.  She loves to bounce, "dance", bop her head to the music, clap, and wiggle.  She is not crazy about stairs, and will not climb anything.  She had one run-in with the stairs, and that was enough for her.  Cam loves to brush her teeth, and will hold her head still and open wide for me to brush, as long as I let her take the brush when I am done.  She clearly understands simple commands, and loves our Pugs and cats.  She squeals with delight when she sees Zelda (female Pug), and is learning what "gentle" means.

Cam has, generally, a very sweet nature.  She smiles brightly and loves to engage those around her.  When thwarted or frustrated, she will let us know FAST, but will calm down very quickly when soothed.  To me, this means she knows what she likes, and what she doesn't, but will accommodate accordingly.

I love this little baby girl more than I ever thought was possible.  It's corny and it's predictable: this child changed my life for the better, in every way.  She is the Cat's Pajamas, the Bees Knees.  I hope I am a good mother to her, and that she always knows she is loved beyond measure and that no matter what, she will always be my little Babycakes.


Happy birthday Cam!

Coming home.

I typed this while waiting for the nurse to come show me how to attend my mother's drains, because today she got booted from the hospital.

Mom is being released from the hospital today.   On one hand I am pissed that she’s being forced out, when she clearly needs 24 hour care, but on the other hand at least I will KNOW she is being taken care of at home (by me and a few of her very good friends).  

Got to her room this morning to find her drugged out of her mind, alone, and trying to change into her clothes.  She has three drains from her wounds, to manage them, they safety-pinned them into her hospital gown.  Had I been just a minute later she would have yanked all three of them out of her body.  Gag.  I’ve been here over an hour, and the only staff I have seen is the damn lunch lady.  I am extremely pissed, but it would do me no good, so I will save my energy for a scathing letter to the hospital letting them know I find their services lacking.  I confirmed my slide into old-lady-hood last year when I became a letter-writer.  Correction: angry letter writer.

Getting Mom dressed was a piece of cake compared to getting the rat’s nest that is her hair under control.  It’s just past shoulder length, and evidently has not been taken care of by the fantastic nursing staff here.  I am most assuredly NOT a girly-girl, so standing for 25 minutes trying to get the knots out of my drugged mother’s hair without having her yelp in pain WHILE having her pepper me with nonsensical questions was a challenge.  I gave up completely when it was time to use accessories to pull it back.   Soon as I was down brushing, she snapped back to reality to get the hair done, then asked if I’d let the cat back out.  Um, okay.   And no, she does not, and has never had, a cat.

Back to real time.  It's now, thankfully, Thursday night.  I have had time to reflect on the day, and am appalled at a new low in cell phone use:  nurses attending one patient (MY MOTHER!!) while attending to another’s needs over the phone.  There is no way that can be safe.  Or ethical.  Or good CUSTOMER SERVICE.

So while the nurse was trying to show me how to clean my mother's drains (something I won't burden y'all with), that fucking phone rang three times.  Three times that nurse stopped what we were doing to talk about another patient.  Not once did that nurse apologize for being so damn rude.  Seriously: how can you be focused on your patient when you are talking about another??  That letter to the hospital is just getting longer, and longer.

I am just so happy she is home, and safely tucked in her bed.  Her very dear friend of 30 + years is on duty right now.  If you can, I highly recommend befriending an LPN who also happens to be a retired Colonel in the Air Force, because they rock.  As I was leaving this afternoon she had threatened my mother with no more pain meds til she ate, and I know she meant it.  Unfortunately for her, the Valium that Mom had taken 20 minutes earlier had kicked in, so her threats fell flat as my mother wondered why she needed to know what venue Jimmy Buffett was playing.  That was my cue to leave to get some time in with Cam and Rob.  I go back at 2100 for night duty.

Valuable lesson I learned today: don't leave the Valium and Oxycodone where the patient can easily find them, because they really aren't the best judge of time and consumption.  "Really.  Grandpa, you need to get in here....you know what will happen if you don't..."  

