Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Put a fucking fork in me, I am goddamned DONE.
I was just waxing all glowy and happy about how nice it is to finally live in a nice house, and how much I love my family, despite the ups and downs. And I had today off, it was going to be bliss.
Right, dumbass, why would you count on the rest of the world spinning without your assistance??
First, I laid in bed all morning waiting for Rusty to come to bed with me. I wasn't waiting because I wanted to take a nap with him. But apparently that's what he thought, because by the time he finally came to bed, my back hurt so badly I could hardly stand to be there anymore. I laid there for about a half hour or so just to be next to him for what short time we have these days, before I finally had to get up. I was mostly done getting ready for the day when he got up again, all pouty and defensive like I was pissed off at him. NOW he wants to watch TV. I give up. I can't get anything done on a day off during the week because he'll stay up until the kids are on their way home, and then I have to spend the rest of the afternoon trying to keep them quiet so he can sleep and cooking their dinner. There is no "time off", there is no time for ME, there isn't even time for me to get stuff done around the house--I'm EXPECTED to be somewhere doing something for someone else. Why is it, exactly, that no one fills their days 24/7 with getting stuff done for ME?
As I sat there obediently on the couch watching TV, the doctor's office called. They'd discovered that the reason the pharmacy was having so many problems filling our insulin script was the brand he'd prescribed wasn't on their formulary. Now mind you, this is DAY 6 of trying to get this script filled. Yes, that would be SIX DAYS, and yes, this is INSULIN. You'd think I was trying to get uncut heroin. But they assured me they'd figured it out, switched the brand to another kind, just keep her on the same dosage.
I wait an hour, because now my whole planned day hinges on when I can pick up the scripts at the pharmacy--we'll need it before dinnertime if we're going to use it today, and we're just about out of what we have left, so we're cutting it way too close for comfort. I call the pharmacy. "It's too soon for a refill." No, I don't want a refill, dumbshit, I just said you had a new one called in today. Do you people not keep notes on your records? Can you not see the fucking drama I have to go through every damned time I need a new script filled? "Oh, no we don't have any new scripts called in. Maybe your doctor hasn't done it yet." No, my doctor has done it, I just talked with them. You have it SOMEWHERE. I suggest you find it and get it filled. "Oh, well maybe it was left on voicemail and the pharmacist hasn't gotten to it yet. Call us back in about an hour."
Well there went my whole fucking day, I knew it instantly.
Rusty finally goes to bed, and I'd LIKE to go do some shopping--hell, not even just grocery shopping--maybe even shopping for some shoes or pants for work!! But that's a wild little fantasy, isn't it? Why would I ever have time to do such selfish things? I know, I'll make my lunch. I could have a sandwich, but I eat sandwiches at work every damned day, I'm home, I can cook something--and I'm FINALLY alone, I could cook something that *I* like--not what the kids will tolerate, not what Rusty likes, not what DD needs to keep her carb counts in line, not what's cheap, not what's fast, I can actually cook something that *I* want. I have leftover taco soup and some fresh corn tortillas. I could fry up some fresh nachos and have them with the soup. Perfect, and nobody around to steal them from me. I still have the deep fryer out on the counter. I turn it on to heat up the oil. Once it's hot, I get out the taco soup and put some in the microwave. About 40 seconds in, the power goes out. Very fucking funny. I look around, power's on in the living room. It's a blown fuse. I realize blown fuses aren't that unusual in older houses, but let me point something out: my landlord is an electrician. He's the dumbass that wired EVERY SINGLE ROOM to have the light switch operate an outlet SOMEWHERE in the room, and the main light in the room to be a ceiling fan which requires you to walk into the darkened room, find the chord and pull it. So now I've discovered that I cannot operate my microwave and anything else electric in my kitchen at the same time. Fabulous. I go out to the garage to the fuse box. The garage lights are out, too. I'm sure the flashlights are in one of those boxes. But hey, there's a kerosene lantern right here, I'll just light it. Ten minutes later, the fucking lantern is lit. I have to move boxes and throw away trash to get to the fuse box. I set up the ladder, open the box, and see that none of the fuses are thrown. WTF? Oh yeah, there's a second fuse box on the opposite side of the garage. That would be the side that is blocked by about 150 square feet of random boxes thrown on top of each other willy-nilly with no paths to get from one side to the other. Another 20 minutes later, boxes rearranged and more empty boxes torn down, I finally reach the 2nd fuse box. No thrown fuses. Seriously? Fucking hell. Back to fuse box #1, I find the fuses for the kitchen and garage areas and turn them off and back on again. NOW the power is back on. Motherfucker.
