I May Need a 12 Step Program

Hi. My name is Dawn. I'm addicted to Target. It's been four hours since my last shopping trip. I went to Target for folders, and laundry detergent. But it didn't end there. Oh no. I just couldn't get enough. Pushing my cart down the school supply and cleaning aisles didn't satisfy me. I was a woman out of control. I pushed my cart up and down the beauty aisles. I put a box of hair color in my cart. I justified the purchase, even though it wasn't on my list, with the certainty that I'd seen a stray gray hair in the mirror this morning.

But did I say "enough" and leave at that point? Oh no. I continued on to the food section. I put donuts (for the kids), cookies (for the kids), waffles (for the kids), and wine (for me!) in my cart. But I still wasn't satisfied. I continued to push my cart up and down aisles, perusing everything the store had to offer.

I overheard another customer asked their companion, "Where is the dog food in this store?" Without a second thought, I piped up, "Walk down five aisles and turn left. It's right there." Yes, my problem is really that bad. I admit it; I know where the dog food is despite the fact that I don't have a dog. I'm ashamed to admit that I know where everything is in the store.

I grabbed a package of batteries, some cranberry juice, a cute shirt for Brooklyn, socks for Austin, diaper wipes, mascara, paper towels, dish soap, and a new window shade to replace the one that the boys managed to shred even though they amazingly never touched it. I spent an hour looking at purses and shoes and nightgowns. I was out of control, grabbing things from shelves, throwing them in my cart, and going back for more.

I think I hit rock bottom when I stopped at the greeting cards and spent a good twenty minutes reading cards and laughing to myself. I was hopped up on shopping (without kids, no less) and was acting completely giddy.

Target, you lure me in with your inexpensive Up&Up brand. I head to the store when I need toilet paper and laundry detergent and garbage bags. But I never leave with only the items on my list. No, the pull of your brightly lit aisles full of stuff I absolutely need, brings me to my knees every time. I am powerless when it comes to you, oh store with the red bull's eye.

Oh well, the first step is admitting you have a problem. I'll get to the other steps later; I just remembered I need to go back tomorrow to get a new furnace filter and some lip gloss.

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When Life Hands You Lemons...

I was talking to some parents and coaches tonight at Jackson's football practice. (He's got a great group of coaches! These guys are all about teaching the boys and not yelling like psychopaths. Believe me, I've seen a few of those. I thought this one dad was seriously going to have heart failure on the field a couple weeks ago. I passed him a drink and my Frankie Goes to Hollywood shirt, then scanned the field house for the AED, you know, just in case he didn't RELAX.) Anyway, I was talking to this coach tonight and it came out that I have six kids. After I explained that I was done (I always feel the need to tell people I'm done lest they think I'm competing with the Duggars or something), he said, "It must be nice to have teens to babysit for you."

I went on and on about how much easier it is now with six kids than it was when I had three or four because I DO have teens who help me out a lot. I bragged about how my oldest two are awesome and many nights, will clean up the dinner dishes and get the little ones to bed while I pick up the middle ones from the football field. Oh yeah, clearly it's my stellar parenting that has given my oldest kids the skills and the desire to be such productive members of my family.

I drove home while patting myself on the back. I am an awesome parent after all. As I turned the corner to my house, I saw my little kids, half-naked, riding scooters down the driveway into the street. It was past their bedtime at 8:30 at night. It was dark. One was wearing only pants. One was wearing a bathing suit and cowboy boots.

When I walked inside and yelled at inquired of Austin and Savannah as to why the kids weren't in bed, they responded with, "Oh, I didn't know you wanted us to make them go to bed."

I'm going to the football field, I'll be back soon, watch Brooklyn and Clay was apparently, not specific enough tonight.

Know why the little kids were still outside? They were trying to drum up traffic for their lemonade stand. My little entrepreneurs set up a lemonade stand on Saturday and made over $8! Yep. They had such a great time, they set it up again yesterday and made a couple more dollars. Today, they opened franchises in Dallas, New York, and Baton Rouge. Tomorrow, they're adding granola bars to the menu. I may be able to retire sooner than I thought!

