Heidi's Hell Hole

Way to kick my ass, food poisoning.

Not that I had a huge weekend planned anyway, but it would've been nice to do something other than lay on the couch and DIE.

It started with some cramps Friday evening, that within a matter of an hour was full on hurling my innards out. I couldn't even hold it for the trip home, I ended up puking in the truck.

Without getting all TMI on the three of you who read this blog (and already knew), let's just say at one point it was coming out my nose, there was blood coming out of my esophagus, and my system was kicking back water. I called both my parents, utterly convinced I was just DYING.

I was up until four the in friggin' morning, and um...So was Bryan. I was bawling, "I'M DYING BRYAN, OH MAI GAWD CAN'T YOU SEEEEE?!"

Saturday I pretty much slept the whole day, since I got no sleep the night before. I didn't puke much, but then the cramping started. Holy hell, that was worse than the hurling. I could feel that coming on, and knew it would end in a minute or so. Not cramps! Hoooo no! They'd come, they'd stay for a bit, make themselves comfy (if not wholly unwelcome), and then they'd leave. The cramps felt like when I was in labor, DYING Y'ALL, and the second epidural wore off, and just in case the point wasn't made earlier: DYING. (I may be exxagerating, but I shit you not they really did feel like labor.) At that point, I was advocating going to the hospital, faking labor, and BEGGING for an epidural. (Ask Bryan if I actually asked to do that, because, I was DYING, and also wasn't entirely coherent.)

Kiera, our seventy five pound sack of loving dumbness, felt sorry for me and jumped up on the couch to cuddle me. On my stomach. While I was cramping. Doubt she'll be making that mistake again.

When I was in the throes of the cramps I briefly considered pushing. (Remember, not coherent.) In a moment of lucidity, it occured to me that when you push, things come out. There's only one thing to push out and I didn't have the strength to get up and shuffle my DYING ass to the bathroom. I didn't push. Bryan is grateful.

I'm better now. I'm no longer DYING. I'm back to my bitchy ole self again.

Dear Assesor,

Thank you for not listening to a damn thing I had to say. Every time I would try and point something out or say something helpful, I was poo-pooed. "We're the professionals, we know what we're doing." That little statement made me doubt everything I'd ever done as a Mother, and everything I'd done to help her speech along.

You gave me the results and tore my world apart. Four months?! I was crushed, and I was angry at the world. I was so mad that someone had dared to tell me my baby girl, my heart, my soul, my world, my EVERYTHING was anything less than perfect. But at the same time, I thought to myself that I was justified, that something was wrong. Anyone who dared contradict me brought my full wrath upon them. I even wrote into my favorite advice column, Alpha Mom, twice about it! I feel like I need to write in and apologize, "Sorry, false alarm! I'm a jackass! Thanks for publishing my questions, and having people respond! Love your blogs, though!"

For three weeks we waited for the second appointment. Three very long, very torturous weeks. Three weeks of living in a self-created hell. I doubted everything I'd ever done when I was pregnant, in labor, or as a parent. Was it because I drank coffee when I was pregnant? Was it the two epidurals? Did I not work with her enough? I picked fights with everyone. It was not a pleasant time in my household, and now I owe just about everyone I know an apology for being such a snatch.

Only to find out last night, you didn't even DO THE DAMN TEST RIGHT AND DIDN'T READ THE DAMN DIRECTIONS! The second assesor, Paula, apologized on your behalf. She apologized that we had to go through this, she apologized that you didn't give the test right. Come to find out, you didn't give her credit for things, when you had them noted on the test that SHE FREAKING DID THEM! What the hell, tester?! Needlessly Bryan and I wondered if Pook would be alright in the end. I spent three weeks trying to figure out how we'd afford her therapy. THREE WEEKS, YOU BITCH.  Paula was so upset that she put in a call to your office to ream your ass out. You haven't returned her phone call, I doubt that you will. You're damn lucky Bryan wasn't there at the testing, he would've left you in tears. While I stood back and laughed.

Next time, why don't you READ THE DIRECTIONS, ADMINISTER THE TEST CORRECTLY, and here's a novel idea...LISTEN TO THE PARENTS. Hopefully some other family doesn't need to go through what we went through due to your mistakes. As I write this, I am trying to refrain from cursing too much. It's taking quite a bit. When I am as furious as I am now, I swear quite profusely. But I will say this, a parting curse: FUCK OFF, BITCH.

