A post where I complain... a lot

If I were the superstitious type, I'd be wondering if my daughter was ever meant to have a birthday party.

Take for example, last year's "party"; interrupted about 30 minutes into it by Elise's doc telling us to take her to the hospital, she's just been diagnosed with type 1 diabetes. Pretty sucktacular.

So this year, as we were away for the actual day of birth, we decided to throw Elise a party for the weekend after we got home. It was all planned; people invited, food bought, decorations thought of... blah, blah, blah.

Then on Wednesday, I got sick. Not just sick, but dear-Lord-of-all-things-good-and-right-everything's-going-dark-no-wait-I-see-some-light-and-I'm-heading-towards-it-sick. But it's okay, I still have my main man Fred to help get things together for the party.

Then on Thursday, Fred starts heading towards the light. The guy who has been sick a total of 3 times in 11 years, who has managed to dodge all sorts of crud that I have incubated including about three rounds of strep throat, Mr. I-doan-need-no-stinkin'-Advil. He's got it too.

At this point, we start contemplating that the party needs to be cancelled, or at the very least, moved to the next weekend. Mother Nature decides to get in on the act, and it's predicted that there's an 80% chance of rain on Saturday. In Texas. In September. My friends, that just doesn't happen here unless it's biblical times and God has just had a little heart-to-heart with a guy named Noah.

And just in case we get any ideas about going forward with the party, Elise then gets sick on Saturday morning, and it rains here like it has never rained before. Talk about twisting the knife.

Do I sounds bitter? Probably... probably. Chalk it up to frustration, I guess. I do have one rather funny tale from when I went to the doctor to see if my crud had a name (and hopefully not one that sounded like Swine Flu).

Fred made the appointment for me, and when the receptionist asked why I needed to be seen, he replied, "she's sick". Straight and to the point, that's my Fred.

So somehow I slipped past all the superb screening, and was sitting in the room waiting to be seen, sans mask. The doc walks in, notes my temperature on the chart (101.6), and asked me if I had been coughing. When I said yes you would have thought I told him I was there to pluck his eyeballs out with my thumbnails.

He jumped up, tore open the door and yelled, "nobody told meeeeeeeeeee", as he ran down the hall. I sat there, feeling very much like a leper.

He returned, from what I am presuming was a Lysol-shower, about 10 minutes later wearing a mask and with one for me. It turns out that I didn't have the flu, just one of the second-rate, run-of-the-mill viruses that doesn't get any press. Poor, un-named virus.

Have we always been so crazy when it comes to germs, or its it just lately that people are going off the deep end? I remember when I was younger, you got the flu, you threw up a little, and drank some ginger ale. At some point, you manage pass it onto your friends and family who threw up and drank ginger ale. Nobody went to the doctor, let alone the press.

Now, I must admit, I'm not so relaxed when it comes to sick people being around Elise, but unfortunately, diabetes makes things a little trickier. But shouldn't we relatively healthy people be a little less freaked out?

Okay, I think I'm done grumbling for now. Keeping my fingers crossed for Saturday. Time for Elise to have a birthday party, even if it is one year and three weeks overdue.

Tip of the iceberg

They say that only about 10% of an iceberg is visible above water. Well, Thursday was my tip of the iceberg day; minuscule compared to what was going to follow.

Most of it has been detailed on my other blog because a lot of it had to do with diabetes. But here is some of what I've been dealing with:

I've been sick since Saturday with what has been determined as a sinus infection. Nay, the mother of ALL sinus infections. Sore throat, fever, muscle aches, the chills, sinus pain and pressure, head ache and now laryngitis; this puppy has had it all and left no stone unturned. Today I have absolutely no voice left and yet I'm still trying to yell at my child.

Yesterday I had the fun adventure of running out of gas. You can read the whole story here. I do have to give a huge thank you to the wonderful guys from the Irving Fire Department for all their help. Yay firemen!

Elise still has some mystery rash that seems to appear when we take her outside in the heat (not heat rash though). The doc said it looks like hives and is probably an allergic reaction. My child is allergic to the heat and we live in Texas. Now I know we're not meant to live here.

We're also going through some fun times of major sleep issues (Elise), and major separation anxiety (Fred, I mean, Elise). This has been causing huge stress around here.