The One with All the Pee

In accordance with my divorce agreement, I needed to get life insurance. So, I called around and signed up for a plan two weeks ago. They sent a nurse to my house at 9:30 this morning, to check my blood pressure, ask me a few more questions, weigh me (Grrr!), and get some blood and urine specimens. My blood pressure was 100/58. She took it four times to be sure. "Yes, I know I'm fat, but I have low pressure, okay!" Then she took some blood. No problem. Then she gave me a cup and asked me to pee. Well, I'd just gone before she got there, but again, I can pretty much pee anytime, so I took the cup and went to the bathroom. Meanwhile, Brooklyn was babbling on about Dora to this nurse who was humoring her. I returned with the cup. She looked at it and said, "That's not enough."

"What do you mean, that's not enough? I just peed before you got here! It's impressive I was able to come up with that much!" I protested.

"I need you to fill it to this line," she said, indicating the five gallon mark.

I turned on my heel and headed toward the kitchen where I filled a big cup with water. I chugged it down, then refilled it. I chugged that one down and refilled it again. Then I sat down to wait while sipping the third cup.

She urged me to try again. Okay, now I don't know how any of your systems work, but generally it takes more than thirty seconds for the water I drink to turn to pee. Still, I got up and tried again. Not a drip.

This happened five times! I drank water, waited a bit, tried to pee, came back empty-handed, and did it all over again. FIVE TIMES! Meanwhile, Brooklyn has told this woman everything, anyone has ever needed to know about Dora, including the fact that she has big brown eyes just like her. Repeatedly.

The nurse suggested I drink some coffee. I made a cup and gave it a try. After another twenty minutes, the coffee had run right through me and not in the urine kinda way. Yeah. But, after another fifteen minutes, I was finally able to pee. This was at 11:00 this morning. I haven't stopped peeing since.

And my fun continued this afternoon. Last week, when I was at the OBGYN, I was due for a lovely pap (because I've been on the 3 month plan, thanks to an abnormal one a way back.) Unfortunately, the doctor wouldn't do it then because I'd been seeing the nurse practitioner and apparently they don't like to stick their hands in each other's business. Literally. LOL! Ah, I just crack myself up. So I had to make yet another appointment with the NP. I scheduled it for today while the kids were in school. Brooklyn isn't in school yet. Oops, that was an oversight. Oh well, I dragged her along. Being the smart, savvy mom that I am, I brought a brand new toy to occupy Brooklyn so she wouldn't be tempted to peek around the table to see what the doctor was doing and therefor, be scarred for life. Yep, I was prepared.

So B and I walk into a room where a nurse asks me the same questions as last week. I give her different answers, you know, just to change things up a bit.
"Do you smoke?"
"Only when I'm on fire."
"Huh? Oh, I get it. What are you using for birth control?"
"Antibiotics."
"Huh? Antibiotics aren't birth control."
"Oh, so that's why I have six kids!"
"You have three girls and three boys?"
"Yes, and two frogs and one turtle and thirty-two shirts and twenty-four pairs of shoes..."
"Okay, Mrs. Meehan, why don't you just get undressed from the waist down and have a seat on the table," she said, exasperated, as she walked out.

So, quick as a flash, I rip off my pants and undies in one fluid motion while Brooklyn was busy playing with her new Mix Pups. I hopped onto the table and pulled my paper blanket around me. However, I wasn't quick enough. Brooklyn loudly announced, "I can see your butt, Mom!" as she pointed at my exposed derriere. Thankfully, she's only four and is easily distracted. "Oh, look at your puppy! What a cute skirt it's wearing!"

About three and a half seconds later, Brooklyn suddenly stood straight up and grabbed herself while shifting her weight from foot to foot. "Mama...."

"Let me guess. You have to go to the bathroom."

"Really bad! I have to go NOW!" she exclaimed as she added some bouncing up and down to the weight shifting, making it an official Pee Pee Dance.

"Well, of course you have to go - NOW THAT I'M NAKED. Ugh." I thought to myself, What to do, what to do. If I quickly change back into my clothes, the doctor is bound to come in mid-change and see the underwear that I've carefully hidden in my pants! She can see my cervix, but not my panties. If I wait, it could be another twenty minutes before the doctor comes in and then it'll be too late and she'll have peed on the floor. Hmmm, maybe I could blame it on her new puppy toys... I quickly discarded those ideas. I suppose I could wrap my paper blanket around me and walk into the hallway half-naked to show her where the bathroom is.
Nah, I don't need anyone else thinking I'm a total freak.

"Honey, can't you hold it?" I pleaded with B. By this time, she was prancing around the entire room, hopping from foot to foot and trying to hold it in with her hand strategically placed on her Chinese Recipe.

"Nooooo," she whined. "I really need to goooooo."

