things have been really awful around here.
I've again been reminded how very resilient I am though which, yes. Maybe less with the reminders, eh, universe?
Following the four (meant to be one! ended up FOUR!) cranio facial surgeries, the IVF, the pregnancy loss and the subsequent D&C, I recently had sinus surgery.
The timing of which kind of sucked because check the preceding eighteen months' timetable. Physical challenges! Emotional drainage! Fun times! But I'm doing IVF again this year, and if I get pregnant and actually HAVE a baby this time, it'd be at least three years until I could get the constant sinus pressure (me: I'm tired. Doc: No shit? Could be because you have the WORST sinus disease I've EVER seen) attended too.
So, everything at once. Again. Gah.
In any case, I'ves had sinus surgery before, ten years ago, and E. Z. I was up and out and ready to party an hour later, so this time I was all "man, this is going to be a cakewalk".
But I was wrong. (*audible gasp from the audience*)
It was major, and it's a rarely performed surgery (only me, right? fxsake), one where they invade your frontal and sphenoid sinuses ie the ones near your BRAIN
I also needed a septoplasty, which straightens the inside of your nose, so don't ever believe Hollywood when they tell you their nose job was for breathing purposes because I have the inside scoop and making your nose WORK better doesn't make it LOOK better. Proof, right there, front and central *points to own face*
Point being, I've been wiped out. Totally fucked. Which is TOTALLY what this kind of surgery does to people. Duh.
This past week, I've been doing better, but in the weeks following my brain drilling, I could barely move from fatigue. I'd be looking at Daniel raising himself and not be able to do anything to be involved.
My temper was short and my patience non existent, and I sat around doing nothing. A lot. Poor little guy.
So I called the local council and admitted defeat. Which FELT like defeat, like I couldn't cope. Like I was weak and pathetic.
Then I realised I WAS all those things, duh.
Then I realised I'd done the STRONG thing. The kind of thing survivors do to, you know, survive.
They admit their failings and they ask for help. They don't just keep on bashing away and pretending everything is okay.
However, the council has been as useful as tits on a bull, and the cleaner I needed four weeks ago is FINALLY coming today.
Which isn't a bad thing because I don't know it y'all remember, but I was rammed in the back by a shopping trolley collector's collection of about five BILLION trolleys, and my back is tres fucked today, as it has been every day since then, but today it's fucked AND rooted and it hurts a lot. The I Can't Pick Up My Kid, Run, Walk, Or Breathe Without Wincing kind of hurts.
So that's another drama to deal with, the dealing with the trolley company directly in an effort to avoid the headfuck of getting a lawyer to seek compensation because it's been four months and I've already spent five hundred smackeroos on treatment and my quality of life vis a vis pain is kind of in the toilet and it's not getting better yada yada.
Then there's the OTHER law suit I'm considering. The one where I sue my idiot dentist's ass.
Seems I have a case, so in making a decision to go ahead with it or not, I'm going through the process of seeking expert opinions to see if I want the headfuck of years of legal wrangling.
Which I kind of don't, but damn. I'm so ANGRY that my life has been so damaged by his reckless decisions and his avoidance of the developing issues as they, uh, developed, LITERALLY RIGHT UNDER HIS NOSE.
And in about half an hour I've got to call the school to enrol in a week long workshop in order to (drumroll) gain my aerobic instructor's certification.
Which feels like a dumb decision thanks to the state of my back (and my bank account) today.
It's the perfect career move when you've got kids. The personal training takes up to much of my headspace. I worry about what's best for the client, where can I train them, can I afford the rent, am I working enough, too much, bla bla BLA, while aerobic instructors can simply turn up and collect at least 25 bucks for keeping themselves fit.
So I'm arguing with myself that this IS an investment in our future and not an extravagant waste of money and all that shit, because again, timing. But if I wait I might be a) pregnant b) less able to afford putting four hundred bucks on my credit card (which is a hint at how much I can afford it now) and c) still in need of continuing education credits and up for the same amount of dollars to get them but with only education, not a practical skill, to show for it.
Think think think.
Then there's the whole Can't Die, Ever thing, the lack of reliable guardianship for Daniel if the whole Can't Die thing doesn't pan out, the ongoing dramas with his father, the story I haven't told you about my mother not because I won't but because I haven't, yet, and and and and and it never stops ever.
Which is normal life, I guess the difference is the CAN'T DIE thing. That, and all it represents and involves, really fucks with me.
So I feel like I'm one of those circus performers juggling twenty knives. I feel like I never get a chance to breathe out. I even consulted my doctor, all "am I a wuss, or do I actually HAVE a lot of pots on the boil?". His reply was to hand me a photocopied sheet of paper with an overworked cartoon character on it, all baggy eyes and fried neurons, and underneath were the words "I'd take one day at a time....but some arsehole keeps handing me several at once". Oh, wit! and he thinks I'm dealing with A LOT (because there's more but how much time do you have?) and he thinks I'm coping well with the practical stressors in my life. Not considering the physical challenges and emotional upheavals bla bla BLA, but coping as if I DIDN'T have those pesky little brain drains to contend with too.
Which was nice to hear, in a weird reassurance that I'm not mad kind of way.
But I'm fine. Really. Like I always am.
a little disinclined to top up in here regularly, is all :)