Fighting (A Rant)

It's so tough to fight with the closest ally in your camp. I mean really, we're all tired, playing the same stupid games, and ultimately working toward the same goal. Right?

It would seem, this evening anyway, that we were not on the same team. We are transitioning to a new "routine" and this has Wood quite tense. It takes him some time to adjust.

Mornings go something like this: 

5am Wood wakes; shower, coffee, breakfast, etc.

6am Wood leaves

7am Twig and Wonelle wake up; Wonelle makes breakfast, lunch, dinner, cleans up from yesterday's leftover lunch or dinner dishes in the kitchen. Wakes grandma, gets her medicine and heating pad together, ensures she brushes her teeth, and is ready for the bus when it arrives. Ensures Twig is dressed, teeth brushed, clean clothes, food, lunch, etc. and gets him to his day activity du jour as close to on time as possible. Arrives to work, on average, 30 minutes late.

It used to be that Wonelle also rushed from work at 5pm to pick up Twig from his day activity and was home by the time Grandma made it home so that she could get dinner ready for everyone, too. But as of last week, Wood is the adult in charge for the evening pick up and meet grandma at home routine. No, he doesn't have to cook dinner. I typically have that arranged for him - all he has to do is heat it up when he gets home and serve it. I now leave the office at 6 so that I'm ensuring I've put in my full 8 hours per day. 

He and Twig arrived home after I did tonight. This leads me to believe he's working more than he should be. But I digress.

After this evening's Complete and Total Breakdown about what's happening at Acting camp this week (read: it's not going the way Twig thinks it should and he's not the center of attention so he's disappointed and waiting until he gets home to explode at me about it), I made dinner...when it was time for Twig to hit the sack, Wood exclaimed something to the effect of "I don't want to put him to sleep". But, because I don't "offer" to put the boy to sleep, we get into a fight instead. About what? Wood doesn't want to stay in the bed after he's finished reading to wait for him to fall asleep because Wood always falls asleep too and when he does, his back hurts. And, rightfully (no really, I'm not being sarcastic here), he doesn't like that.

But, I am at a loss for what it is that I should do. He didn't and doesn't ask me to do something before the situation occurs. He makes blanket statements about how things will and won't be. And then gets mad at me for his being the responsible adult in charge - for not taking charge of his feelings, I guess.

I believe my response to him tonight was "I can't be responsible for the morning and evening routines; it's too much." 

So it turns out we fought about his feelings about what it takes to get our child to sleep. And how he doesn't want to do it. And I probably shouldn't have said, in response to his frustration about him having done this evening routine for months and months (and months), that I did it for years. That wasn't helpful. But it is true. 

And I'm not terribly sympathetic. I got yelled at, screamed at, punched, sassed and finally kicked in the knee this morning during the hour long temper tantrum about washing hands and flushing the toilet. 

I'm not parenting my husband. If he needs something, he needs to ask for it directly and succinctly. No beating around the fucking bush. Mean what you say and say what you mean. 

We're in it together. Do your part when you're called upon. It's not always going to be split 50/50. Suck it up. Or fight. 

He Said It

At the end of June, Wood and I were to meet with the Palliative Care Nurse that we were referred to by Grandma's doctor. Unfortunately, it was scheduled the day I had my emergency appendectomy, we had to cancel at the last minute. We finally had the meeting, with all three of us (Twig was at camp), a couple of weeks ago.

We talked all of the major issues - our stress level, our stress level, and our stress level. We really feel as though her health and lack of interest in anything besides sitting in the chair in the living room hinders our ability to do much. Unless it's a Tuesday or Thursday evening, or a Saturday morning when the Home Care Worker is with her, one of us must be home with her.

She hates to go out to eat unless Wood is there, she doesn't want to take a walk (I'm tired - from sitting?), and asks to leave if we are doing anything other than eating out. It was so difficult during the baseball season; she couldn't sit and watch the game. When Twig was acting with his traveling troupe, Wood and I could only go to a show together if grandma came. And the invitations to visit with friends as a family have lessened significantly because of grandmas needs.