How wrong would it be to let her pee in the sink? I thought to myself. Oh yeah, that'd look great if the doctor walked in as I'm standing there half-naked, holding my child over the sink to pee.

I opted to open the door and hope for a nurse to pass by so I could ask her to show Brooklyn where the bathroom was. So what if the door's open and someone walks by and sees my butt, right? It's just a butt. Everyone has one, right? I figured no men were going to be walking by in an OBGYN's office anyway. (I didn't consider the idea of husbands coming with their wives to hear their baby's heartbeat.) Ahem.

Anyway, after a little embarrassment, a nurse did walk past and upon seeing Brooklyn's Pee Pee Dance, asked if she could show her to the bathroom. Phew! Crisis averted.

And because I'm extra-lucky, when the NP walked in, she had a student with her. Yay! Is there anyone in any medical facility who hasn't seen my hoo-ha yet? Maybe I should start selling tickets or something.

Anyway, B returned from the potty, much relieved, the NP was super-speedy, and B never even noticed what was going on "down there". And now I've graduated to the six month plan.

Dear, whoever it may concern,

I do not need any more blog material of a medical nature. Thank you.

Love,
Dawn

They're Back!

Today was the first day of school! After dropping the last two kids off, I came home, gathered Brooklyn in my arms and did a little conga line through the house. Yes, they're back at school NOW! Yes, they're back at school NOW! Cha-cha cha-cha cha CHA! I threw my head back and laughed maniacally. Until I noticed Brooklyn backing away from me warily, that is.

I had all these grand plans for today! Get a pedicure, meet a friend for lunch, clean my entire house, paint the family room, get all the buckets of pictures into albums, go through email, work on my book, do some yardwork, pressure wash the exterior, replace the broken window, reshingle my garage roof. You know what I ended up doing? I put a movie on for Brooklyn and cuddled up next to her in my bed and fell asleep. I feel like such a slouch, but I just don't have the energy to do much of anything yet. I try. I really do! I try, but I wear out so fast. I hate feeling like this! I can't wait to get my house back in order and it's killing me that I still feel so yucky. I mean, the pain is so much better now, but my digestive system is shot from the diverticulitis and the antibiotics. I think I need a couple more days of light cleaning and laundry before I'll be able to delve into more intense projects.

I did manage to make my kids their "Back to School Cookie" though.




The older two weren't keen on sharing pictures this time around. They have this need to approve them before I post them. Teenagers! But here's Jax, ready for junior high.


And Lex and Clay being goofballs...



What I should have taken a picture of is the amount of papers I got from ONE day at school. Six kids plus four different schools equals an entire forest worth of paper each month! I don't know how I'm going to keep up with everything by myself this year. I'm not exactly organized. My friends are probably rolling their eyes at that statement because they've seen my desk! Oh well.

Savannah is excited about her Italian class where her name is now Giovanna. Austin's excited about his Japanese class and graphic art class. Jackson and Lexi are just excited to be back at school with their friends. And Clay is excited to eat lunch at school this year. Speaking of lunch... at about 10:00 last night, I realized I needed to make school lunches! Duh! So I ran up to the store. My kids usually either buy or make their own lunches, but I wanted them to be special for the first day. So I bought some Hershey's Hugs and Kisses to put in each of their lunchboxes. I knew they'd think I was a huge dork for doing it. But I figured they'd get over it. I mean, it was chocolate after all.

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IT'S TIME FOR SCHOOL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I love my kids. I don't think anyone would disagree with that. I love them more than anything. They're the most important people in my life. But when August rolls around, they need to GET OUT OF THE HOUSE! My home is in a constant state of disarray (that's a nice way of saying that it looks like the aftermath of an F5 tornado). And the fighting! Ohmygosh, the fighting! They're at each other's throats all day long. I finally locked them outside told them to go outside and kill each other play so I wouldn't have to clean the blood off the carpet hear them anymore. That was all fine and dandy until I realized they'd flooded the yard with the garden hose. I apologize to my neighbors for the river running through your backyard. Hey, look at it this way, you just had your lawn watered without an increase to your water bill. Yay! Sorry (looking down apologetically). I couldn't even get mad at them for flooding the backyard because I'd told them to go outside and play and well, they were playing outside. I didn't specifically tell them not to turn the neighbor's lawn into in a marsh.

After I kicked Jackson outside because of his belligerent mouth, he decided to make a ramp out of scraps of wood. He used his scooter to go up and down these ramps. Here's an old video of him doing something similar.