I'd really like to know what would happen to poor Grandpa.

Must be feeling inspired.

Twelve hours is a long time to be in a hospital.  Waiting.  If I believed in Hell, hospital waiting rooms would most certainly qualify as a special section.  The Loud Family.  The man coughing up that phlegm for two hours, sitting directly behind me.  I may be deaf in one ear from trying to drown out the sound. 

Anyone that knows me knows I am a little OCD about cleanliness.  You can probably see how being in a hospital waiting room might drive me over the edge.  Just a little bit.  I had forgotten just how gross I used to feel after coming home from the hospital when my Dad was sick.  It all came rushing back last night when I came home and wanted to throw all my clothes in a bag and burn them.  As it were, I used a goodly amount of Lysol wipes to wipe down my laptop and everything else I had with me. 

My poor mother, in her drugged state, looked around her room and said "this is pretty nice.....and it's really clean."  Um, okay.  I had been in the room for five minutes and had made a mental note of all the things not to touch, and what the cleaning crew needed to pay attention to. 

Mom is doing well today.  Breasts don't hurt, but her stomach sure as hell does.  She and I both have a very high tolerance to pain, so when she was getting a little snippy about a pain pill this afternoon, I stood over the nurse until she promised to bring one in RIGHT AWAY.  The plastic surgeon came in to check her out this morning, and he was pleased with his work, and had the very demeanor of what I would expect a plastic surgeon to have: haughty and dismissive.  I bet there are tons of nurses who would like to see him as one of their patients, if you know what I mean. 

I normally have a very strong stomach, and love watching shows on surgical procedures.  But when the doctor took back the bandages and started poking the "new" flesh my stomach lurched.  I hope the fake smile I had plastered on my face didn't make me look like a serial killer, but I was struggling to maintain composure.  I thank the universe for making Mom's best friend a nurse, a nurse who has volunteered to change her bandages and empty her drains.  I cannot even go into the drains right now.  Must be because it's my mother, because I don't ever remember feeling nauseous when looking at the MANY horrors that afflicted my dad when he was in the hospital.

Mom is the last parent I have.  As a kid and young adult, I had spares.  First, my step-mother died from a very rare form of cancer when she was just 32.  My bio Dad (whom I was estranged from) was 62 (I think...) when he died from diabetes/Hep C/alcoholism/who knows what else.  Now his death was particularly hard on Mom.  Even though they had been divorced for YEARS (since I was about a year old), it really killed a little piece of her.  Didn't help that my sister, who had been kind of keeping tabs on him let her duty slip, until one day she couldn't reach him.  She called Mom, and Mom found him dead on the floor of his apartment.  He'd been there a few days.  By the way, that stench does NOT come out after they clean the carpets.  Just sayin'.  Emptying that apartment goes down on my list of five least favorite days of my life.  When my Dad died (actually, step-dad), it was long and awful.  Ended up being multiple organ failure, but started out as a heart attack.  Really, it was alcoholism and a heart weakened by it.  A truly horrific, ugly way to die.

So Mom is IT.  It REALLY hit me last night.  It used to stress me out, being a kid with extra parents, and now I am down to one.  It was tough watching her sleep last night, her face contorted in pain.  Mom and I have MANY differences, but our personalities are exactly the same, so we annoy the shit out of each other, but love each other fiercely.  My Mom is the strongest woman I know, and today I am very proud of her, but a little scared too.

I wrote this yesterday while waiting for my Mom's surgery to conclude.  The hospital network blocks blogs, evidently, because I wasn't able to get into mine, or any of the others I always read...

My Mom is undergoing a mastectomy today.  She is a 25 year survivor of breast cancer, having undergone a lumpectomy and radiation back in the 80’s.  She is strong, ornery, funny, and possibly the only person I know who could roll on back for a mastectomy laughing and cracking up the nurses.

Because Mom was only 42 when she first had the cancer, I have been getting mammograms twice a year now for at least four years, if not longer.   So, ladies, do your self-exams AND get a DIGITAL mammogram.  Do it for yourself, but also do it for all those that love you and count on you to be here a while. 

