Movies

So yesterday, we took our little darling to the movie theater for the first time. She saw her first movie only last week on DVD (Lady and the Tramp), so we thought she'd be fine to go to the free movies at our local theater. They were showing Chipwrecked this week, and even though those little creatures' voices make me squirm, we decided to go. Mainly because Audrey's been obsessed with Alvin since Mom gave her a toy one that came with her (Mom's) Happy Meal.

Truthfully, when I first got up, I wasn't really interested in running out to be at the movies at 9:30. We hadn't had a lazy morning since we got back from the beach, and I knew we'd have to get there early, since those theaters are really packed during the free movies. But we had already mentioned it to Audrey the night before, and she remembered; in fact, those were among the first words out of her mouth that morning.

She did fairly well, considering it was her first movie...that is, until the end. Something scared her, I think when the volcano shook the ground, and I reached over to comfort her. She pushed me away, saying, "Get back over there," indicating my seat. That ticked me off, but whatever. Then she took her water cup and threw it over me, where it almost hit a baby and rolled to the level below us. Unbelievable.

I'm a serious germaphobe, but I also can't stand wasting money, so I knew I had to get it. I had to get on my hands and knees and reach down (shudder) onto the floor in the dark theater. I thought I was going to gag.

Then, at the end of the movie, Audrey refused to leave. She started screaming bloody murder, and everyone was looking at us. Lovely.

She thought we were taking her out to change her diaper, which we didn't realize was soaking wet. I tried to explain to her that the movie was over, that all the people were leaving. She cried and cried.

Needless to say, she got a nice time out when we got home, for pushing both David and me, for throwing her cup, and for acting like a maniac. I was already looking forward to seeing Hop next week, but David said no more movies. Maybe he'll change his mind.

Later on, though, she was perfectly fine.


Oh, how I love the terrible twos.

Grateful (continued)

So, I left off where Audrey was supposed to go to the Children's Hospital to get blood taken, mainly to rule out autoimmune disorders. The night before we were supposed to take her, David gathered every thermometer in the house so we could check her temp. Her pedi advised that we take it orally, under her arm, and rectally (ugh).

Every thermometer we checked came up with similar numbers...in the 96 and 97 degree range. At that point, we were very confused and frustrated. Audrey had been through hell at the pedi's that day. They actually catheterized her to see if she had a UTI.

I decided enough was enough, and that one of us needed to go buy a new thermometer. We had already put new batteries in the temporal one, and it was registering the same high temps as before. So DH trekked out to CVS and bought another one. My reasoning was that the old ones, and who knows how old they really are, could be unreliable because of old batteries or what not. And I wanted results I could count on.

David came home with the new one, and we tried to take it orally. That didn't work out so well. Then we went for under the arm. And guess what? It was in the 96 and 97 range. I can't even describe the relief that swept over me at that moment, yet...the anger about the hell we'd all been through nearly overwhelmed me. David even commented that he'd like to take that temporal thermometer out to the shooting range.

This stupid thermometer is the reason my little girl was subjected to all kinds of unpleasantness at the pedi's office. As if she didn't already hate going there in the first place. And she was also very close to being subjected to all kinds of blood work at the Children's Hospital. We decided to postpone going there the next day, in light of her low temp, and just monitor the situation over the weekend.

I am going to call that company, and heads are gonna roll. I am PISSED. And so happy and grateful at the same time. It's a weird combo, believe me.

Oh, and did I mention that Audrey came down with a cold the day before this craziness, and that I was also diagnosed with a sinus infection at the same time? Oh yeah. This winter has truly sucked when it comes to being sick.

We're sick again (don't read if you just ate or have a weak stomach)

This is so ridiculous. I mean, really. Can't we catch a break? Around 11:00 on Tuesday night, I was reading in bed and heard Audrey coughing (or what I thought was coughing). Then I heard a lot of moving around, so I decided to run in there. I didn't turn on the light, hoping I could soothe her back to sleep.

I was immediately hit by this sickly sweet smell. I actually thought for a second, Did she sneak something to eat in her room? Which totally didn't make sense, I realize. I turned on the light, and there was vomit EVERYWHERE. Literally. It was all over her, her "babies", the sheets, the crib, and the WALL. Talk about projectile vomiting.

She was on her knees in the crib, staring at her hands, which were covered with...well, you know. She was just totally confused by what had happened, since she hasn't ever really thrown up. Besides the spit up she had as a baby, of course.

Oh my gosh, it was terrible. I immediately scooped her up, and she was so hot. She kept saying "Mess, mess" and I was trying to reassure her that everything was okay. She's become kind of obsessed about messes lately.