Now, I love my sons, don't get me wrong. But really? Really??? Boys come up with the dumbest ideas! And not only do they think of stupid things to do, but they don't learn from them! They don't say, "Hmmm, that was a bad idea. I won't do that again." Nope. Instead, they think, "Hmmm, how can I make it more dangerous the next time?" There's always a "next time" with boys. Meanwhile, my daughters and their friends look on in amazement. They're not amazed that my son has managed some fantastic feat, oh no. They're amazed at how seemingly stupid the boys are.

What is it about the male brain? Do they have no concept of danger? Do they just not realize that they're most likely going to be injured? Or do they just not care because any amount of injury or punishment is worth the momentary thrill of flying through the air? I will seriously never understand the male brain. I guess I'll just have to thank them for keeping us females entertained and dumbfounded at the extent of their ummm, daring.

And, in the meantime, there are thirty-two hours and twelve minutes until my house can be cleaned and stay clean for more than twenty seconds, and the kids have some structure back in their lives! Not that I'm counting or anything.

Sunday Sound Out

From Chicago, the land before time, it's your host, the woman who sat through her son's first, 12 hour, football game while keeling over in pain and completely clueless as to what was going on, Dawn Meehan.

I want to take a minute to thank everyone for their prayers and well-wishes this week. The pain from the diverticulitis is much, much better now. The nausea and dizziness from the meds and the clear liquid diet are still in full force. And I'm really, really not looking forward to surgery. If I told you the reason why, you'd probably roll your eyes at me. I'm not scared of the surgery itself, nor am I scared of pain. I can handle pain. It's the anesthesia. Anesthesia makes me throw up. Every. Single. Time. I beg the anesthesiologist to help me. I warn him that I'm going to vomit upon waking. He assures me that he'll load me up with anti-nausea meds and I'll be fine. Then upon waking, when I'm retching from the tips of my toes, and barfing up my spleen, he'll walk by and say, "Wow, you weren't kidding! Huh! How 'bout that? I've never seen anyone put their digestive system in reverse quite like that before." It'll go on for hours. It's horrible. If they could do the surgery with just an epidural, I'd be a happy camper.

But anyway, I really want to say thank you! Thank you so much for all your prayers and good thoughts! It means the world to me! :) And thank you so much to my parents and my real life friends. You guys are awesome! My friend, Julie called and asked me if she could pick up anything from the store for me. I said, "Maybe some Jello." She came by with $300 worth of groceries! Ginny and Doreen were right there, offering to take my kids to football and cheer and help out in any way they could. Thank you!!!

Newsletter? How do we sign up for your newsletter?
Just scroll down my blog, and towards the bottom on the left side, you'll see a blue box that reads, "Get Book News & Updates from Dawn!" Just put in your name and email address and voila, you'll get my newsletter!

Those notes you wrote are so darn funny ! I used to analize dreams but I just can't figure this one out. LOLJust what were you drinking !?!
Rum and cranberry juice. See, the juice offsets the rum. That's my theory. I'm sticking to it.

So is that who's visiting your blog right now really right? Iceland?! Are you kiddin' me? Europe? Those red things are hypnotic?
Yeah, if you've never scrolled to the bottom of my blog, you probably have no clue what this is about. I have a map at the very bottom of the blog and it shows, in real time, who's visiting my blog. Check it out. I have visitors from 107 countries. I didn't even know there WERE 107 countries! No one from Greenland has checked it out though. There's gotta be a scientist or two living in that frozen land, don't you think? I think they'd like to read about the goofy things my kids do. But I'm not going to get obsessed about it like Que!

I love walking into a Lowes or Home Depot. Just the smell of lumber makes me feel good. Does that mean that I have to turn in my "girl card?"
Yes, it does! I had to stop at Home Depot today to pick up the replacement window I ordered a couple weeks ago. The first thing I said when I walked in, is "This place smells disgusting!" Now, take Babies R Us - I LOVE that store! I don't even have any babies, but I could still get lost in that store for hours and it smells good in there! Like baby powder!

My problem with Home Depot is that the (male) employees treat all women like idiots.
But see, I AM an idiot! At least when it comes to tools and fixing stuff and guy stuff. And you know what? I'm okay with that. I have no desire to learn. I like being in the kitchen and doing "girl stuff". I'm perfectly fine with letting a knight in shining armor take care of that stuff while I sit back and admire him. Hey, it's my fantasy! I can pretend such men exist.

