Well, the bunny has come and gone and the hangover is today. By hangover, I mean pain from my ole friend MCTD, not Jack Daniels or any other of the like. Somehow I managed to pull off Easter shopping for all 4 kids and a family lunch a county away within 24 hours. By the time I got to the lunch I wasn’t able to do much aside from sitting in a chair like a knot on a log.
My body hurt. It’s crazy how a task as easy as shopping can wear on your body as if your a 90-year-old woman. Actually, there was a couple at lunch who were in their 90’s and seemed more active than me. It’s embarrassing to me. I feel like I look lazy. I can’t stand lazy people. And now I find myself with no choice at times. The line between procrastination and avoidance has become fuzzy. I’m unsure if I put off washing clothes because I know my back will hurt afterward or if I’m just procrastinating because I don’t want to do it right now.
After all of the shopping and all of the family time, I returned home and realized I had forgotten to buy a single morsel of food for Easter supper. I’d also not gotten a single egg for the kids to dye. So back to Wally World I go. By this time that place was a mad house. I return home with goods in tow. My husband oversaw the egg festivities, thank the Lord. I took an extra long bath and by the time I got out everyone, including my husband, was asleep. This meant I alone hid all of the eggs. I alone set up all 4 Easter baskets. I alone disposed of the evidence.
And It Hurts
While hiding eggs my back was in such a state of pain that I was twitching. I’ve done this a good bit lately Continue reading
Another flipping abbreviation to add to the list. This time it’s not mine, but my sons. EoE, or eosinophilic esophagitis. I can’t even pronounce that first word so this time I’ll abbreviate. We did his endoscopy yesterday and the doctor came in and spoke to me before my son had even returned to the room. I’m sure this is standard procedure so that my incredibly goofy, incredibly high son’s behavior didn’t interfere with my ability to take in the information that was being given to me. He gave me the bit of good news first. “Your son’s stomach is fine,” he said as he was showing me pictures of the inside of his esophagus and stomach which looked vaguely like something X-rated and uncomfortable to discuss about my child, much less with this old man. He then moved on to the other images which were heavily covered with white specks or clusters. He shows me a picture of a normal esophagus and says, “you see these ridges, these are supposed to be there.” “You see your sons and how smooth it looks and inflamed, that’s not what it should look like and this is consistent with EoE and his is moderately severe”. His esophagus looked exactly like a donut with white powder to me. He tells me that he took several biopsies and we are going to wait until the results came back before we treat him. The treatment would be budesonide he informs. Continue reading
defaultWell, we’ve made it to the hospital at the butt crack of dawn as advised. It is now 9:30 am and we’re still waiting to be taken back. I am so impatient and I always have been. I’m sure it’s part of the ADD.
What makes things worse is that I’m a perfectionist. Try mixing those two things together and your constantly, quickly letting yourself down.
I use to love playing pool, but taking my time to line a shot up just isn’t in my DNA. I could never play golf. I can’t even watch golf. I use to thoroughly enjoy fishing. That is until mid morning my body would hurt so bad that I couldn’t go on.