I don't want to get into too much detail, but there was some undigested food that was definitely recognizable, and she kept talking about that, too. Okay, maybe that was too much detail.

I started making my way to the bedroom to get David, and he met us at the door. He had to wash everything in the crib, including the babies. Thank goodness we have a duplicate of her lovey she's had since she was a baby. She needed a bath for obvious reasons, and it was around midnight when we got back to bed.

David decided to stay home right then and there, and he started working on sub plans. We didn't know how the night was going to go. Thankfully, that was the only time she threw up.

On Wednesday, I already had an appt with my homeopathic doctor, since I've been feeling so weak and fatigued. Audrey went with us, and Jeanne decided to test her, too. We both have something called rickettsia, which is a virus and bacterial infection all rolled up in one. Double the fun. She also tested David, who didn't have it, thank goodness.

So now I'm giving her drops in water and spraying an immune-enhancing homeopathic into her mouth twice a day. David had the idea to get her to open her mouth to sing, and then I spray it in there. It doesn't have any taste, which is wonderful.

So we go back to Jeanne on Monday to see if it's gone. I pray that it is. Here she is after our wonderful night. Looking a little paler than usual, no?

David back to work :(

Yeah, he had to go back on Monday. He was so bummed out about it, and I was, too (and still am). We had a great time during the holidays, except the last part when I got sick, and it's always so hard for him to go back after a break.

I went back to my homeopathic doctor last Thursday, and things aren't going as well as she expected. I had to take a Z pack a few weeks ago for a sinus infection, and that just allows the fungus that causes my pain to run rampant. The good news is that I'm getting rid of the plaque that's been building up in my arteries. The bad news is...I feel terrible. And, I have a viral and bacterial infection, which means the antibiotic wasn't entirely effective. Sigh.

Starting about Wednesday of last week, I felt like my fibro was back with a vengeance. Pain all over my body with even the slightest touch, no stamina, falling asleep at the drop of a hat. David's uncle had flown in from Connecticut for a few days after Christmas, and I only got to see him for about two minutes, literally. I was in bed when he came over to visit for a few hours, and I was also in bed when David's family had a post-Christmas lunch.

I'm trying not to feel sorry for myself, but it's really hard. Monday wasn't too awful, mainly because my mom came over in the afternoon. She had the day off, and she was supposed to be over here all day, but she's not been feeling well, either. Also, Audrey's got some kind of bug. Her temp's been averaging around 100, and she has a cough that doesn't sound good. At all. We've been using the humidifier in her room at night and during naps, though, and I think it's helped her symptoms. She probably got something during her 2-year checkup on Friday, ironically enough. Or who knows where she got it.

Yesterday was not fun. I was so sleepy and worn out, and I had to force myself to stay awake and take care of Audrey. She was irritable, and so was I, which isn't a great combination.

But, as much as David doesn't want to be back at school, he thinks he's going to have some good kids this semester. He's teaching his class using the Internet, where students can submit work, among other things. The students seem to like this, since they're so used to technology. I hope it's a great semester for him.

Now, I just have to get myself back in a schedule. And I have to pray fervently that I feel better. Audrey's gotten used to going places and being on the move during Christmas break, so she's got to adjust to mainly staying at home all day again. And so do I. Yuck.

Play set

I've been wanting a play set for Audrey that she can use, one with a swing and a slide. I thought maybe Santa Claus could bring it, but then I decided that Santa couldn't afford it. Yikes. Those things are expensive.

My mom heard about a family whose house was being foreclosed, and they were selling lots of stuff. They were asking $75 for a play set. My mom bought it, sight unseen, mainly because she knew the family needed help.

And wow...was it ever dirty. Their back yard had a lot of good 'ole red Southern mud, and it showed. But my step-dad and Mom cleaned it up, and it looks pretty great. See?



I did something stupid after they brought it here, though. I climbed to the top, went through the hole up there, and then proceeded down the slide with Audrey. Now, that might not be a big deal for a normal person, but for me? Major mistake. My muscles just can't handle that. When we got to the slide, I realized something...my hips weren't going to fit. So I had to angle myself to the side so we could get down. Needless to say, after a crash landing at the bottom, I was seriously hurting.

It's just that, even after all these years, I sometimes can't get over my physical limitations. If I have a day when I'm feeling good, I'll end up doing something stupid like that and mess myself up again. Before the fibro, I was fairly athletic and would try just about anything. I was in excellent shape from Pilates and yoga. Now? I can't even make it through a prenatal yoga video.