Did they clarify if Rum is NOT a preferred liquid for the next 48 hours?
Sadly, yes. Apparently, if I have any traces of alcohol with these antibiotics, it will induce pain and vomiting of exorcist proportions (not to mention that fact that I couldn't begin to stomach the stuff right now.) You guys can have a drink in my honor though. :)

Is there a post office box where we can send you cards? That is such a simple but uplifting thing - nice for you to receive and feel the love and support and we (the readers) feel like we can do something positive for you.
Awww, that's so sweet. I do have a PO box. It's -
Dawn Meehan
836 S. Arlington Heights Rd.
#230
Elk Grove Village, IL 60007

Why do we all hide our underwear in our clothes when we go to those appointments?
Hee hee! I talk all about that in my new book. You guys can pre-order it HERE. Come on, you know you want to. (Really, I'm not just saying that because I have insane insurance premiums and medical bills to pay.)

However, I can't believe it'll take another 6 - 8 weeks for the diverticulitis to clear up! Not on a liquid diet that whole time I hope!?!?
I hope not either. I'm still doing clear liquids now, but I've added half a piece of bread when I take my pills to help my stomach. On the bright side, I've lost 11 pounds so far... I could probably live off my fat for another six months and be perfectly fine. Well, except for the fact that I have no energy to do more than shower every day.

The Word is BENIGN!

I'm still too nauseous and dizzy to drive so I asked my parents to drive me to my appointment this morning. They'd already committed to babysitting my sister's kids so they split up. My mom asked my dad, "Where do you want to go?" He weighed the options - chase my sister's 3-year-old and change the baby's diapers or drive me to the doctor. So, my dad showed up to take me to the doctor which is a good thing because my dad hates mornings as much as I do. See, my mom is a morning person and if she had taken me, she would've chattered the whole way there until I wanted to jump out of the car. My dad, on the other hand, knows that no person should ever talk in the morning.

So I went in the room and the nurse asked me a bunch of questions like, "Why are you here?" And the ever-popular, "What's the date of your last menstrual period?" Then she said, "And you have three girls and three boys? I see your husband had a vasectomy." I quickly told her, "I'm divorced." Then she asked, "So what are you doing for birth control?" I looked at her. "Ummm, I'm using the fact that I'm divorced and have six kids as birth control. It's working like a charm."
She had me strip from the waist down. I carefully hid my underwear in my jeans and took a seat up on the table with my plush paper blanket arranged around my bare butt so when the doctor walked in, she wouldn't know that I was half-naked.

The doctor walked in, chatted with me, then took a look at the hospital report with the CT findings which had been faxed over. Honestly, I don't even remember what exactly she said. All I heard was the word "benign". I wanted to breathe a sigh of relief, but instead, I drilled her. "How do you know it's benign? Did the report say that? Are you sure? Don't you need to do some tests or something? But are you sure? How are you sure?"

She told me it was an ugly tumor called a benign cystic teratoma. She said, "It's a really strange, ugly tumor. It has hair and teeth."

I kind of laughed because I thought that was just an expression - it has hair and teeth. You know, a way of saying it's ugly. Nope. It has hair and teeth. She showed me a picture. I gagged. I have an alien tumor in my body! Sooo sick! I kept thinking of the scene in My Big Fat Greek Wedding when Aunt Voula says, "Now, you are family. Okay. All my life, I had a lump at the back of my neck, right here. Always, a lump. Then I started menopause and the lump got bigger from the "hormonees." It started to grow. So I go to the doctor, and he did the bio... the b... the... the bios... the... b... the "bobopsy." Inside the lump he found teeth and a spinal cord. Yes. Inside the lump was my twin."

So, I get to have surgery to have my ovary and the alien tumor removed. I won't be scheduling the surgery until the diverticulitis is all cleared up (another 6-8 weeks).

She never did do an exam, so basically I just sat there, chatting with the doctor while half-naked for no apparent reason. Yeah.

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Something You Never Want to Hear

Yesterday, I called my regular doctor to make an appointment because Doogie told me to follow-up with my primary doc in 48 hours. The nurse took a message and called me back a couple hours later. "The doctor doesn't want to see you until the week after next. The diverticulitis will take some time to heal and there's nothing he can do now."