I finish my meal. 20 minutes before the kids get home. Great. I decided to put together an office chair we'd forgotten we had in storage--it'll free up the one DD had swiped to use in her room and put it back at the computer where it originally belonged. I finish it right as the kids are opening the garage door. I tell them immediately to finish their homework because we have to go to the pharmacy. I call the pharmacy--yes, they DO have that script, and someone's filling it RIGHT NOW. Great. I help DS finish his homework--but not before DD decided that what she really needed at that moment was a bag of freshly popped popcorn. She pouts ferociously about how unfair it is that I refuse to sit and wait for her to finish it now, and it'll be cold when we get home. Tough shit, you knew we were leaving, don't be a princess and get your ass in the car. DS is excited, however, because he just received a check from grandpa for his birthday, and we'll cash it while we're there.
We go in, cash the check, then head to the pharmacy, wait in line, only to be told it's not quite done yet. Huh? How long does it take to print a label and stick it to a box? I thought someone was working on it 35 minutes ago. Fine, we'll come back. I make the kids be patient as I search for some household stuff we need--a mop, a squeegee for the shower, some acne medicine for DD... DS becomes petulant. We head to the toys. He immediately pulls two boxes of enormous Nerf guns off the shelf and declares that they are what he wants to spend his birthday money on. Now seriously kid, you just got $100 from Grandpa, and you want to spend it on LITERALLY the first thing you touch? He's got 2 of these types already, and I can't remember the last time I saw him play with them. We haven't even been to the video games section yet. I know that 10 minutes later, I'll be coming back to the shelf and putting them back because he's found something else. "Put them back," I tell him, "and let's look around to make sure that's what you really want."
The backtalk ensues. I raise my voice, "I am your MOTHER and I SAID to put them back. If you EVER want to touch that box again, you will DO what I SAY RIGHT NOW WITHOUT ARGUMENT."
"Fine, SCREW IT!" he proclaimed.
Screwed, indeed. "No toys for you today. You'll learn to talk to me with respect or keep your goddamned mouth shut."
THAT'S NOT FAIR!!!
Fuck Fair, kid. I haven't seen Fair in these parts since I was 6. And if I don't get Fair, ain't NOBODY GETTING FAIR.
Shoes. Both kids have complained they need new shoes. DS just got new shoes for his birthday (thanks to Rusty), so we need to concentrate on DD. I find her some waterproof boots that look a bit like patent leather Doc Martens. She wrinkles her nose, "They look like CLOWN SHOES." Seriously? I find a muted color, she tries them on and changes her mind. Yay, waterproof shoes are covered for under $20. Sneakers, let us pray for sneakers. She begins looking and I take DS around the corner to look for winter boots. Since they walk to school now, they'll have to have something they can walk in the snow in. He pouts and whines and complains. Fine, no boots for you, fucker. DD can't decide, and is trying on pair #4, DS is whining about spending all our time on HER, completely missing the point of having been yanked out of the toy aisle... FINALLY we get our script and leave, only to get stuck behind someone trying to buy cologne locked inside a security box that none of the cashiers can seem to open. My "quick trip" to the store that should have taken a half hour lasted an hour and a half.
I open the package inserts to the new insulin. I quickly learn that this new brand states that it cannot be mixed with other insulins. Does that mean that now she's got to have TWO shots before breakfast and dinner? WTF? Am I on crack--I swear I remember the discussion with the Endo going something like this:
"The only thing she can't do herself is draw the insulin into the syringe."
"Yes, that's probably the most complicated thing. She should keep trying, she'll get the hang of it. We could put her on the pen version, but those only come for the long-acting insulins, so she'd still need a seperate shot for the quick-acting insulin before meals, which would mean she'd be getting 4 sticks a day instead of just the two with the syringes."
So now why is it my new insulin is saying I am NEVER to mix it in the same syringe with another insulin???
I post some questions on a message board for parents of Type 1 kids. They pepper me with questions--isn't she getting a shot with lunch, too? Aren't you doing the correction dosages? Don't you get a shot with snacks? You were mixing Humalog and LEVIMIR???!!
That's about all I can take. This whole experience makes me feel completely incompetent. Stupid, Bad Parent, Cheap (or Poor), Neglectful, Poorly Informed... How can I know what questions to ask the doctor if I don't have any idea of how things are SUPPOSED to work??