We are tired and continually talk about how it seems that the living situation is good only for her. We all feel resentful of the constraints we are forced to contend with as her caretakers. We felt like having her living with us was the right thing to do. But as of today, Wood said we are starting the process of moving her to a facility.

Strangely enough, I don't feel good about it. But I am looking forward to it.

Time Out

A few weeks ago - actually, over the past few months I noticed that consuming alcoholic beverages was becoming a bit too easy, a bit too frequent, and a regular coping mechanism. At the end of a long day, the first thought on my mind was a drink. I'd pour or Wood would pour, and before you knew it, I'd have tossed back three of the drink du jour. In restaurants I noticed that it would take two of just about anything for me to feel something resembling a buzz.

When I was in the hospital, answering questions about my health status and personal habits, particularly around drinking, I heard myself say "More than two drinks, yes more than two drinks daily." A pregnant pause, no judgement, and... moving right along...

In my morphine mind, I flashed on a conversation with some close friends a couple of months ago. I had expressed my overindulgence as somewhat of a problem and that both Wood and I needed to slow it down. My friend responded, behind a slightly uncomfortable giggle, that if drinking was the only solace we have right now, he encourages drinking - more, in fact.

Right after my surgery, booze was the last thing on my mind. After all, I had been given oxycodone for the pain, and was taking them and tylenol or advil in between doses religiously. I didn't need booze. So, I decided to quit.

The few times I had a grown up silly drink after the surgery, my body retaliated something feirce! Swelling of my hands, feet and face with the consumption of one beer. Roughly the same with wine.

I told Wood I'd climbed on the wagon, to please support me. I told my pals at work. Yep, the body don't like it so I will not be drinking any more. So, I kinda lied; I will have a glass of wine occasionally.

Drinking will no longer be my time out.

The Boy pushed and prodded and rang all of my bells tonight. He wouldn't settle and just wanted to engage me to stay awake. I tried to reason with him. Tried to express my frustration. Kept my cool. It was so hard to keep it together. After about 40 minutes of his shennanegins, I quietly got out of bed, put on my coat, grabbed my phone and keys and told him I was leaving to take a time out from him. That I was upset and I needed to walk away to think about it.

He chased me and said he was coming with me and that I couldn't leave him alone.

I sat on the porch and typed this here blog post on my phone and wondered if the non-alcoholic time out business is really where it's at. It is. And so is the porch.

He Loves Me, He Loves Me Not

Once upon a time there was a little boy who was smart and verbal and very talented at many things. He thought he knew everything there was to know and always felt like adults were bossing him around and doing so for no good reason.

He believed that it was the obligation of everyone around him to cater to his every whim and to wait on him. In particular, his mother was obligated to do his laundry and clean up after him at all times. He answered "No!" to requests to do simple things like clear his dishes from the dinner table "you can't make me!" brush his teeth "It isn't important!", put his dirty clothes in the hamper "it's your fault the dirty clothes are on the floor", and talk respectfully to his parents -"blah, blah, blah, blah" while simultaneously rolling his eyes was his general demeanor inside the house.

While his mother felt an incredible urge to slap him across the face when he did the "blah, blah, blah" business, she refrained. But she was regularly pushed to the brink of her sanity with his indignant, entitled behaviors, especially when he felt it acceptable to raise his hand to her, as if to punch, or on the regular occasion that he ignored "stop" and "no" and continued his annoying behaviors for the sake of attention. 

The "I hate you", "I wish you were dead", and "I want only Dad" remarks were tough to swallow but all part of the package, she recalled from the conversations she'd heard. Nothing made this person listen to anything she said. He was opposite boy - not everyday but on certain days it was beyond intense.

She couldn't grasp when it all began or how it got out of hand (initially or for each instance, that is) much less what to do about it. She tried respectful communications, noticing when he did things the way she expected, paying allowance (for doing what he was *supposed* to do), offering good times and restricting, modeling, and lots of other stuff. None of it worked and she was at a loss (and physical child abuse seemed over the top - but certainly crossed her mind) so she became more restrictive, more punitive, more childlike in her responses. Even that backfired. It would make him acquiesce for a moment or two - to resume his acceptable tone and use of niceties, to be cooperative and helpful even. But the restrictions just made him need her undivided attention even more. And that made her need her independence, his independence, even more. It was an awful combination.