Well, enough self-pity. David's mom and grandmother came over to visit yesterday, and they were playing outside with Audrey. His grandmother said, "Does Audrey have a friend that can come over and play with her?"

I immediately got defensive. I answered, "No, ma'am." Then she went on and on about what a shame that was, that David's mom had lots of friends to play with when she was growing up.

I wanted to say, "Listen up. There are days when I've struggled to get out of bed and take care of Audrey. I can't take her anywhere by myself without considerable pain. Do you think I have the energy to troll the neighborhood for friends?" I was soooo angry. I've feared that my fibro will isolate her from kids her own age, and here was someone pointing that out to me.

Aargh. She may not have meant it that way, but it was like a kick to my gut.

Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

I think I mentioned that I'm reading The Happiest Toddler on the Block. Well, one of the techniques of dealing with a toddler who's having a tantrum is to reflect his/her feelings back to them. This is supposed to let the child know that you appreciate and understand their feelings.

It goes something like this:

(Child is crying because you've taken something away from her...say, a steak knife:)

Parent: Mad! Mad! Mad! You're mad because I took away the steak knife. But noooo, you can't have it. It's dangerous. But we can play with your kitchen."

It sounds weird, and it feels even stranger to actually do it. Usually, if I'm alone with Audrey, it works, though. She'll stare at me in wonder that I know why she's upset. With David around, however, it doesn't work as well. I'm not sure why.

But here's what happened after we got back from my doctor today. Audrey melted down because she wanted to go outside and admire our Halloween flag. I needed her to get inside and take a nap.

Me: Mad! Mad! Mad! You're mad because I won't let you play outside! But nooo, you need a nap! Let's go find Bear-Bear!

Audrey: (Even more screaming)

Then later, when she was perfectly composed, she said, "Mad. Mad because.....(unintelligible words)." Over and over and over again. So it turned into a tug-of-war.

Audrey: Mad because....blah blah blah
Me: I'm mad because you won't nap.
Audrey: (more of the same)
Me: I'm mad because I can't understand what you're saying.

All the while, we are definitely not mad and are just having a conversation. Strange? I think so.

However, she was an angel at my two doctor's appointments today. The doctors and nurses were chatting about it while I was waiting for a blood test.



But when we get home? The little devil comes out. She's now been up for almost 6 hours without a nap. I can hear her in there trying to turn the doorknob and get out.

Thank God for the weekend. I need some reinforcements.

Trying my patience

Oh, the terrible twos. I didn't realize they could start as soon as 18 months until I started doing some research. Now we're at 21 months and we're going strong. Of course, Audrey saves her worst behavior for me. Yay.

She had her first time out on Tuesday. I've been reading The Happiest Toddler on the Block, so I followed those guidelines. Reason for time-out? Absolutely refusing to let me change her poopy diaper. So I took her, diaper-less, to her room for a two-minute time out. I wasn't even able to clean everything up before I put her in there, but I didn't care. Surprising, given my germaphobic tendencies.

I'm totally over this struggle with diaper changing. A couple of weeks ago, I strained a muscle in my back, and I'm convinced this is the reason. She completely turns over on the changing table and starts to stand up, and the child is strong! She laughs and thinks it's a game, but, needless to say, I'm not amused. Not when poop is involved.

Her second time out was yesterday. The reason? Same as before. Once again, she was in her room diaper-less. Aaaaaaarrrrgggghhhhh. The good thing is that, after the punishment, she calms down and lets me change her.

On a bright note, I was able to bathe her again yesterday. I'm trying not to focus on the fact that I was down for the count for the rest of the day, though.



And last night before bed, she came to me for a hug and a kiss, not the other way around. What a sweetie.

Please make it stop

Monday was the worst day I've had with Audrey since she became a toddler. I don't even think I can describe it in words, but I'll try.

I didn't sleep too well Sunday night, which set me up for a bad mood on Monday. But Audrey seemed okay when she woke up, even though it was earlier than normal.

Since I was so tired, I let her watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse after breakfast, and I'm pretty sure I fell asleep during it. We've taken to watching usually one 24-minute show a day, MM or Handy Manny. After MM was over, she started asking for Handy Manny. I told her no, that we'd already watched our TV for the day.

I can't even tell you how many times she screamed "Handy Manny!" after that. Good grief. I didn't want to give in and let her think she could get what she wants by screaming. But I finally told her she could watch it after she took a nap.

I tried to put her down for a nap several times, but every time she said, "Nope, honey" and refused to sleep. She usually takes a nap about 4 hours after she wakes up; on Monday, however, she was awake from 7:00 until 2:30! And the more tired she got, the more she started falling and getting hurt, which led to more screaming. I was at my wit's end. At one point, I was on my knees next to her bed, praying for patience.