I just got a letter back about some blood work I had done, saying my platelets are low, and I need to repeat the test in two months. I don't even know what that means and the letter offers no explanation. And I will not google low blood platelets because I know it will just show me some scary picture and tell me I have cancer or something.

The last two times I have bought milk for Elise, there has been something wrong with it when I opened it. Both times the milk has had the consistency of whipped cream, but it doesn't smell spoiled or anything. It was the same brand both times. And yes, I read the label properly and it should have been whole milk. So I've been without milk for Elise for two days now, and not able to run to the store to buy some. But I must say thanks to my sweet friend Liz, who brought some milk buy this morning when she came to visit. Yay Liz!

And now Fred has gone to NYC until Friday, leaving me here sick and voiceless with a sleep-deprived, rashy, missing-her-Poppa toddler.

And how has YOUR week been?

Had a Bad Day

To celebrate the suckiness of this day, I decided to title this post with the name of a rather horrific song, just so it would get stuck in your head. Yes, I am evil that way. Impolite and evil.

Why did your day suck, Joanne? Because diabetes is a terrible, sucktastic, crappola of a disease and I really wish it could manifest itself as a person so I could kick it in the groin, thank you for asking. And yes, I am well aware that I have a preoccupation with kicking/kneeing/punching people in the groin. What can I say... I grew up with two brothers. Sometimes the best defense is a good offence. Ka-POW!

Anyway, as soon as Fred got home from work, I let him know that for the sake of my sanity and safety of any nearby groins, I was going to have to leave the house allbymyself. I had no destination in mind, I just went.

As is often the case, I wound up at Target. Maybe it was destiny. Maybe it was the wind. Probably it's my deep love and appreciation for the giant red bulls eye. Into Target I went and we all know how cathartic spending money can be. Especially when everything you buy was 50-75% off. It felt good.

I got back into my car and continued my journey to a nearby mall... and didn't run over the man who thought jay-walking across a 6 lane, extremely busy road was a good idea. Not running him over felt good.

I then ran a red light. It was iffy at best if I could have stopped... but I didn't. And it felt good.

In the parking lot of the mall, I didn't make fun of the girl who was wearing one of those stupid scarves around her neck in the 104 degree Texas heat. Well, not out loud anyway. In my brain I had a good chuckle at her expense. Yup, it felt good.

I walked by a Cinnabon, but decided against the ooey, gooey, decedent goodness of a cinnamon roll. And you know what? That felt good.

As did seeing my husband and daughter at the mall because he had brought her there to ride the carousel as a treat. He had no idea that I was there, and in the hour or so that I had been away from them, I found that I missed them.

I also found that a few small feel-good things can totally erase the crap of a bad day.

And you know what? That feels good too.

I think I'll call him Harold

My ulcer that is. What? How do I know I have an ulcer? Because I googled "unbearable gut-wrenching fire-ball of pain in my stomach", and that's what came up.

Because WebMD told me so. And we all know that WebMD is, in fact, a fine replacement to a living, breathing, real-life doctor.

Because, although I'm not a doctor, I do play one in my head, and after waiting 45 minutes to see me for a quick 5 minute visit where I pretended to intently listen to all my symptoms, that's what I told myself. I also wrote myself a prescription on the wrapper of a chocolate bar, but the pharmacy wouldn't take it.

Actually, the truth is, I've had one before, and I can remember all too well the pain that drinking my morning glass of orange juice brings.

My blog has pretty much been doom and gloom lately. And I hate that, but I can't pretend that everything is shiny and happy when it's not.

Yesterday we found out that Fred's company is changing health insurance plans. And while I am so thankful that we do have insurance, this change had caused the pain in my gut to reach new levels.

It wouldn't be such a big deal, but having a child with a chronic disease that needs constant medical monitoring, makes it a big deal. This new plan is definitely not as good as our old one (we have to pay more out of pocket, and the coverage isn't as good), and there are a lot of unknowns. Namely, will all our docs take the new insurance. Will it cover a pump for Elise in the future (they can cost upwards of $5000)? There are so many other questions, but the more I think about them, the more stressed I get.

I know that not thinking about it is not a good thing. But it's my coping mechanism for right now.

I'm seriously thinking that it's time to high-tail it back north for some good, ol' socialized medicine...