I was just waxing all glowy and happy about how nice it is to finally live in a nice house, and how much I love my family, despite the ups and downs. And I had today off, it was going to be bliss.
Right, dumbass, why would you count on the rest of the world spinning without your assistance??
First, I laid in bed all morning waiting for Rusty to come to bed with me. I wasn't waiting because I wanted to take a nap with him. But apparently that's what he thought, because by the time he finally came to bed, my back hurt so badly I could hardly stand to be there anymore. I laid there for about a half hour or so just to be next to him for what short time we have these days, before I finally had to get up. I was mostly done getting ready for the day when he got up again, all pouty and defensive like I was pissed off at him. NOW he wants to watch TV. I give up. I can't get anything done on a day off during the week because he'll stay up until the kids are on their way home, and then I have to spend the rest of the afternoon trying to keep them quiet so he can sleep and cooking their dinner. There is no "time off", there is no time for ME, there isn't even time for me to get stuff done around the house--I'm EXPECTED to be somewhere doing something for someone else. Why is it, exactly, that no one fills their days 24/7 with getting stuff done for ME?
As I sat there obediently on the couch watching TV, the doctor's office called. They'd discovered that the reason the pharmacy was having so many problems filling our insulin script was the brand he'd prescribed wasn't on their formulary. Now mind you, this is DAY 6 of trying to get this script filled. Yes, that would be SIX DAYS, and yes, this is INSULIN. You'd think I was trying to get uncut heroin. But they assured me they'd figured it out, switched the brand to another kind, just keep her on the same dosage.
I wait an hour, because now my whole planned day hinges on when I can pick up the scripts at the pharmacy--we'll need it before dinnertime if we're going to use it today, and we're just about out of what we have left, so we're cutting it way too close for comfort. I call the pharmacy. "It's too soon for a refill." No, I don't want a refill, dumbshit, I just said you had a new one called in today. Do you people not keep notes on your records? Can you not see the fucking drama I have to go through every damned time I need a new script filled? "Oh, no we don't have any new scripts called in. Maybe your doctor hasn't done it yet." No, my doctor has done it, I just talked with them. You have it SOMEWHERE. I suggest you find it and get it filled. "Oh, well maybe it was left on voicemail and the pharmacist hasn't gotten to it yet. Call us back in about an hour."
Well there went my whole fucking day, I knew it instantly.
Rusty finally goes to bed, and I'd LIKE to go do some shopping--hell, not even just grocery shopping--maybe even shopping for some shoes or pants for work!! But that's a wild little fantasy, isn't it? Why would I ever have time to do such selfish things? I know, I'll make my lunch. I could have a sandwich, but I eat sandwiches at work every damned day, I'm home, I can cook something--and I'm FINALLY alone, I could cook something that *I* like--not what the kids will tolerate, not what Rusty likes, not what DD needs to keep her carb counts in line, not what's cheap, not what's fast, I can actually cook something that *I* want. I have leftover taco soup and some fresh corn tortillas. I could fry up some fresh nachos and have them with the soup. Perfect, and nobody around to steal them from me. I still have the deep fryer out on the counter. I turn it on to heat up the oil. Once it's hot, I get out the taco soup and put some in the microwave. About 40 seconds in, the power goes out. Very fucking funny. I look around, power's on in the living room. It's a blown fuse. I realize blown fuses aren't that unusual in older houses, but let me point something out: my landlord is an electrician. He's the dumbass that wired EVERY SINGLE ROOM to have the light switch operate an outlet SOMEWHERE in the room, and the main light in the room to be a ceiling fan which requires you to walk into the darkened room, find the chord and pull it. So now I've discovered that I cannot operate my microwave and anything else electric in my kitchen at the same time. Fabulous. I go out to the garage to the fuse box. The garage lights are out, too. I'm sure the flashlights are in one of those boxes. But hey, there's a kerosene lantern right here, I'll just light it. Ten minutes later, the fucking lantern is lit. I have to move boxes and throw away trash to get to the fuse box. I set up the ladder, open the box, and see that none of the fuses are thrown. WTF? Oh yeah, there's a second fuse box on the opposite side of the garage. That would be the side that is blocked by about 150 square feet of random boxes thrown on top of each other willy-nilly with no paths to get from one side to the other. Another 20 minutes later, boxes rearranged and more empty boxes torn down, I finally reach the 2nd fuse box. No thrown fuses. Seriously? Fucking hell. Back to fuse box #1, I find the fuses for the kitchen and garage areas and turn them off and back on again. NOW the power is back on. Motherfucker.