  

So while Mom is getting one removed, she is getting the other lifted, and the removed breast reconstructed.  Oh, and a tummy tuck.  Hells yeah, while you have the plastic surgeon in there mucking about, WHY NOT got the extra mile and get the stomach tuned up?  I have to admit, I am a little jealous.  Of my mother…who has breast cancer.  That sounds callous, but she’d understand and laugh.  Nothing I haven’t said to her face.  Once we get her a new hip, Mom will be a new and improved model, and she might be able to find me a new Daddy!  

That is our little joke.  Mom has been married twice.  One ended in divorce (my bio dad) and one in death (my step-dad, my beloved Pop).  When Pop died almost two years ago, it was traumatic of course, but we are not the maudlin type.  Mom and I were out to lunch a week or so later, and the waiter was a very nice older gentleman.  Mom recognized this in him, and I asked “will he be my new Daddy??”  She cracked up, and since then she always points out potential “Daddys” to me. 

 

While Mom has been in surgery I have been sitting in the family lobby, treating it as my own personal office.  Free Wi-Fi!  Comfy chairs to set up camp in.  The sprawl of my stuff, grows by the hour.  Stacks of magazines (untouched), iTouch, cell phone, tea mug, back pack, snacks.  No one knows me here.  I have been left alone ALL day, except for when the surgeon came out to let me know how removal went.  It’s been a glorious day free of any and all responsibility, well except to call about 20 people on her list of “must” calls.  Saving that for later, I loathe the telephone.

Which leads me to a funny story involving a lobby full of tense people waiting on surgical outcomes of loved ones, and one old lady on a cell phone.  She was considerate enough to walk away from the waiting area, but loud enough that people on floors 3, 4, 5, and 6 probably know about the potty habits of her daughter’s dog.  She talked for a good 45 minutes, perhaps longer, because I didn’t hear Regis’ annoying voice in the background any more.  Anyway, I would normally be the first one to start mumbling like a sociopath about ignorant cell phone users, but this time I was blissfully engrossed with Facebook when I heard other people bitching and joking about her.  Caught one woman’s eye and gave her the knowing nod, and left it at that.  Some old guy between us seem bewildered, like he had no idea what any of were talking about.  Until…

…she came and sat down right next to him.  I literally spit some of my tea out.  The woman I exchanged the nod with (the loudest of the bitchers) went immediately rigid, red, and stared silently in front of her.  The guy next to me got up and actually left (no empty seats to move to…he he), and everything was awkwardly quiet.  Of course it was then that the nurse came back to get me, interrupting what was sure to be more awkward fun to behold.

Where Mom was prepped was a long corridor of little rooms with just thin curtains separating rooms.  I sat down, got all comfy and heard a very  booming male voice start to tell a story about a pregnant mule.  When I caught Mom’s eye, she clucked her tongue and said “that guy hasn’t shut the hell up since I got back here”.   It was then that my SIL texted me to ask how things were going, and what time surgery was supposed to be.  I answered her back saying that I hope they are on time, because Mom is also notoriously impatient.  SIL’s reply:  “they’d be smart to drug her now.”  I love my family.

Incredibly stupid, yes, I know.

I had a scary encounter the other day while driving.  Now, to preface this story, I am an admitted aggressive driver.  I have a very hard time controlling the rage that simmers beneath the surface on good days.  Drive like an idiot, I will be the one to LET YOU KNOW.  Not proud of it, just honest.  There's something to be said for honesty, right?  RIGHT?

I was out running a few errands with Cam.  We were going ot hit the bank, then hop over to Babies R Us.  While we were cruising on down the freeway, I realized I needed to get over for my exit.  I am a little OCD about mirror checking, so I noticed a big SUV coming up in that lane, but I had plenty of time and room to make it.  Except ASSHOLE decides to speed up.  So as I am coming over, I hear horns, but that little speck in my brain that turns the rage on heard: BITCH, STAY IN YOUR LANE OR ELSE.