Finally, I just had to leave her in the room and close the door. She wasn't even in her bed. She must have screamed for at least 20 minutes, but the child needed her sleep! I had no choice.

And then yesterday, she did a 180 and took a 4 1/2 hour nap. I think her molars are coming in. God help us.

A picture is truly worth a thousand words

This pic perfectly describes Audrey's attitude the past couple of days.



What else can I say?

Such a klutz

At the end of yesterday's post, I wrote about hitting my shins when I ran into the ottoman. Let me tell you, it hurt VERY BADLY. It's a soft ottoman, but around the top edges, there are some hard places that give structure to it, of course. Ouch.

It all started with a bump to Audrey's head on Tuesday night. I was sitting on the floor right beside her, and she hit her forehead, hard, on the cedar chest. I felt so guilty about it, especially when I saw the knot that rose up almost immediately. I know I shouldn't feel guilty, but it's so hard not to. I know there's going to be lots of times that she's going to hit her head, especially when she starts walking, but I always think, "I should have prevented that."

She screamed and screamed, which is unusual. Since she started pulling up recently, we've said "Oopsie!" every time she falls, and she usually just smiles. I know the parents' reaction affects the way the baby handles it, so we try to remain calm.

We checked the dilation of her pupils, which I insist on doing every time she has a hard hit to the head. Yes, I'm paranoid. My dad had several brain aneurysms in his lifetime, and I'm all too aware of how brain injuries work.

The worst part was, it was almost bedtime. That means we couldn't really check on her, watch her behavior, to see how she was. Matt did her usual nighttime routine, but she still wouldn't go to sleep. She just screamed. Which is highly unusual, especially since we successfully completed sleep training a few months ago.

It turns out she was fine, but we got her up anyway; I wanted to check her pupils again. I know, the OCD was rearing its ugly head. I had her in my arms, screaming, and I practically ran to the bedroom to get the flashlight. Wham! Hit the front of my shins on the ottoman.

Matt and I are trying to watch our language now, since we don't want little Audrey to start cursing while she's at, say, the church nursery on Sunday. But I was in so much pain that I let several terribly unflattering words fly from my mouth.

Last night, I am not exaggerating when I say I could hardly walk, and I have two big bruises on my shins. And it irritates me to no end. Because ever since I was diagnosed with FMS, I've become clumsy. I knock things over, drop things, fall and hit my head...the list is endless. Part of FMS has to do with loss of muscle control. When it was really bad, I could be standing there in the kitchen, holding a glass, and I would just drop it. With no idea how it happened. Poor Matt has had to clean up so many spills in the last few years, bless his heart, usually with me crying and saying, "I'm so sorry!"

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I feel like such an idiot. As a child, I was not uncoordinated. I played church basketball and softball, and I probably would have played high school softball if I hadn't worked so much. So this loss of muscle control is tough.

At least it's gotten better in the last few months. Even though you'd never know it by looking at my shins.

A student again...sigh

Not that I don't like taking classes, oh no. In fact, I could easily make a career out of being a full-time student if I had the money. Oh, and if I didn't already have the best job in the world, taking care of this little angel:



(And yes, she IS chewing on the strap to her high chair. Getting new teeth is rough).

This class is for my teacher re-certification, even though I'm not teaching right now. I can't let my certificate lapse and have all that education go to waste. Also, it means I could teach a home-bound student, which pays very well.

The class is really perfect for me. Totally online, independent study, reading interesting novels.

I've finished reading the first book, Evvy's Civil War, and I was surprised that I liked it. Since the target audience is middle school students, I wasn't sure if I would. It incorporates lots of great topics, like the Underground Railroad, the oppression of women and slaves, and the Civil War, of course.

But when I sat down to write my paper on the novel last night, I just stared at the screen.


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This is not like me. Not to brag, but I never had to brainstorm or do those silly pre-writing exercises that teachers (myself included) like to require of their students. I just sat down and...wrote. Like I do with my blog. It just flows out of me, for better or for worse.

But this is killing me! I think the problem is, Dr. M wants the paper to be written in first person. What? I've never written something like that, not when evaluating a novel. I have a BA in English, and any of my professors from the College of Charleston would have gladly knocked me over the head if I'd written a paper in first person.

So, I've decided that my writer's block is Dr. M's fault. It's her fault that I'm procrastinating, and it's her fault that every time I see the novel I grimace.

Sigh...being a student is hard.

Why? Just...why?

