Protective

Cody never ceases to amaze me. He's a great kid. He's a teenager... don't get me wrong, sometimes he makes me want to bang my own head against the wall in hopes of seeing what he sees as logic, but overall, excellent human being. I should know. I helped God make him that way. ;)

But a few days ago, when we were at the mall getting our pictures done, he just took the cake. Let me give you a taste of the big story first... an aperitif, if you will.

About a month ago, he went with me to Walmart to do a little shopping. I chose to use the stroller that day, since it was super cold and I didn't want little hands all over shopping carts. We'd finished our shopping, and Cody was holding our bags while I pushed the stroller to the exit. I turned to him and said, "Want to wait here while I go get the car?" He shook his head and said, "Mom, go." Ohhhhkay... so onward I went. As we made it to the car, he said, "Sorry, but there were a couple of guys back there that looked kinda weird. I didn't want the kids around them." Oh, my. My instincts have clearly fallen asleep or been passed to a new generation.

Fast forward to picture day at 5th Avenue Mall: We'd done our sitting, and I had promised Cody dinner and a game from Game Stop. We ate, I was sluggish because I'd made a bad food choice, and wanted to go home, but darnit, I promised Cody his game... and off to Game Stop on the first floor we went. As we exited the elevator, Cody said, "I just want to get my game and get out of here. I don't like being here with the twins." I was taken aback, and asked, incredulously, "They embarrass you??" He shook his head and said, "No, I love being out with them. Girls look at me twice as much! I just don't like them around all these people. I feel like I can't protect them well here."

And in that moment, I knew he was ALL my son. My bodyguard career has been passed down. :)

I was right... and I'm STILL the one who's gonna pay for it.

I'm so damned irritated. Now, there may be some foul language in this post, so if you have virgin ears (or eyes), close this window.

I am a well read woman. I do research as deeply as possible when it comes to my health, and that of my family's. I knew that when the time came, we'd be doing a bit of crying it out. It hurt like a sonofabitch, but in my heart, it was the right thing to do. Now, before my mother moved in with us, we didn't do a TON of it, but enough that they'd go down for naps, or go back to sleep if we went in during the night with a bottle.

After Mom moved in, my world exploded in many, many different ways. Jon received orders to Afghanistan, the twins began sleeping through the night fairly regularly, I made the momentous decision to go through with gastric bypass... it was a lot to take in! However, at some point, the twins began to pick up on all the changes and tension. They began refusing to go to sleep at night. Crying it out became an hour long process. My mother CONSTANTLY interfered, busting into their bedroom with bottles, picking them up, yelling and crying at us, etc. It was absolutely HORRIFIC. The twins recognized that she'd give in, and began pouring it on full force. I've never been so frustrated!

Not long after my surgery and their first birthday, Jon left. Great. Now I HAD to depend on her for help, and help is all she gave the twins... NOT ME. Long story short (too late), they've gone from waking once a night, MAYBE, to refusing to sleep in their room at all. Now wait... before you go off half cocked giving me advice as though I've not attempted everything under the sun, you should know I resorted to melatonin. Last night, and tonight.

Last night, Teddy slept til midnight, and Rudy til 5:45.

Tonight, they haven't been to sleep yet. Apparently, melatonin is a $7 joke to my children. I finally gave Rudy to my mother, and Cody is playing with Teddy right now so I can take a few minutes to calm down. When my mother came in to see what all the crying was about, I lost it... but only a little. I said, "THIS is what I've spent MONTHS trying to make you understand. THIS is what I've been trying to avoid for THEM." She sighed and said, "What do we do now?" I shook my head and answered, "Either go on as we are, or they're going to have to cry for HOURS, over the course of several nights, maybe even a couple of weeks. I'm sorry, but I can't take THAT much crying it out. This damage is done." She took Rudy, silently, and left.

I can't sleep at night, I don't get much rest during the day, I have obligations to my 15 year old that I don't feel is fair to put on the back burner because I need a nap, and my mother is always complaining that she is tired. I'm sure she is, but *I* am the one in the house that does the bills, the driving, and the errands. I handle the household and family situations, and I'm expected to do it all with a fucking smile on my face.