"Okay. Um, am I supposed to stay on a clear liquid diet for another two weeks? Because I don't think I can get by on a couple 10 calorie Jello cups a day for the next two weeks. And these antibiotics are making me feel like crap. I'm dizzy and nauseous all day long." I'd take four times the pain to get rid of this debilitating nausea. Seriously, I can handle pain. I can't take this dizzy puking feeling though.

She told me that I had to let my intestines heal and had to stay on a clear liquid diet. I lost it and started crying and begging. I offered her $100 if she'd let me have a piece of bread. My whining broke her down and she finally relented and said I could add some soft, plain, bland, easily-digestible foods when my pain subsides.

Then she continued with, "The doctor isn't too concerned about the diverticulitis. That will get better. Did they tell you in the ER that the CT scan showed a large mass on your ovary?"

"MeanNurseWhoWon'tLetMeEatSayWhat?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!"

"Yes. The doctor is much more concerned with that. You need to make an appointment with your gyno right away. This week if at all possible."

I was floored. That's not something you ever want to hear - found a large mass. It wasn't just the news that floored me, but the fact that they never even mentioned it in the ER! What the heck?!

That may be the scariest thing I've ever been told. After I broke down crying, I pulled myself together and thought how cool it was that I got the diverticulitis in the first place or I never would've had a CT scan and wouldn't even know about the mass. Okay, so maybe I didn't really think it was cool, but it is pretty awesome how things happen sometimes, ya know? The first sentence in my book Because I Said So is "I believe things happen for a reason."

I've been strangely at peace about the whole thing. I know that worrying does nothing to help any situation. It will either be nothing serious at all or it'll be something unthinkable. But either way, me freaking out about it and being scared won't change anything. And besides, I've got God and family and friends (both in real life and virtual) who are right beside me.

So, I have an appointment tomorrow morning. I can't even drive myself there because the dizziness and nausea are really that bad. I hope I don't throw up on my doctor.

Don't Fret the Sweat!

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Don't Fret the Sweat!

I Bet Doogie's on Team Edward

So, my divorce was final on Tuesday. I lost my insurance on Tuesday. I can't afford Cobra coverage and was going to start making phone calls for a cheap, high deductible plan that would at least cover hospitalizations and/or surgery. However, Murphy's Law came into play before I obtained insurance. On Friday, I started having some pretty horrific pain in my abdomen. But I've got six kids to care for and no insurance, so I dealt with it and thought - Eh, it'll be better tomorrow. I woke up Saturday and my tummy wasn't better. It was worse, in fact. I walked around, doubled over in pain as I cleaned up, made dinner, drove the kids here and there. I lay awake all night, crying on Saturday because it hurt so bad. I would have run to the emergency room if I'd had insurance, but I just couldn't bring myself to get help when my brain was virtually adding up medical bills.

Sunday came and went much the same. Constant pain that got a little better, then worse, then better, then worse. Finally, today, I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I knew something was wrong. I called my ex's employer to check out the Cobra plan. Turns out I have until October 10th to pay the nearly $800 and I'll have retro-active coverage back to August 11. Good. I can handle one month of insurance, I decide, then I speed to my local ER.

So, I walk in, answer the basic questions, bp, temp, blah blah blah. I sit and wait. Then they tell me to pee in a cup. I'd just gone before I left the house because I'm an adult and I know to do that, unlike my kids, but thankfully, I can pee on demand (six kids and all...) (Actually, sometimes I even pee accidentally. Hmmm, I hope I remembered to write something in my pregnancy book about involuntary peeing while laughing after you've given birth to six kids. Anyway...)

So I wait. And wait. And wait. Then a guy comes along to draw my blood. Now, I don't like hospitals. And I don't like waiting. At all. I have this habit of acting goofy if I have to wait. It's either that or jump out of my skin. So, the guy's sticking the needle in my arm. I look at him and say, "So! I guess this (I pointedly eye the blood flowing from my arm to the tube) means you're on Team Edward, huh?" I don't think he got it. Or maybe (gasp!) he just didn't think I was funny. Nah, that can't be it. He just didn't get it.

Then I went back to waiting some more. After an hour and a half of waiting, they took me from the waiting room and moved me to a bed in the HALLWAY. I thought about faking a heart attack to be moved into an actual room, but decided not to since I didn't really want to be defibrillated, or you know, moved to the mental health unit.

I finally got in a room and got my standard issue hospital gown. A half an hour later, the doctor came in and introduced himself. I looked at him. I wondered when all doctors became younger than me. Then I asked, "Do you mind if I call you Doogie?" Of course, he was too young to have a clue what I was talking about, so he just gave me a puzzled, awkward look and started asking me questions.