Okay, I know someone who's currently traveling a path very similar to one I experienced myself. Divorce (oh, I hadn't mentioned that before? Oops), depression, anxiety, suicidal thoughts, even nearly identical health problems. I think you get the picture. Yet, this person will not take any of my advice. NONE.

I see him going through almost exactly the same things that I have (or are currently) going through. I have lots of resources that could help him, such as psychiatrists, therapists, etc. I have lots of ideas about things that could really make a difference in his life.

BUT HE WILL NOT LISTEN. He pretends to listen, nods his head, and says things like, "Yeah, maybe I should do that." But does he? No, he most certainly does not. He is at rock bottom; he could not be lower unless he was dead. But I can't do anything except watch him self-destruct.

How am I supposed to deal with this? How??? Because it's breaking my heart, every day.

Loser

My ex-SIL is a loser. I've written two posts about her, part 1 and part 2, if you're interested. I never continued the saga, because I found out that she put my nieces in danger, not just once, but several times. I'm done with her. But not with my nieces, of course. I've been a big part of their lives since they were born, and that's not going to change just because Marie sucks. Here are my adorable nieces:



That's my mom, Audrey, Nichole, then Elizabeth on the right. (By the way, my mom would kill me for posting this. For the record, she DOES NOT have a receding hairline; she just hates looking at the camera).

So, Marie decided, after the separation from my brother Noah was barely final, she was going to move in with her boyfriend, Shane. Yeah. They're living in a single-wide trailer with no air conditioning. We live in the SOUTH, where the heat index is frequently over 100 degrees. That's four people in a small trailer, along with Shane's two boys, who will be there every other weekend. Nice set-up, huh?

Also, Marie's uncle, who Marie claims tried to "touch" her when she was little, has a grandson who's been hanging out around my nieces. He told my youngest niece, Nichole, that he wanted to rape her. That's right. I'D LIKE TO RIP THAT KID TO PIECES.

I cannot stand Marie. My anger for her knows no bounds, even though I know I'm not supposed to harbor anger towards anyone. Now, I get the news today that the girls will be going to their third school in nine months. I was a teacher for 11 years, so I know what kind of cruelty can be dished out to the "new kids". This is just too much, TOO MUCH CHANGE for these little girls.

I'm so disgusted, I can't even write any more.

Just for one day

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You know what I wish? I wish that everyone who doesn't understand my FMS, who thinks it's a crock, could have it for just one day. From the people at Wal Mart who give me the side-eye for walking too slow, to my doctors who don't seem to care and just throw prescriptions at me, to the people closest to me, who seem to "forget" about it. The people who say they understand, but they really don't. The only person I would exclude from this list is Matt, because he understands me more than anyone else on earth. He's been through this whole journey with me, from diagnosis to now.

You know, if I only had one arm, people would look at me a lot differently. They would actually "see" my disability. But since people can't see it, they often assume it's not there. So, I didn't walk fast enough across the parking lot for you, guy in the redneck truck? Bite me. I can barely walk at all today. So, I'm pushing my cart more slowly than you'd like? That's because my arms are killing me, like I've been boxing for an hour.

So take it, please take it from me for a day. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy (and you know who you are) for the rest of their life, but just for a day, understand why I can't do the things that "normal" people can do.

Then you'll understand why I give you the side-eye right back. And why I don't explain why I can't do certain things anymore, because you wouldn't understand anyway.

Oh, Merry Maids...

I mentioned last week, in my Thankful on Thursday post, that we're finally able to get a service to come out and clean our house once a month. I can't do housework because of FMS. That's right; I actually have a prescription that says "No housework allowed".

Okay, maybe that's a bit of an exaggeration. But my rheumatologist told me that vacuuming is the worst thing I could do, as far as cleaning goes. Which figures, since that's really the only cleaning task I don't mind doing. That and laundry. But I can't dust, either, because of my leg weakness. And I get sore just thinking about scrubbing the bathtub. Please. They'd find me facedown in the tub, covered with Comet and dripping with Tilex. It would definitely make the 5 o'clock news.

I'll end my pity party here, but I just wanted to explain why we need this. Because I'm embarrassed that I can't clean my own house. I used to pride myself on it.

Yesterday, our very enthusiastic-sounding Merry Maids came out. We were told at the initial consultation that the first visit is a deep-cleaning, including...wait for it...baseboards, ceiling fans, windowsills, blinds. I nearly had an orgasm just hearing that. I swear.

We left while they were there, mostly because I'm allergic to dust and didn't need to inhale all that junk. Because let me tell you, practically none of those things mentioned above have been cleaned since Matt moved into this house.