Bullshit.

I'm tired and pissed, and if anyone in this house wants a piece of me, let's dance.

Encouragement to Write

So many of my friends have encouraged me to pick up my blogging habit again, and I think I will oblige them. I'm just so tired sometimes, my brain isn't interested in thinking. The twins sometimes sleep through the night, and sometimes don't. Broken sleep makes for a confused and hollow mother.

I simply could not find my energy today. I forced myself awake and took a shower, but am quite certain I fell asleep standing up in there. I drove Cody to second service, because he serves at third service while we attend, then all go out to eat together as a family... but I came home and collapsed. I felt awful and guilty, but honestly, I was useless. My mother, who is usually a sourpuss but has recently had a change of attitude, sent me to bed with Rudy, who was just starting his nap, while she got Teddy up from his nap.

Bliss!

Unfortunately, I had a hard time waking up from that nap. Rudy was annoyed with me, as he was trying to get my attention, but I finally rolled out of bed and toddled him into the living room with my mother and Teddy. I then collapsed in the dining room where I sat until it was time to go get Cody.

Shelly Davis has encouraged me to give the twins melatonin in the evenings, but I'm unsure of it's effects. Some people say it's dangerous, while others swear to it. I'm nervous about it, but so desperate. Wouldn't brandy be safer?!?!?!

Well, I'm going to finish up my CafeWorld dishes and attempt to hit the hay. This was a weak post, but I'm a little rusty. Hang in there... I'll be back to my usual, fabulous self soon. I should copy and paste some of my old MySpace entries... those were a hoot!!!

My hospital experience.

So, it was all basically a breeze! Jon drove me to the hospital, we checked in, and very shortly afterward, they put me on a stretcher and a LOVELY nurse named Colleen hooked up my IV and did all my paperwork. I was FINE, until the doctor and anesthesiologist showed up. Gulp.

Dr. Todd was his usual, kind self. Dr. VanDamme was a sweet, funny, but reserved man. They gave me their pep talks, and then Dr. V gave me a little shot of something to relax me. I was relaxed but perfectly aware of my surroundings. I did a little stand up lying down, as I was still a bit nervous, and had everyone laughing all the way to my operating table. Once I got there, a few more chuckles and it was LIGHTS OUT.

I woke up in recovery, moaning. I was trying to say that my throat was killing me, but all that came out were moans. That's not unusual. Coming out of all that dope is tough. The nurse, an old blonde woman with glasses, said to a nurse passing by, "Oh, drama!" I was FURIOUS. What do you mean, DRAMA? As soon as I could form coherent sentences, I snapped. "I can't CONTROL it, honey. My THROAT is killing me." She put on her sweet nurse facade and explained that everything I was complaining about was normal. Bah. I ignored her til it was time to go up to my room. I could see Jon sleeping in one of the chairs as I entered the PCU wing. He opened his eyes and sat up.

That's when they turned direction and took me to ANOTHER room, just beyond it. It is, apparently, the tiniest room in the western hemisphere. We could barely get my BED in there. Odd. I could've sworn I saw empty rooms on my wheeling in, but oh well.

My room suddenly became bright, beautiful, and perfect. Why? Because of Eric. Ohhhh, Eric. My favorite nurse in the WHOLE world. Eric looked like a cross between Denzel Washington, Dijmon Hounsou, and Malik Yoba... only more chiseled. OH. My. JEEEEESUS! Seriously, the guy was so beautiful, so fine, that I wondered if the morphine wasn't messing with my sight. He was, in a word, DELICIOUS.

Of course, this same nurse got to be great buddies with my husband while lifting me up to help me to the bathroom, and lifting me off the toilet. Nice. I guess the magic is gone. I'm SURE that's why he wasn't interested in me. It was my pee.

Nevertheless, he was a great nurse. Very attentive and kind. And hawt. I mean, supportive.