"Where's your pain? When did it start? On a scale of 1-10, what's the pain like now? Do you have any other symptoms? Fever? Nausea? Blah blah blah.... What's the date of your last menstrual period?"

Okay, so I know I only have like two male readers, but it's time for you to leave the room now. Really. Close your eyes, stick your fingers in your ears and say, "LA LA LA LA LA LA LA" as loudly as you can. Trust me. You'll thank me later.

Okay, so I tell him, "Today." You know, because I'm just lucky like that. Then I gave him a look that said, "I swear I will hit you over the head with this bedpan if you tell me what I'm experiencing is menstrual cramps. I'm FORTY! I've had like 300 periods! I KNOW what it feels like!" To his credit, he didn't blame my pain on cramps. Still, after pushing on my abdomen and watching me wince in pain, he decides I need a pelvic exam. Lovely. As if those aren't bad enough, I get to have one in a curtained room by a cute young doctor while I have my period. Score!

Still, I've given birth to six kids. Modesty is kind of a thing of the past. So, I prop my butt up on a bedpan (yep, they've got a fancy set-up there in the ER) while Doogie puts the jack in and cranks it open. Now, I KNOW I wrote a whole section about pap smears in my new book! So, I'll just tell you this - I tend to ramble on and make stupid jokes when in this embarrassing position. So, I glanced at this poster on the wall...


and asked, "Sooo, how do I become an official member of the Clean Hands Club? Are there dues? Secret handshakes? Oh no, I guess there probably aren't any handshakes at all in that club. Unless you use hand sanitizer, that is. Do you get a free sample of hand sanitizer for joining?"

This is the point, he decided I was mentally, uh, challenged.

But did I stop there and just shut up? Oh no! I started telling him kid jokes. "What's the difference between roast beef and pea soup? Anyone can roast beef!"

"Whatcha eating under there?" The correct response to that joke is "Under where?" Underwear! Get it? Under where, underwear. Much hilarity ensues when my kids tell that joke. However, in hindsight, that was a really bad joke with really bad timing. Ahem. Doogie ran out of the room as soon as he was done. I thought to myself - Oh well, at least I have blog material.

Next on the agenda was a CT scan. I lay there and listened to the instructions. "Take a deep breath. Now hold your breath. Now breathe." I did that a couple times. But the final time lasted like 20 minutes. I couldn't hold my breath that long. I got dizzy. There was almost a code blue right there in the CT room. I finally breathed and hoped they wouldn't yell at me for it.

Back to my room to wait. And wait. And wait. And meanwhile, I'm getting a raging headache because I haven't eaten all day. I was finally able to flag someone down and ask for pain relief for my headache, but they never did give me anything. Anyway, Doogie came back and told me I had diverticulitis. I didn't know what that was, but I was pretty sure it was an "old person's" disease. In my head, I could just hear a couple of grandmas sitting around complaining about their bunions, arthritis and diverticulitis.

Long story short. Or well, long story not quite as long as I could make it - he wanted to keep me in the hospital overnight on IV antibiotics, but I played the "I have six kids at home" card and after consulting with my primary doctor, decided to let me go home. I have to take two antibiotics that cost me $350! Yikes! And I have to go 48 more hours without eating. I can have clear liquids. Yum. And I have to rest. Yeah right! Snort! Sure, I'll rest with six kids at home. That's a good one!

I meet with my regular doctor in two days and hope that I don't need surgery. So, that was my fun-filled day at the ER.

The Scariest Place on Earth

I walked into the bowels of Home Depot the other day. That store scares me. I mean, it really scares me. Give me a store like Sephora and I'm at home. Or most clothing stores. I can get lost in Hobby Lobby. I can walk into a Victoria's Secret and do just fine. Oh wait, actually scratch that. Once upon a time, I could have walked into a Victoria's Secret and been just fine. Not anymore. I know Victoria's secret - their sizes only go up to a cute little petite D cup bra and size 5 panties. And the pictures of the models on the walls make me want to slap them (after feeding them hot fudge sundaes, that is.) Depressing. But not scary.