The deep-cleaning was supposed to last about 3 hours. They called me less than an hour and a half after they arrived, saying they were finished. Say what? They would've needed 10 people, working at full speed, to do everything they promised in that amount of time. I instantly felt a sense of dread.

Matt and I were still being positive about it (him more than me, of course). He spoke of the smell that might greet us as we walked through the door. Would it be cinnamon? Vanilla?

Nope, it was more like the smell of disappointment. I went in first, and what did I see? Let's just say I wasn't too merry when I saw everything that hadn't even been touched, much less deep-cleaned. Audrey could've done a better job. So Merry Maids=FAIL.


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I was so mad. I walked around the house for the rest of the night, mumbling to myself and running my finger over surfaces to see what was dirty. Even Matt noticed what wasn't done. I got so worked up that I was angry at myself for being so angry.

They didn't clean the ceiling fans, the baseboards, or anything that was promised in the deep-clean (oh, I'm sorry, they did clean the blinds. Yeah, just one side of them. The side facing out). Surfaces were dusted, but nothing actually sitting ON TOP OF the surfaces were touched. I took a post-it note off our computer monitor where I had taped it, and a big plume of dust filled the air.

I called MM this morning to give them a piece of my mind. But D, the guy who answered the phone, was so damn merry that I couldn't even work up a decent indignant voice. He said they'd be out today to clean it again, along with a supervisor to make sure that it happened. D said to make a list of what needed to be cleaned, which consisted of about 15 items.

So, as much as it pains me, I now have to give props to MM's customer service. But I'm still not sure about their cleaning; guess I'll see about that later today.

I think I'll take my toothbrush with me, though. I've heard horror stories about what maids do when they feel they've been wronged. And believe me, it's worse than a waiter spitting in your food.

Shocked beyond belief--Audrey has WHAT?????

And I thought things couldn't get any worse. Please.

I wrote here about how I screwed up my appointment for my liver ultrasound this past Friday. Well, I actually managed to pull it off yesterday. I was a good little patient and didn't drink any coffee in the morning.  ::takes a bow::

Since we happened to be near Mom's house after the ultrasound, we decided to meet her for lunch. My phone rang, and it was a number I didn't recognize. My first thought, of course, was Oh no. They've found something really wrong with my liver and are contacting me right away.

I'm thankful that it wasn't that, but I was NOT happy to hear a nurse tell me that Audrey's so-called "stomach virus", which I wrote about here and here, was actually salmonella. Excuse me? I must have heard you incorrectly. In fact, what she actually said was, "I'm afraid Audrey has a little case of salmonella." Little? Are you freaking kidding me? Okay, I know she was trying to be nice and delicate in order not to upset me, but oh. my. word.

I was in shock. The nurse, Robin, said that Dr. J (not her regular pedi, the one she saw for the "virus") would be calling me after he saw all his patients for the day, that he wanted to discuss treatment options.

Okay, people, so you want to know how to freak out a mom? Tell her that her baby has salmonella, and then make her wait for HOURS for a phone call telling her how you're going to treat her precious baby.

I was in tears, and Mom didn't know what to say. Matt immediately got on the Internet, since I'm nuts when it comes to looking up symptoms for stuff. Like, I immediately jump to the worst possible scenario.

We didn't learn anything much, and before I knew it, it was 6:40. That's right, approximately 6 1/2 hours after receiving the initial phone call. I wanted to do this to that doctor:


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because I knew he was finished with patients for the day. The office was closed, for goodness' sakes. I decided to call the after-hours number, and what do you know? Dr. J was on call.

He apologized profusely for the confusion, saying he thought Robin told me about Audrey's treatment. Uh....no. He was so apologetic that I decided not to hurt him. Then he told me about the treatment. Guess what it was? Nothing. We do absolutely nothing.

Dr. J said that giving her an antibiotic would prolong the "carrier stage", the stage in which she would still be shedding salmonella cells. ::shudder:: The only reason I didn't argue was that he called a Pediatric Infectious Disease specialist, and she agreed that she would not treat with antibiotics unless Audrey was 3 months old or younger. Who am I to argue with that? We're just supposed to monitor her, especially her temp, since a high temp would be the first sign that it's gotten into her bloodstream.

I asked him, where the heck did she get this? She has NONE of the risk factors, which basically are:

1. attending daycare with a child who has diarrhea (she doesn't go to daycare and hasn't played with any other small children),

2. having a reptile as a pet (I don't think so),

3. riding in a grocery cart next to raw poultry (NOT),

4. traveling outside the US over the age of 3 months (nope), and

5. drinking concentrated liquid infant formula (not powdered or regular).