He left at 8 PM and the Edie McClurg of nursing arrived, with her aide, a princess in shining armor. Pam, my nurse, just couldn't be more cheerful about ANYTHING she had to do for me, and made darned sure I didn't feel at ALL pressured to hurry if I had to pee, roll over, or just whine. She was a true doll. Happy, chipper, but not in the fake way. Very genuinely loved her job. I couldn't have asked for a kinder lady, who even made sure I had antiseptic hand towels to wash my hands when I came out of the bathroom.

With all the fluids they were pumping into me, I had to potty a lot, and at one point during the night, Emily, the aide, came in to get my vitals. I shyly asked if she could just unhook me from all my machines and I'd make my way to the potty without her, she waved her hand as though swatting a fly, unhooked me, and chatted with me all the way to the bathroom.

She asked me if I wanted her to help or if I could do it, and I swore I could. She said, "Just call me on the little red button beside the toilet when you're done, and we'll get you back into bed." So, I waited til the last possible minute to call her. She was there immediately, and had the hand towels waiting for me. OMG, the efficiency! For someone like me, that is the ULTIMATE compliment.

Anyhoo, these two angels left at 8 AM and the Hawt Angel returned, chipper and ready to get me up and walking. I was ready, too. He told me that first I'd need to go take a leak test. After much giggling on my part, he explained that it was an upper GI type test to make sure my new pouch had no leaks. He got me all settled into a wheelchair and off I went to radiology.

Jon was CONSTANTLY whining about being cold, so the nice assistant there brought him a warm blanket. *insert roll eyes* She brought me one, too, but I wasn't cold. I didn't want to hurt her feelings so I put it in my lap. The doctor came in shortly thereafter and had me stand on the x-ray type machine, and sip some awful yukky goo. It tasted like the syrup in Sprite without the fizz OR water. ICK. I only took three sips before he was happy, so it wasn't too bad.

I was bundled up into my chair, and rolled back upstairs by Pedro. As we came up to the door of my room, Jon hurried in first, since he couldn't fit once Pedro, me, and the wheelchair crossed the threshold. I leaned forward to yank the blankets off of me, and a giant spider (Daddy Long Legs variety) sat up and smiled at me. I yelled, Pedro yelled, Eric, who was coming up to us, yelled... and then we all burst into laughter. If Pedro hadn't been there, I could've watched Eric laugh exclusively, his rock hard chest rising and falling...

So anyway, they discharged me later that day.

As I got myself together, but couldn't seem to shake the sore throat. Eric said it would get MUCH better with a good cough, using my cough moose that Dr. Todd had given me. I tried, but after I'd gotten dressed and ready to go, I checked in the mirror to see if my throat was red, and gasped.

My uvula was torn.

No, not my vulva, as my sister somehow decided I said, but my UVULA. The hanging thing in the back of the throat. It was nicely RIPPED, and hanging off to one side. I ran to Eric, nearly in tears, and showed him. He told me to open my mouth (flutter, flutter), and I showed him the problem. He immediately called anesthesiologist and they sent someone. Not the doctor, but older, chubby, white Attila... I mean, woman. She was only as high as my waist, but clearly a presence.

She first began by explaining that it might FEEL like a cut, but could be just sore... until I opened my mouth to show her. She held her own, but I did detect the slight inhalation of air when she stopped mid-sentence. "Oh, I see." Yeah.

She went to call the doc, and when she came back, said that he thought I might have been a bit difficult to intubate. I asked her if that was somehow MY fault, but she just shook her head and told me it would heal within the week. I hope so. If not, and I have to come back... dammit... I want Eric.

The Angels make them giggle

You know what shocks me? Well, more amazes. Sometimes my sons will stare off into the sky or somewhere into the distance behind me, and giggle. The unreserved joy that bubbles out of them makes me want to weep. I know it's God, delighted with His creation, smiling at them. Or perhaps it's the Angels making silly faces at them.

Imagine... He knew us before we were even conceived!! We were CHOSEN. God knew my twins before I even met my husband! He certainly must love us, to have picked us out for His very own. He must have an extra special place in His heart for me and my boys. Look how they laugh! Look at their joy! What puts that kind of joy into them? The kind of joy that filled the whole body and soul???

No matter... as long as they know Him, I am happy. I'll spend the rest of my life reminding them of His love for us, and hope it will bring the same smile of joy to their faces.