She saw the pattern, understood it in the context of history to some degree, and didn't know how to get her to change it when she was a kid. As an adult, she's still at a loss. She knows he loves her, that intrinsic kind of love a child automatically feels for a parent. But these interactions are weighing heavily upon that love. Canceling it out even - she knows he's beginning, as it happened for her, that he loves her not, and she doesn't know how to fix it.

Oh, Man

I just realized that the start of my period will coincide with the upcoming full moon. It is good I noticed now; I can prepare myself and respond logically instead of emotionally. Mercury retrograde + full moon + menstrual cycle = That week could be epic! Let's make sure its the good kind of epic!

An Apology

Sometimes, especially when Mercury is in retrograde and I've been sleeping much less than normal, I wait to do things like respond to my boss's childish temper tantrum and blaming escapades via email immediately after they take place. It's good to listen to my intuition. Even though I fret about the interaction and disdain for it, and what I should do about it.

I waited to respond. Deleted the email. Stayed up too late. Slept well and woke to a dream, a bad dream? that featured two black cats, one with a broken tail, one that leisurely sat and watched me walk past; an open window on my house, and two black men walking away from my place. It was clear that they had just robbed my house but they were cool so I fumbled with my keys to get in. 


Sometimes I'm not clear about how to handle something - I'm bossy, verging on aggressive sometimes - and this has landed me in hot water a lot in the past.  But at this point in my life I can't afford to be so fiery that it gets in the way of my career and stuff. Besides, my way isn't the only way, and being nice is better than being right. Usually. Except when I'm right. Which is usually. 


Anyway, my boss came into my office first thing this morning and apologized. Fairly profusely, too. She talked about how things have been tough lately. When I agreed and said that this week had been particularly intense for everyone, she responded by telling me that she's been having a shitty year and nearly cried. I feel for the lady, not knowing what is happening in her life, despite my gripes with her, she's a person. But I can set that aside and not get personally involved. 


The conversation that ensued was a darned good one. We talked philosophy, vision, and approach. She heard me loud and clear, and even seemed to respect my view. Particularly when I reminded her that my momentum had to do with her directives. Gosh, she's so difficult to manage.

I'm still working on my resume and cover letter. This place needs much more than I've got the energy for. I ain't young and there's too much other stuff to do.

Work Blues

If it weren't for my staff and a few colleagues, my job would completely suck ass. Right now it only kinda pretty much sucks ass.

My boss is the most emotional, non-planning, play both sides of the fence, talks out both sides of her ass, can't make a decision that doesn't please everyone (or at least her current favorite) or take a clear side, untrusting, doesn't get it, spineless, sometimes obviously lying to get what she wants micromanager I have ever worked with. She flits and flitters all over the place and doesn't get that we're overworked and can't take on a new project. And she certainly doesn't get that we all work our asses off to do good work because we believe in the mission and want the agency to succeed. Hell, she doesn't believe that a mission statement of an agency is supposed to drive decision making, policy and to some extent procedure of said agency. I knew I was getting myself into some funky shit when I began working at this job but this Crap is out of control!

In a management team meeting yesterday we discussed whether a key staff person that heads up a key program over the holidays should be granted 2 weeks vacation during two holiday weeks - yes, the very said busiest time of the year previously mentioned. After some very hearty debate where a majority of the group agreed that if someone has work to do during certain times of the year, they shouldn't ask for and/or be granted time off during the busiest time of the year, my boss completely disagreed - and I believe that she was the only person who did disagree.

It is awful that I feel it necessary to tell someone that they can not take time off at the holidays, particularly when they are planning time away with family, because their job demands their attention during that time of year. But it is completely unfair to expect that the services can be provided without her overseeing them or thay everyone else should be required to pick up the slack. We don't have much wiggle room in our workload to be able to pick up extra tasks. Gawd forbid we want to do at least one thing well each day.

My boss said today, in response to my telling her that the staffer being upset about the decision, she felt the conversation was a bashing session and that I made it about supervision issues that should have been discussed confidentially. She said that she felt it was a punitive decision based on a past mistake and that management team isn't supposed to be about the broader issues that were being discussed. I worked very hard to remove the person from the equation and focus on business need as did the rest of the people who participated in the discussion. And if management team meetings aren't to grapple with bigger policy and operational issues, what is it for?

Ugh. All but this direct report are awesome team players that are supportive of their colleagues, willing to do whatever it takes to get the job done no matter what, to serve the people we serve for the right reason. This vacation person is obstructionist at every turn, gossipy, chatty Cathy, revered by my boss for her loyalty, and a significant pain in my ass. She does decent work but alas, she doesn't get it either.

I need to cover my ass on this one. And let the ones that I really appreciate know how appreciated they are. Because they are the only things making this job semi-palatable.

I Feel a Nervous Breakdown Coming On

That statement has been uttered from these lips a few times over the last couple of weeks. It's one of those things that I preface or end with "If I don't say it out loud, it's sure to come true. This is just my way of keeping myself sane."

No extra time was taken off after the last post about needing more time off to get my head straight. We need the money and my job seems constantly tenuous. Work's usual Crap, being financially flush one day and broke the next, decision making based on emotion rather than a clear set of values or goals, and trying to have everything both ways is driving me absolutely mad. I have to fight to operate in a way that's consistently moral and ethical - as the decisions change based on who you ask on any given day - nothing is written down in a way that provides any clear direction. And I'm more than overwhelmed by the amount of work I have to do. I'm applying for a couple of jobs that look interesting.

I'm struggling with grandma this last week or so. I feel horrible because my thoughts and feelings are oh-so judgmental and not compassionate. She can't help her spinal fracture pain but I often think she's being overly dramatic. I hate that she uses a pillow on her back when sitting at the kitchen table. That she has to use the heating pad constantly and doesn't want to do anything but sit in the goddamned living room chair. It hurts her to move so she doesn't move and that makes it ever harder to move. She doesn't get the logic - her brain doesn't work quite right anymore. The doctor doesn't have a magic pill and I'm tired of having a 69 year old toddler whose needs I have to constantly anticipate. It's, as you can imagine, incredibly draining in addition to everything else.

We've been trying to talk about what is next. It's such a loaded conversation - on so many levels - but we are finally coming to terms with what the stress is doing to us. I've realized lately that my role in this family is to be The Matriarch so I'm taking the reigns and directing traffic with all of the force and power that the position demands. After all, it's what I do best. No more giving everyone else the space to do the right thing and come to their own conclusions about what's wrong and how to deal with it. Things will fall apart before that happens. Falling apart is not an option.

This body of mine continues to tell me to quiet down. My knee is still bothering me a fair amount if I'm at all active. The doctor ordered an MRI and suspects a torn meniscus or other cartilage. My stomach is healing from the appendectomy quite nicely but the constant discomfort I have in my upper right abdomen (think gallbladder) hasn't gone away. The surgeon ordered, and I had a test yesterday to look at that, too. I get the results of the MRI at an appointment next week and if I'm lucky, the results of the gallbladder scan via telephone today. Regardless of the results, I've already decided that I'm not having surgery again any time soon.

I'm doing my best to take control of my life wherever possible - and to keep my head above water. It's a constant process.

Major Funk

Everything seems exceptionally difficult right now. Waking up, falling asleep and everything in between. Especially the everything in between.

Work today was a complete drag. I'm so overwhelmed with the long list of things to do that I hardly know where to begin. Everyone wants something from me and the reality is that there aren't enough hours in the day. I spent most of today wanting to be anywhere but where I was, wanting to spend some quality time with my mom, and feeling like I should be taking some more time off to get my head straight - milking it for some more. It has been less than two weeks since my surgery so maybe it wouldn't be "milking it".

There's so much floating around my body and mind I can't quite sort it out in my head much less put it to paper. Three hours of sleep last night doesn't do much for positive or clear thinking.

Maybe I'll feel better tomorrow. Even if I don't, I'll act as if.

The Hits Keep Coming

My appendix is healing still; my entire constitution is slightly off -sometimes nauseous, constipation or diarreah, severe pains if I'm too hungry, too full, too whatever. The good news is that I'm no longer taking pain pills and I'm fairly certain that will make a huge difference in how I'm feeling.

When I went to the hospital, my left knee was bothering me something fierce. It had swelled up and started hurting for no apparent reason a couple of weeks earlier. My regular doctor suggested pain meds and a visit to an orthopedic doctor. She said we'd follow up on the stomach issues I mentioned at a separate appointment. Anyway, as soon as I made it to the emergency room and got the heavy duty pain medicine, my knee became a non-issue. The swelling went down and I forgot that it had been a problem at all. Until last night - after being on my feet a lot of the day, it began to swell and hurt.  And it hurts now, after sleeping all night.

Blech.

It's very, very clear that I'm being forced to sit down and face something that I've been too busy to be attentive to.

Back To the Grind Today

Work. Love it, hate it. Going back to it today.

Actually, I went back on Tuesday for a very important meeting that I insisted I attend in person. Good thing, too. I never would have been able to concentrate while at home and the content required my boss and colleagues to see my face - they don't understand the complexities of my staff, my job, my programs and services. 

Yesterday, Independence day, was kind of a bust. Wood, Twig and I woke up early and fooled around in our morning bed - teased, laughed, tickled, laughed some more. It was so much fun. Until The Boy's head hit my belly kind of too hard. I was in pain for the remainder of the day. It worked out - Grandma didn't want to go to the 4th of July party that Wood was invited to and I couldn't leave Bam here alone to sit with her so I stayed home with both of them and caught up on my self-pity and Season 1 of Glee.

Slow has never been my strong suit. Living for other people hasn't either. 

I don't feel 100%, that's weighing down on me. Grandma and her disinterest in doing anything except sleeping and sitting in the big green chair is also a bit grating. On all of us. I want to be able to move fast, jump and play and my body isn't cooperating much. I want Grandma to move out of our house so we can at least have the flexibility to go to a 4th of July party as a family. I don't want Bam to go home. But she will soon. I'm better enough to go back to work even though I'd much rather sit on the couch for a week gathering some mental and emotional strength all while calling it 'recovery from surgery'.

Everyone is fast asleep this morning so I'm headed to the office at about 7am. I'll leave by noon so that I can spend some more time with my mom and rest. I'm healing up nicely but not ready for a full day of work. 

Clean

I fully expected to have a second film and to be sent on my way. That was one of the reasons I didn't tell Bam that this was a follow up. But instead, the appointment took nearly two hours.

Getting the pictures taken was fast. But then I waited. In the waiting/dressing room with three other women at a time. Three other women wearing the same gown that doesn't quite cover everything on your upper torso much less make you want to talk to complete strangers. There were several of us waiting for the same reason. And the doctor was running behind.

I asked the nurse to check in with my mom; all of the women who had gone in before me had since left. She thinks this is a routine mammogram. But she was reassured that the doctor was just running behind.

The nurse let everyone but me leave and told me they wanted to do an ultrasound. And my throat closed again. I almost went to the waiting room to come clean. The nurse suggested not. It should be real fast. I agreed. And waited some more.

The ultrasound tech brought me in and spent quite a bit of time rubbing her wand along my breast snapping pictures of it. She then sent the photos off to the doc.

The doc came in and said that she thought everything was fine but proceeded to ultrasound my breast again. She seemed reluctant but eventually said "you're okay" and sent me on my way. See you next year.

Exhale.

Here I Am

I'm at the breast center for the follow up mammogram. My mom is here with me although she thinks the appointment is for a routine screening.

Considering all of the hoopla surrounding my appendix this week, my boobs haven't crossed my mind much. My stomach and belly button have been my focus since last week.

Now that I'm here though, I'm a bit nervous. In through the nose, out through the mouth. My belly hurts a little bit from overdoing it again today so I just popped a pain pill.

I hope my scared gut is wrong. I hope they'll say everything looks fine and to come back in a year. I don't know if I can handle something so big on top of everything else. Not right now.