Okay, she does have one of the risk factors now that I think about it, because she isn't breastfed. But still, who expects this diagnosis? Dr. J said he's only seen 3-4 cases of it, and there are only 50,000 cases in the US each year.

I just thank God, over and over again, that Audrey's feeling better. But I'm more worried than ever about her and the things that could happen to her. People are right; you don't really know worry until you have a child.

I've never had this kind of physical therapy before

If you're a guy, I don't think you'll want to read this. Especially if you're a guy who's related to me in some way. It's about "women stuff". ::shudder:: In fact, if you know me at all, you probably don't want to read this.

So, I've had lots of physical therapy. For my foot, for fibromyalgia, for muscles in general before I even knew I had FMS. So I know the drill.

But I had some physical therapy yesterday that would blow. your. mind. If you'll remember, I wrote here about an extremely disturbing gynecology visit. You'll also remember, I said there's no way IN HELL that I'm getting a hysterectomy. I think one of the Bumpies said it best when she wrote "Yeah, sure, just rip out your uterus and throw you into menopause," or something to that effect. Amen, sister.

I had no idea they had physical therapy for women's health. Strange, because I usually know a lot about medical stuff, since I have so many problems of my own. And because I love to read about that stuff.

So I had absolutely no idea what to expect yesterday. None. And I was nervous. I mean, would I be up on a table, with my feet in stirrups, doing some kind of uterine exercises while other people lifted weights and worked out on the elliptical? You can imagine my horror at that scenario.

By the time Ambreen took me back, I was ready, though. I had done some yoga breathing on the way there and sung my lungs out to the radio, so I was good. She took me back into a private room and talked to me about private stuff. Yep, like my urine control, bowel control, and sex. Fun.

She made me feel totally comfortable, though. She was definitely not like any therapist I've had before; she's in her forties, Indian, with a nose ring. There's no way I could pull that off, but she does.

She told me she had four (!) kids. So I'm thinking, maybe she can help me after all. Because this is about sex, you know. How it's impossibly painful, and how I'd rather have a tooth filled. I immediately knew I was going to like Ambreen because, after I told her what Dr. C had suggested (hysterectomy), she said she was going to choke him, and used the hand motions to prove it. Nice. Because although I love Dr. C, I think he was really irresponsible to suggest a hysterectomy to me, after one exam and one complaint of painful sex.

It went really well, but I won't go into detail here because it would gross you out. But if your doctor ever tells you that you need a hysterectomy, PLEASE get a second opinion or at least ask if he/she knows of a place where people work with women's health problems. Because there is no reason for such a radical surgery in the majority of cases. In fact, Ambreen told me that, in all probability, I'd be better after 4-6 weeks of therapy. And that is a MAJOR load off my mind.

The point is, don't just trust your doctors blindly, because sometimes they have no clue what they're talking about. Trust me:)

Re-homing our dog

This is our dog, T:



This picture was taken on the day Matt and I got engaged, in February of 2006. As you can probably tell, I love T. I really do. I complain about him constantly, get mad at him daily, and sometimes want to physically harm him (relax, I don't).

But we're going to have to re-home him. I've been dealing with T's shedding for about 4 years now, and it is BAD. Let's just say that, even if we vacuumed every day, his hair would be EVERYWHERE. When my nieces, Elizabeth and Nichole, come over and play on the floor, as kids do, they are covered with dog hair. From head to toe.

Elizabeth, who's spent the night with us several times, is allergic to T. She has to take Benadryl every time she comes over, which zonks her out. That can be a good thing, if she's having one of her hyper days:) But seriously, there are times she can't even remember what we did when she spent the night, and that's not like her. Once, and I kid you not, we were standing in the Bi-lo parking lot waiting for Matt to load groceries in the car, and she fell asleep while standing. I've never, ever seen someone do that before.

But it's not because of Elizabeth that we need to re-home T, because unfortunately, she nor her sister get to come here as often as we would like. There are lots of reasons why we have to do this:

1) When I think of this beautiful little girl,

crawling around our house covered in black hair, I cringe inside. Literally, I feel my insides shrinking up with disgust.

2. T's bark could raise the dead. He sounds like a Great Dane or Rottweiler when he barks, but he's actually quite small and wouldn't hurt a flea. Lick it to death, maybe. We've tried training him not to bark, yes, we've watched Cesar on TV show us how easy it is, but it only stops his barking maybe 3/4 of the time. And we have to be right there beside him in order to quiet him. And his bark scares the $hit out of Audrey.

