Armful of Options & Ownership

grouch dayWithin a week of each other, both twins have been down for the count.

When I mean down, I really mean “up”: steam cleaning carpets at 10:30 p.m. kind of up. Up mopping vomit off of your feet, your child, the toilet, the walls, the sheetsthebedthefloors until 11:30 p.m.

Right after you’ve taken two Robax Platinum because the knot under your shoulder blade feels like someone has impaled you with an iron spear. That is on fire. With Napalm.

Right after your husband sits straight up in bed with stomach pains and cannot muster any energy whatsoever to help out, because…given the amount of wretching I was doing, myself, prolly wasn’t such a great idea, anyway.

That was Thing 1.

Thing 2 was more fortunate in that the Big Red Bowl was still beside his brothers bed, so helped himself to a good spewing first thing this morning.

Because? Because Mr. Cosmos is an Asshat (not to be confused with the Cosmos…which is the good one). I know this to be true, because only after a 40 minute evening doctor’s appointment last night did I need to have another man down.

wearyIt was such a loaded appointment, I’m going back in two weeks to get a further update and continue where we left off.

Where were we, exactly?

1. My lungs are getting shittier and now I’m on a daily steroid. Awesome. #suckit

2. I’m going to go see an allergist to determine if, possibly, any systemic and chronic histamine reaction is augmenting my inflammatory response and, hence, levels of tissue and cellular damage of my heart and kidneys.

3. I’m being referred to a psychologist in the hopes that I can fully commit to finding a level of comfortable understanding with the people who can’t own their shit within the context of the chaos of my reality because…to put it quite simply: The autoimmune chick with the compromised cellular activity is doing more than the ones that should be contributing the assistance within the context of this reality by doing all of the things *they* should be doing regardless of the circumstances while still “Do.”ing all of the Everything.

Put even more simply: They’re being lapped by a dying chick.

That goes way beyond the scope of bubble wrap.

True story.

4. I’m beginning an anti-anxiety/anti-depressant to help with The Everything. If nothing changes no matter the diagnosis… #letstalk

5. Prescription to help me sleep. I f\m/king *loathe* taking pills, and, to date, have managed quite awesomely at avoiding them at all possible. Well, that…and the fact that most of the things I need/want/could take simply have too many “cons” more than “pros” and…well…could also cease cellular activity.

6. More blood glucose testing again!! YAY!!! #notfuckingreally Why? “I thought you were doing so well…” Because that’s the nature of diabetes, people. You do NOT have ALL of the control. It’s not just what I eat or how I exercise…it’s my organ, my pancreas, being in “semi-retirement”…thus, I can’t make the part(s) that doesn’t work actually function again. Dammit, Jim…I’m a badass, not a doctor…

A systemic autoimmune disease will remind you of your lack of control immediately upon believing you had any to begin with.

So, I picked up my new VerioIQ meter today, because I like new shit. Specifically, I like new shit that I don’t have to pay for because you get the meter for free if you buy the test strips…and if you get a prescription for the test strips you only pay the co-pay. In my case, I paid a whopping $17. Ish. I can’t friggin remember because of the number of prescriptions I laid out today.

7. More bloodwork. Can’t do it yet. Sick kids.

*evilstabbyglareatMrCosmos* 

Next visit is pain management therapy. Do you know why?

Because it hurts. 

Everywhere, Everything, all of the time.

No, Tylenol doesn’t work. Neither does eating a metric ton of [insert superfood fad here]. And? It’s making me stabby. I continually “Do.”…but I sure as shit continually “Don’t” want to be feeling like this for the rest of whatever clock I have tick-tocking.

What else? We’re putting a pin in the chemotherapy infusion option for the moment. I can’t even process that one.

Can’t. Even.

Thus, I came home with an armful of prescription sheets, medications and attitude at 8:45 p.m.

I knew there would be a time where I needed to concede to my body giving me a rather emphatic *middle finger salute*…and that time, clearly, is now.

And? And, I will keep “Do.”ing. Like usual. Like always.

I will adapt, I will modify, I will try and I will continue. I make no guarantees that there won’t be cussing and a few mocha-choco-vodka-valium-lattes to-go during the journey. Just sayin’.

Because, seriously…I’ve got some wicked cool news coming up next…

…it’s all about the balance. ;)

Believe.

Do.

Repeat.

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