If I had to put a word to how I'm feeling, I couldn't. There's so many emotions running through me right now...Anger, relief, frustration, happiness.

We had Pooks second, more in depth assesment tonight. Basically, she is NOT that delayed. She's got the abilities of a 15 month old. Basically, the person who administered the first test not only didn't do it right, she didn't follow the directions of the test, and knows little to nothing about the development of an infant.

I am SO happy & relieved that she isn't delayed. I was crying with happiness. The assesor tonight said she'd like to see her around 18 months to make sure she is on track then as well.

I am so fucking pissed off at the initial assesment. When they told me their results, I shut down. I bawled and I was heartbroken, and I was angry. How dare they say my baby girl is anything less than perfect? Why didn't they do it right the first time?

When they tested her the first time, they set her in a chair and buckled her in. And basically forced her to perform. Because she didn't perform, they didn't give her credit for things I told them she does!

For three weeks, I've been torturing myself, living in my own hell. Blaming myself, fighting with everyone else who said "She's FINE." Bryan and I fought about it. He was saying she was fine, while I would screech that she's not. He was the voice of reason. But three goddamn weeks of wondering if I did something wrong. Did I do something while I was pregnant? In labor? Have I done something wrong as a parent? As a mother? All to find out we're doing everything we should be. We're doing "it" just fine.

The assesor tonight, Paula, (if you ever read this thank you for...everything.) was so ticked off at how the initial assesment and how it was handled that she is placing a call to the initial person to, more or less, ream her out. She personally apologized for us having to go through all of this, and how it was handled, and how that person is a discredit to the profession.

While I apologized to Bryan for more or less being a bitch, I will absolutely not apologize for following my gut. I refuse to apologize for acting on the instinct that something was wrong with my child. I would do it no matter if it was a fever, or a developmental delay. No mother should ever apologize for making sure their child is healthy.

And I won't.

Tradition dictates that your venue sets the overall tone for your gown. But if you know me, you know that nothing I've ever done is traditional. And you also know my gown will dictate my venue.

I wanted drama. I wanted detail. I wanted a princess gown. I wanted a long train. I wanted jaws to drop. I wanted Bryan to be breathless and speechless. I did not want to look like every other bride. I also wanted to spend less than $700.
 
Stop laughing.

I knew it was going to be a tall, if not impossible order to fill. I combed the local stores, finding a few that were close, but just missing the mark. One was at Davids Bridal, that was pretty but I didn't want any other bride in the greater county region to have my gown. I've spent countless hours online, trying to find the gown. I was about to give up when...

I saw it on eBay. It was everything I ever wanted. It was a showstopping gown. It was also $48.99. With shipping, it comes to $188. It is so perfect, I don't have words. So, in lieu of my worthless words, I give you my gown. (Revel in my sheer awesomeness.)

I am in healthcare HELL. I swear to GAWD, my life is one freaking appointment, one call to this Doctor or that Doctor after another.

For example, Pooks speech delay issue. So, the initial assesment shows she's got the abilities of a 4 month old, which SUUUUCKS. When they said 4 months, I shut down. I didn't hear a word after that, and I bawled for a good 20 minutes. Did I do something wrong? Did I too much, not enough perhaps? Bryan said it's not about me, and he's right. But in a weird way, I'm not concerned about getting Pook help. Namely, because I don't care what the cost, she WILL be getting help. The best help we can afford. One way or another, I'm going to kick speech delays ASS. 

In order to do that, I have to get her "further evaluated" to see where she's REALLY at. (Make sense to ya? Because it doesn't to me.)

In order to get her into therapy I have to:

1) Get a referral to an ear, nose, and throat specialist. This is to make sure her hearing isn't bad, or that some throat abnormality isn't at fault. (You'd think we'd have figured out if her throat was wonky before this, but apparently, we're just dumb yokels.)

2) THEN that person refers us to someone who can REALLY evaluate her, because apprently, the people who did it before, while RN's, aren't MDs and insurance won't accept their assessment.

3) THEN that person refers us to someone who can actually work with her.

All of this for one little girls delay. All of this rigormireaux just to get her some help. All of this for someone to come her to daycare once a week. But, like I said, one way or another, it will happen. If I have to personally become certified to help her, I will.

So there's that.