3. I'm allergic to T. Before Audrey came, it really wasn't a problem, since the allergist told us to keep him out of our bedroom and I'd be okay. We've also trained him to stay out of the nursery, which shows he's a smart dog. But here's the deal; when Audrey starts crawling, she's going to be covered in the aforementioned dog hair. Then when I pick her up, I'm going to get it all over me. Which is going to be a serious problem.

We've thought of many different options, from putting him outside to taking him to training, but I won't go into detail here because this post is already too long. But I'd like to say, to all the people who keep trying to make me feel guilty about re-homing him, YOU ARE WELCOME TO TAKE HIM HOME WITH YOU. LIKE TODAY, RIGHT NOW. I'M SITTING HERE WAITING.

I am sick, sick, sick of having to defend our choice. Tired of it. I love that dog, and this is going to hurt me, and it's definitely going to hurt Matt, since he had him way before I knew him. It's easy to sit around and judge us for doing what we need to do, but not so easy when others (family or friends) could easily take him into their homes, as we've pleaded with them to do, and they won't, or can't. SO STOP JUDGING ME.

And if I hear one more person say, "A little dog hair won't hurt a baby", I will probably starting screaming and not stop for, like, hours. So if you'll help us out, take him. If not, shutty.

That is all.

I've just about had it

Okay, if you look a couple of posts down, you'll see where my gyno told me that I may need a hysterectomy this week. Seriously.

Well yesterday, I went to my general doc to get the results of my recent blood tests, since I have hypothyroidism. Good news: my thyroid is perfect. Bad news: my liver enzymes are still elevated, and have been since giving birth to Audrey.

I love my doc, Dr. L. He's gotten me through a lot of stuff, but I got really ticked off at him yesterday. He did a physical exam, pressing on the part of the body where my liver is (didn't know that at the time). It REALLY hurt, and I told him so. He grabbed my test results, mumbled something about being able to see better in his office, and left. HE WAS GONE FOR 30 MINUTES. He knows I have problems with anxiety...what the heck?

When he came back, he told me about the liver enzymes. My rheumatologist had already told me about this a few months after Audrey was born, but she said sometimes that happens after the birth of a baby. So I worried a little for about a day, then let it go.

But still elevated? So, of course, my mind goes to the darkest places...liver cancer, in need of a liver transplant, etc.

p.s. Matt offered to give me his liver, and I said, "Honey, you kind of need that to live." So sweet of him. ::pats his little head::

I asked Dr. L what exactly this means. He said, "I don't know." Aaargh. Don't get me wrong, I guess I'm glad that he didn't venture an uneducated opinion, but that only made my fears worse, like he didn't want to tell me. I said, "See, Dr. L, this is why I don't like taking all this medication." He just looked at me.

So, I need an ultrasound of my liver, time and date to be determined. I was really upset, especially after the gyno appt. from earlier this week. I actually ran off the side of the road on the way to my mom's house, where Matt and Audrey were waiting for me. Ridiculous.

I cannot take any more of this.

So frustrated!

We're leaving for the beach today, so you can imagine all the stuff we had to do yesterday. Pack, which is especially daunting since I've never packed for Audrey, do laundry, run errands...you know the drill. Yes, we were procrastinators, for the most part. I'm usually not, but I've been so sick lately that I've been lucky to get through the day. I know, I'm having a pity party. You're all invited, by the way.

For the past few days, Audrey has been an absolute angel. We have been on the go ever since Matt got off work for the summer, and she's just gone along for the ride. She's been off schedule, we fed her at the mall twice in the last few days (among other hideous things:), and it didn't faze her at all.

But yesterday. OH MY WORD. She whined all. day. long. I'm not exaggerating. Matt went outside to cut the grass in the morning, and when he came back in, I guess he noticed how worn-out I looked. He said, "Has she been like this all morning?" I said yes, as a matter of fact. He gave me a look of heartfelt sympathy. Which I deserved. Ugh. It's like the freaking four-month wakeful all over again. Dang it!

And she got plenty of sleep the night before last. I posted that she slept until 9 am, which was almost 11 1/2 hours! Unbelievable! So why the heck was she being such a pill yesterday? Matt tried to get her to nap several times, and he was unsuccessful for the most part. At one point, as she lay on the bed (covered with newly-folded laundry), Matt looked over and she had a clean pair of my panties in her mouth. Chewing on them. Yes, it's very important to know they were clean;)

So, is she starting to teethe? If this is what it's like, I'm going to have to be institutionalized. My PPD/PPA can't handle this overload. Please, God, take pity on us during our road trip today. I'd like to arrive at our destination with part of my sanity intact, at least the part that I have left. I must focus on this:
http://funtimedesignes.com/shoredrive/images/myrtle-beach-big.jpg 

Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhh.