Bunny Fog


The Grind


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.


The Pain


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.



It’s Real



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

I’d Like to Buy a Vowel: E

EoE1Another flipping abbreviation to add to the list. This time it’s not mine, but my sons. EoE, or eosinophilic esophagitisEoE. 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

The Waiting is the Hardest Part

IMG_3090defaultWell, 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.

Continue reading

A Rough Week

What a rough couple of days.IMG_2749

In addition to feeling like crap I’ve now learned, or so I think, that my son has a messed up esophagus. You see, he’s been complaining about it for quite a while now. I don’t know why, but I thought he was overreacting to common heartburn. Being a mother of boys (husband and children variety) teaches you that the male being does not handle an eighth of the pain or sickness that females can endure and still function.

His father, who I’m no longer married to; was diagnosed with achalasia and had to have surgery a little over a year ago. Achalasia is hereditary. I assumed my son just thought he had this because his father did. It wasn’t until he started getting food lodged until he vomited all over the school lunchroom that I knew there really was something wrong. But even the doctor at children’s thought it was something much simpler. He’s had asthma and severe allergies his entire life. We’ve finally reached a point where we’ve had no significant asthma exacerbation requiring hospitalization for over a year and now this.

We went for a barium swallow test yesterday. We weren’t there to speak to a doctor. Only to have the upper GI x-ray with the contrast in which you swallow. It went down like this: they position him on a table lying flat on his back. The x-ray tech is obviously the one taking the pictures and another nurse is standing at his head with a large cup of this Pepto Bismol looking drink which contains the barium. After everything is adjusted he begins drinking around two small sips at a time while the pictures are being taken. In a perfect world, this stuff should visibly be moving down his esophagus and into his stomach at a normal pace while the pictures are being taken at each stage. This was not the case for us. I know x-ray techs can’t give you their opinion on images they take, but I could sense their concern. I could see them making eyeballs at each other.

She asks me if we have any other appointments there today. The main tech asks me if he’s ever been scoped before. I reply with a no, but he’s supposed to have one Wednesday.

She starts moving him from laying on his back to laying on his side, then another side. We’re still not moving very rapidly. I could see the images being taken and as best as I can describe, it looked like link sausages zig-zagging. At that time, I didn’t know what a normal scan would look like.

When it was finally over she printed off some of the scans and said, “I’m gonna walk these straight over to the doctor and he’s probably going to want to speak with you so I need y’all to hang tight in here.” I’m thinking to myself, holy hell this must be bad. I immediately start a conversation with God in my head. Dear God, please. Please let my child be okay. I’ll take whatever you want to put my body through multiplied by 1,000 or more, just don’t let him be sick as well. He deserves so much more. And then the nurse comes back in and says, “the doctor is going to review the scans and he’ll see y’all Wednesday”. So now I’m left to my own devices to figure out what it was that went down in that x-ray room.

I Googled “normal esophagus x-ray” and went to images and it didn’t take me long to see what resembled his. And it was achalasia. There was another view of my son’s esophagus which I can’t find anywhere on Google images. His looked almost blocked in one area. I read up a little on achalasia and decided to just wait until Wednesday. Anyone who’s ever been sick with anything significant knows that waiting is one of the hardest things in the world. Add to it the fact that it’s for your son and you’ve got a recipe for sheer misery. I’ve been here before. I’ve been here with myself very recently in fact. Waiting on results from blood test after blood test to try to get answers for my own self.

You know what’s even harder? Keeping it together. Managing your reaction to your own pain to save your loved ones from being concerned about you is one thing. Managing your worry when you sense something serious is wrong with your child, that’s a horse of a different color. But as to not alarm him, I avoid the conversation altogether.

I’ve gotten pretty good at my poker face over the years. Every single asthma attack he’s had would’ve been made worse if he caught the slightest hint of nervousness or worry from me. It’s like if he feels the person making decisions and taking care of him doesn’t have things under control, then he’s in big trouble.

The ability to keep your cool in bad situations proves useful in other areas and times of your life. I helped take care of my grandmother in the last two months of her beautiful life. My grandmother was a very classy lady. I admired her so much.

When I first moved to the town where she was from, not long after my parents divorced, every older person that saw me in the small town would say, “you must be Mary’s granddaughter.” They would say I looked just like her when she was my age, that I had her same wit and laugh. I’ve seen pictures of her when she was my age and I honestly don’t see any resemblance.


But when it comes to our view of things and our bs tolerance level I think we were one in the same. I’m so mad at myself for not spending more time with her throughout the years.

But I was there at the end. My cool keeping ability would be tested during this time. She was heavily medicated and sometimes living in a different reality from everyone else. She didn’t like to be laughed at and was somehow aware that she was talking about crazy stuff. So instead of giggling, I would just go along with her. And she was very unsteady and a fall risk, but she didn’t like to be helped. She couldn’t stand it if she went to get up or do something and we made sudden abrupt moves to help her. So I had to perfect a new set of skills. Ones that made you move fast but not appear to be.

Now I need to do some more Google work on achalasia and prepare myself for his endoscopy tomorrow. Everyone, please send some prayers, positive thoughts, or whatever you think is necessary for wishing us a good outcome.

Finally Friday

bagofmanyAs I sit here waiting on my youngest to get out of school in the car rider line I can’t help but be thankful it’s Friday. I don’t know why. I don’t work anymore so every day is the same. Actually, the weekends are a little more taxing on me because everyone is home so there’s no downtime.

I guess it’s second nature to be happier on Fridays. Even when I worked Fridays weren’t very significant because I worked retail 7 days a week. I started out as a sales representative (SR). I worked my way up to a floating assistant sales manager (ASM). I was on top of the world. Moving on up. But I was quickly brought back down a notch when a bigger company bought my company out and my position didn’t map over so I was back to an SM.

They threw the word senior in front of my title. I guess this was their way of saying they recognized me, but not really. To make matters worse, the position I did map over and qualify for was between me and another coworker that was gobbled up in the merger.

I was pregnant during this and I lost my baby girl at 21 weeks. Her name was Emma and she was still born. We were devastated. While I was on leave they gave that position to the other candidate. I’d lost any love I had for that company at that point, but I still worked for another year. Until I found another position as a district sales manager (DSM) for an individually owned market off of the same franchise.

Things were looking promising again, but the pay didn’t pan out to be very good. I became pregnant with my youngest son and had some complications so I quit work and I’ve been home with the youngins since then. Continue reading