Then there's MY uninsured ass. Why am I uninsured? Because in order for Pook & I to be on my insurance, it's $300 per paycheck. Screw that noise, I put Pook on state insurance and decided I just wouldn't get sick. However, in the meantime, I was diagnosed as having Bipolar Disorder. This comes as a shock to nobody. So, I decided to get medicated for the sanity of my family and my well-being. The clinic I use puts me on a sliding fee scale, which is great.

Because I am uninsured, my benefits center gave me a $500 prepaid Visa debit card, that up until now, I haven't had to use. When I called to use it to pay off the clinic, it was declined. Well what the hey?!

I called the benefits center who informed me that the card was deactivated 5 months ago, and that they didn't notify me because they don't have to. They said they were sorry, they'd get it fixed. IN TWO WEEKS. Meanwhile, our fearless herione called the clinic! AAAAND was told that they're no longer going to be accepting debit or credit cards as of Monday. Well of course you're not! I asked the benefits center if they could cut the doctors office a check and take if off my card. Yeah, the evil call center lady just laughed. Bitch.

On the other end of the spectrum, Bryan, who does have insurance, got his retina reattached yesterday, and that went well. (Bad darts accident when he was a kid. I TOLD YOU YOU'D POKE YOUR EYE OUT!!) He was supposed to have his lense transplant surgery in 3 weeks but apparently the doctor is out of town (the nerve) and is there another doctor that do the surgery? HELL NO! Why would we have two doctors in case one has to leave? That makes SENSE! So, we have to wait until mid-November to get that done. In the meantime, he can't wear his contact and he's basically blind for six weeks.

I need a drink.

My inlaws are off camping this week, taking Granma to Yellowstone and asked us to house sit for them.

Basically, feed the dogs, the birds, and make sure the horses are okay. We'd stay out there until Thursday night. We agreed, and Bryan said he'd figure out someone to watch Kiera while we were gone.

Last night was my first night out there, Bryan had spent Sunday out there, while I stayed behind. We got there rather late, around 9 or so. After stopping at our house, dinner, and making sure Kiera had her Kibbles N Bits, we arrived.

Bryan put the birds "to bed" meaning he covered their cages. The bigger bird, Gizmo, was silent. The smaller bird, Woodrow, kept chirping "NIGHT NIGHT" for what seemed like an eternity, even after we went to bed.
After a while, I wanted to march right up to his cage and say, "Yes, Woodrow. Night night. Night. As in sleep. Go to SLEEP!"

When we did go to bed it just felt...Odd. Part of it was laying my head where my MIL lays her head. Don't get me wrong, she's an amazing woman, but it felt weird sleeping where she sleeps. Also, the mattress is a Temper Pedic, and very firm, and a queen size. Bry and I sleep in a King sized bed, with room to sprawl. Even though I've only slept on this bed for like a month, it felt like I was sleeping in a kids bed.

The horses, it seems, have an internal alarm clock that is unreal. Five AM rolls around, and they are up and ready to go. Making noise, that at first made me think Pooker was crying, and then just irritated the hell out of me. Every thirty minutes or so, they would whinny and wake me up and grrrr.

My inlaws dog, Sadie, also was there to remind my happily sleeping self to wake up. (In all fairness, Bryan did warn me.) At six AM, she sat in the doorway of the bedroom and whined. Apparently, my MIL wakes up with her. If you don't acknowledge Sadie, she will not let up. Bless her for her tenacity. She just gets louder, and louder, and LOUDER.

That didn't work, (silly dog, I can sleep through a plane crash), so she just came right up to my side of the bed and whined directly into my ear. OKAY! I GET IT! GAH, I'M UP, ALRIGHT?! Geez Louise.

Between the bird, the horses, the new bed, and a very persistant dog, I didn't sleep much. When I got to work I literally downed half a pot of fresh coffee in ten minutes.

Here's to another 2 days of chirping, whining, and whinnying!

I’M GETTIN’ HITCHED, Y’ALL!!!!!

 

It started with looking at rings and sets last weekend. Next thing you know, we’re talking about what type of wedding we want. Next thing you know, I’m standing next to him, “So, um how’s September fourth of next year sound?”

“For what?”

“For getting married. Tentatively, I swear.”

“Sure, works for me. Wanna hand me that wrench?”