Oh no he didn't.  When I look over incredulously, this ass is on his cellphone, which is against the law where we live, and one of my top five pet peeves*.  I flip him the bird, as I am wont to do, and slam on my brakes to make the lane change...to make the exit.  I continue behind him for a few seconds, when he gets over to let me pass.  It's here I had the first pangs of road rage guilt:  maybe I did over-react.  Then I look in the rear-view and notice Cam has stopped babbling and is staring from her mirror to mine, effectively staring me down.  Now who's the asshole??

I continue around a few turns when I realize I see the same car still behind me.  My hackles go up, so I decided to pull into the shopping center, and circle around.  Something nobody would do unless they were totally following me.  Yup, he follows.  SO I stop the car and put it in park, effectively DARING him to come up to me.  He does nothing, so I grab my cellphone, and storm off to confront him.  Fucker wouldn't roll his window down, just sat there making faces at me while STILL ON HIS CELLPHONE.  I told him through his rolled up window he needed to cease and desist (pretty sure I channeled a cop???) or I was calling the cops.  Made another face at me, which is tantamount to shaking the pretty red cape at an already pissed bull.  So I called 911.

After I gave the nice dispatch lady my info my adrenaline must have stopped surging.  Guilt, shame, and WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, DUMBASS??? wash over me.  I called Rob to let him know that he might have to pick Cam up at the jail.  Because I don't just think what could possibly happen, I project the worse possible thing.  Pretty Rob was just glad I didn't call to tell him I wrecked Doris (the car).  He stayed unbelievably calm for a man whose wife tried to physically confront a possibly deranged man while his baby daughter sat in the car.  Another reason I love this man and am glad I was so drunk on my wedding day that I didn't run screaming from the commitment.

The cops show up, three squad cars.  One blocking me in, and two on him.  I hop out, tell the truth about my involvement, but also point out several times that asshole was breaking the law by being on his cellphone!  I am also ready for him to at the very least verbally abuse me for my stupidity.  He just stares impassionately, until I get to the point when I tell him "I really should have just stayed in the car, I am certifiably crazy for getting out of the car...".  The cop cuts me off to say no, it wasn't my fault, the crazy one is the GROWN MAN WHO FEELS THE NEED TO INTIMIDATE A WOMAN.  He was pissed, and I was incredibly relieved that my ass would not be sitting in prison.

The other two cops come up and the one I was talking to says: "Here's what's going to happen, you will drive away, we will keep him here until we feel it's safe."

 I continued on to BRU, thinking it imprudent to go to the bank, since we were about 20 feet from it, didn't want to push my luck.  When I got home, I posted on FB about it, and got about 20 people telling me how stupid I was.  And that's after I mentioned in the post I know how stupid I was, so thanks everyone for letting me know!  My favorite cousin immediately writes back to say: "Your mother is going to kill you."  And then another: "Rob is going to kill you."  Well, that got me to thinking why didn't Rob get pissed?  I mean, in this one instance he would have been right.  So I stewed on that for a bit.  Cam back a few hours later to see that Mom had posted this gem: "what were you thinking, even I would be afraid to confront a stupid asshole".  I immediately called bullshit on Mom, because WHERE DO YOU THINK I LEARNED IT???  My mother still scares me, all five foot nothing of her.  I am pretty sure road rage was invented by her.


Lesson learned?  Nope.  Therapist entertained?  You betcha.  So now we get to explore my rage issues.  Natural personality trait?   Sleep deprivation because of insomnia?  Something "off with my brain"?  Pretty sure it's "all of the above" because I am aware of the rage, and HATE that I have it.  When I feel myself starting to berate another driver, I calmly try to remind myself that they are people too, and blah, blah, blah.  Most of the time it works, but the times it doesn't....yikes.


I WANT to be a kinder, gentler JC, but what about my street cred?  ;)  Jokes aside, I do think my outside does not match my inside very well, so I will be working on that.  I still maintain that guy is a gigantic asshole, but I wish him peace and love.