I finish my meal. 20 minutes before the kids get home. Great. I decided to put together an office chair we'd forgotten we had in storage--it'll free up the one DD had swiped to use in her room and put it back at the computer where it originally belonged. I finish it right as the kids are opening the garage door. I tell them immediately to finish their homework because we have to go to the pharmacy. I call the pharmacy--yes, they DO have that script, and someone's filling it RIGHT NOW. Great. I help DS finish his homework--but not before DD decided that what she really needed at that moment was a bag of freshly popped popcorn. She pouts ferociously about how unfair it is that I refuse to sit and wait for her to finish it now, and it'll be cold when we get home. Tough shit, you knew we were leaving, don't be a princess and get your ass in the car. DS is excited, however, because he just received a check from grandpa for his birthday, and we'll cash it while we're there.
We go in, cash the check, then head to the pharmacy, wait in line, only to be told it's not quite done yet. Huh? How long does it take to print a label and stick it to a box? I thought someone was working on it 35 minutes ago. Fine, we'll come back. I make the kids be patient as I search for some household stuff we need--a mop, a squeegee for the shower, some acne medicine for DD... DS becomes petulant. We head to the toys. He immediately pulls two boxes of enormous Nerf guns off the shelf and declares that they are what he wants to spend his birthday money on. Now seriously kid, you just got $100 from Grandpa, and you want to spend it on LITERALLY the first thing you touch? He's got 2 of these types already, and I can't remember the last time I saw him play with them. We haven't even been to the video games section yet. I know that 10 minutes later, I'll be coming back to the shelf and putting them back because he's found something else. "Put them back," I tell him, "and let's look around to make sure that's what you really want."
The backtalk ensues. I raise my voice, "I am your MOTHER and I SAID to put them back. If you EVER want to touch that box again, you will DO what I SAY RIGHT NOW WITHOUT ARGUMENT."
"Fine, SCREW IT!" he proclaimed.
Screwed, indeed. "No toys for you today. You'll learn to talk to me with respect or keep your goddamned mouth shut."
THAT'S NOT FAIR!!!
Fuck Fair, kid. I haven't seen Fair in these parts since I was 6. And if I don't get Fair, ain't NOBODY GETTING FAIR.
Shoes. Both kids have complained they need new shoes. DS just got new shoes for his birthday (thanks to Rusty), so we need to concentrate on DD. I find her some waterproof boots that look a bit like patent leather Doc Martens. She wrinkles her nose, "They look like CLOWN SHOES." Seriously? I find a muted color, she tries them on and changes her mind. Yay, waterproof shoes are covered for under $20. Sneakers, let us pray for sneakers. She begins looking and I take DS around the corner to look for winter boots. Since they walk to school now, they'll have to have something they can walk in the snow in. He pouts and whines and complains. Fine, no boots for you, fucker. DD can't decide, and is trying on pair #4, DS is whining about spending all our time on HER, completely missing the point of having been yanked out of the toy aisle... FINALLY we get our script and leave, only to get stuck behind someone trying to buy cologne locked inside a security box that none of the cashiers can seem to open. My "quick trip" to the store that should have taken a half hour lasted an hour and a half.
I open the package inserts to the new insulin. I quickly learn that this new brand states that it cannot be mixed with other insulins. Does that mean that now she's got to have TWO shots before breakfast and dinner? WTF? Am I on crack--I swear I remember the discussion with the Endo going something like this:
"The only thing she can't do herself is draw the insulin into the syringe."
"Yes, that's probably the most complicated thing. She should keep trying, she'll get the hang of it. We could put her on the pen version, but those only come for the long-acting insulins, so she'd still need a seperate shot for the quick-acting insulin before meals, which would mean she'd be getting 4 sticks a day instead of just the two with the syringes."
So now why is it my new insulin is saying I am NEVER to mix it in the same syringe with another insulin???
I post some questions on a message board for parents of Type 1 kids. They pepper me with questions--isn't she getting a shot with lunch, too? Aren't you doing the correction dosages? Don't you get a shot with snacks? You were mixing Humalog and LEVIMIR???!!
That's about all I can take. This whole experience makes me feel completely incompetent. Stupid, Bad Parent, Cheap (or Poor), Neglectful, Poorly Informed... How can I know what questions to ask the doctor if I don't have any idea of how things are SUPPOSED to work??
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