 

I skipped back into the house and mass texted everyone to save the date. Because honestly, for me it translated into, (albeit probably incorrectly but whatever), “Go ahead and make that the date and start planning OUR. WEDDING. FINALLY.”

 

My BFF (and Matron of Honor) Jacqueline asked if he proposed…Well…Technically, no. But he’s agreed to a date and that’s good enough for me. Details, people, just details.

 

I’ve picked out bridesmaids and go to look at gowns on Saturday.

 

Since I'm all about getting married lately...As in I got hammered Wednesday night and proposed to Bryan. He said no. But I thought I'd post some pics from my HELLACIOUS first wedding. How hellacious you ask? Um, I was drunk during the ceremony. No joke.

Ever have one of those days where you wake up just itchin’ for a drink, but you’re so tired you’re afraid you’d drown in your rum and Coke? Really? Just me? Oh, well okay then.

 

I woke up late because I could not sleep last night. I suspect it’s because my Mother gave Bryan and I a new king sized bed, and I’m still getting used to it. The mattress is a heck of a lot firmer than our old one, and I’m not used to having so much room. I’m used to having Bryan smooshed right up against me, and now I can lie on the bed, like the Vitruvian man and still not touch him.

 

I also had a freaky dream about my delivery driver and the in house technician. The driver was King of Scotland, wearing a kilt and the uniform shirt, while the tech was a court jester…In a Spandex leotard. I need professional help.

 

I had all of five minutes to shower, get dressed, do my hair and makeup, and get to work on time. I ended up taking a 2 second shower, pulling my still dripping-wet hair into a ponytail, eschewing makeup, grabbed the first pair of clean pants & shirt I could find and literally ran out the damn door.

 

 On the way to work, a guy next to me was honkin’ up a storm. I turned, and it’s one of the guys I used to work with years ago. He knew my name, asked how Bryan as doing while I….Couldn’t for the life of me remember his name. He wanted to chat; as I was driving down the road, resisting the urge to just speed up and speed off. When he (finally) turned off, I was stuck behind Father Time in a caravan. Behind me was some kid who looks like he just graduated from wearing Scooby Doo underwear in an Accord. I dropped a gear, switched lanes, and passed him. The Scooby Dooby Doo kid pulled up next to me and shouted, “OH MY GOD, I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOUR MERCEDES! MARRY ME!”

 

Um, dude. It’s a BMW. It says so on the back. Can you not read the alphabet? Did you see the BMW logo and confuse it with Mercedes-Benz? I mean, seriously, WTF?

 

I got to work, and nearly wept with joy at the sight of coffee in the coffee pot. I poured myself a big mug, and took a long swallow, only to find out it was yesterdays brew that was kept warm and no one has made a fresh pot yet. I nearly wept again, but not for joy.

 

Then I got into a fight with a rep who submitted six different contracts for ONE account, so they’d have different rates throughout the year. When I told the customer it doesn’t work like that, she called the rep who informed her, verbatim, “Heidi doesn’t know shit.” Excuuuuse me? Who’s been here longer, and who’s dealt with contracts exclusively for that time? Oh, that’s right: ME. Screw you, bud. Y’know what? Screw you twice.

 

Finally, lunch time rolled around. I had $5 to my name, and thank God Boons Wine was one sale for $3.99. Yes, I did drink my lunch. I also found out that the Bimmer I’ve been RAVING about, showing off, and generally acting better than you in? It came thisclose to overheating while I was driving back from Ye Olde Liquor Store. That’ll teach me to be humble, won’t it? It wasn’t even 1:00PM yet, and I painted a pretty pathetic picture: hiding out in the back parking lot, drinking cheap wine from the bottle, chain smoking, and wishing I could take a spork from the break room to slit my damn wrists.

 

After lunch, I found out that I owe some company from years ago close to $350. For a bill that my ex-husband created, but it was in my name. When we divorced, he told me he’d take care of it, but the douchebag clearly never did. So, it went to collections, who took it to court. They tried serving me papers, at a job I haven’t worked at in over 4 years. Finally, someone over there wised up, because I got a notice in the mail about it, and I now have to find $350 somewhere and pay these douchetards, or they’ll garnish my wages. Aaaand since my ex and I never had anything more than a verbal agreement and it’s in my name, guess who’s stuck with the bill no matter what?

 

I found out we have 2 Coronas, and a bit o’ whiskey and tequila at the house. I’m thinking about just mixing all three together when I get home.