Home Depot, however, is scary. I don't know where anything is. I don't know what anything is. Home Depot people, if you're listening, you need to have a Clueless Female section with cute little pink tools and hot guys with trays of iced mochas and mineral water for us. You can have some comfy seating and while we rest our feet and sip our beverages, the hot guys with the tool belts (heh heh, I just had a visual) can show us the cute pink tools and tell us what they are and how to use them. Or, better yet, they can just offer to come over and fix stuff for us. I know I, for one, would find shopping there less scary in that scenario.

But as it is now, I walk in and freak out over the 800 foot ceilings and the orange aprons and the aisles of foreign looking items. A young worker-guy saw me standing there, drooling (not because I was so overcome with excitement over the power tools, but because my brain had simply shut down when faced the array of drill-looking things) and asked, "Ummm, can I help you, Ma'am? Please? Hello?"

First off, I don't like being called "Ma'am". I mean, this isn't Georgia, people! This isn't just a polite thing that people say around these here parts. "Ma'am" to me, means "Old Lady". (Actually, this really has nothing to do with the story. Just forget the whole Ma'am thing.)

So, this guy is looking at me like I'm a complete simpleton. And he's right. At least, as far as tools go. I answered him, "Um yeah, I need, um, some sort of tool thingy for drilling. Like a drill. Or something. You know, to drill stuff."

"Okay.... so you want a drill. What are you going to be drilling?"

"Oh, you know, stuff." At the blank look on his face, I expounded. "Like I might drill a hole in a wall for a picture frame. Or use it to fill my cavity to save on dental bills."

I think I may have freaked him out with that last sentence. Hey, at least I didn't say I was planning on using it for do-it-yourself lobotomies on my enemies.

He asked some more questions to get a better idea of my drilling needs. "Will you be drilling into concrete? How much power do you need? Do you want a cordless drill? Will you be using it for long periods of time?"

"Ummm, do you have anything in pink?"

He repeated his questions again. Slowly.

"Listen, I'm recently divorced so I'm new to this whole home improvement thing. I just need something to hang a paper towel holder from my cabinet. I might want to hang a picture frame some day. I may even have to use it to fix the shelves in my closet. But I'm not going to build a rocking chair or a swingset or a house. I want something small and cheap, but a little more powerful than my fingernail, a butterknife, or my shoe, ok?"

If this guy thought it was tough dealing with me, he should've seen me there last week with the youngest four kids running around like rabid squirrels, touching everything, jumping up onto stacks of wood, and checking out the toilet display. Yeah.

Moving On

Those of you who have friended me on Facebook know that my divorce was final on the 10th. A year and a half after I'd originally filed. People weren't sure whether to offer congratulations or condolences. I assure you, in this case, congratulations are in order. A minute after I changed my Facebook status to single, Austin clicked the like button and wrote, "Yay!"

Joe hasn't bothered to see or talk to the kids all summer, but after I got home from court, he called Lexi and Jackson out of nowhere. According to Lexi, he told her that he and I were officially divorced and that he probably won't ever see her again. Nice, huh? He hasn't spent time with them (outside of school) since Christmas eve and he calls, not to ask them how they are, but to discuss the details of the divorce that the little ones don't need to know. After he talked to Jackson, Jackson told me, "I think you should start dating, Mom."

I'm not about to go down that road right now, but it makes me feel good that the kids are okay with the idea. They're okay with moving on. Maybe someday I'll be okay with it too, but after being lied to continuously for twenty years, I cannot imagine having the ability to trust anyone. I always think that people are lying to me. I constantly fact-check. I may be nodding in agreement, but in the back of my mind, I'm trying to add up the facts to see if their statement holds water. I do it with everyone - strangers, family, friends, everyone. It's not even a conscious thing. I don't know how to explain it. It's just an automatic, unconscious response.

My good friends know me and know why I question things. They get it and don't take it personally. Other people get hurt. The thought of meeting someone new and starting a relationship, believing this new person is lying, questioning their motives and everything they say or do is not a good way to begin a relationship. And until I figure out how to dump some of my baggage and trust people again, I can't even think about dating. And, believe me, I have a lot of baggage. It's not just the lying. It's so many things that have slowly chipped away at my self esteem over the years, leaving me believing that I'm not worth anyone's love or respect.

So, in the end, I'm divorced. My kids are adjusting and doing as well as can be expected considering their dad has abandoned them. You may certainly offer me your congratulations as opposed to condolences as I'm beyond the sadness of divorce. I have a joy that comes from above and a new found happiness that comes from learning to love myself. Now to work on my issues so that I may be able to have a healthy relationship some day and be a good example to my kids.