The Passing of Pure Evil

 Bear with me folks, this is a long one..
    About a week and a half ago it when it all began. My encounter with Pure Evil (whom we shall call PE from now on although I did consider naming it after the most wretched ex-boyfriend ever, Shiloh but then I realized I know a great dog named Shiloh that redeemed the name so Pure Evil it is). It was a regular Wednesday afternoon. I was trying to finish my work so that Thursday would be a really good one. Then I felt it. Is that a Urinary Tract Infection? Oh god, please no. I've had one before and it was really awful. So much discomfort. I really really don't want one. I decided to wait it out. Then came Thursday morning when I was sure I had a UTI. For those of you who have never had one, first of all be really really grateful and second, the symptoms are generally an extreme need to pee accompanied by an itching / burning sensation and then an extreme need to pee again. I had a pretty mild case of that feeling but I wasn't going to chance it and let it get any worse. I went straight to my doctor, didn't even check in, just walked up to the nurse and told her my plight. She took pity on me and asked for a urine sample and put me in a room. Urine samples are never fun. I'm guessing they aren't very easy for boys either. First of all, they want you to release a little bit of urine and then aim the rest into the cup. Girls don't have a convenient spout to direct the urine. It just goes where it want and when you are bent over in an unusual position to watch where it is all going and trying not to touch the public toilet seat at the same time, you end up with very little in the cup and the rest all over your legs and hands. I don't care how sterile it is, still gross. Then you have to wipe the excess off, screw on the lid, wash yourself and carry this thing back down a long hallway into the waiting room and hand it over in front of strangers watching. Of course they are watching, they are just glad it isn't them.
     Back to the story. I see the doctor and she agrees that my symptoms point to a UTI. She gives me a prescription for antibiotics and sends me home. I should begin to feel better in a few hours but within 24 for sure. My time at the pharmacy is a whole other blog. I'll get into my hatred of CVS one day. Flash to Friday afternoon. No change, still not feeling so hot and now I have a slight pain in my kidney but it comes and goes and isn't all that bad so I'm going to ignore it. I have a big weekend with the Fur Ball (Humane Society gala event, not weird sex party) and a friends' wedding. I can't be unwell. I'm going to just power through and those antibiotics are going to do their job. Except PE had other plans. PE had just begun to find ways to make my life hell. The pain in my kidney was getting worse and I needed to pee constantly but with nothing coming out. I went to Whole Foods and bought cranberry juice. Not the wonderful cocktail mix by Ocean Spray but pure, unsweetened cranberry juice. I was on a mission. I was drinking anything acidic I could find. I went through a gallon of that misery in a glass. Why do they even make that crap? It was horrible. Nothing is worth that and I still didn't get any relief. I made it through Saturday night with a lot of wine and willpower. Each trip to the bathroom was a long walk down a hall of pain. Each step filling my pool of dread just a bit more toward overflow. I didn't want to pee but had no choice. My body was telling me I had to, there was no time left. It was now or in my clothes. But it was all a lie. There was nothing coming out. Just a few sad little drops, I had more tears coming down my face. We left the ball early. I look forward to this event all year and we had to leave early because of PE. That unruly bastard!
     There was no sleep Saturday night and then PE's favorite day began. Sunday. I woke up doubled over in pain. The fucking antibiotics were not working and I was miserable. I tried to continue the 'ignoring it' treatment but by 10 am I knew something else had to be done. The wedding was at 4 so I had some time for something to change. I called the emergency doctor and explained the path that PE was taking. She went for a different course of antibiotics and called it in for me. Another trip to the dreaded pharmacy (CVS) from hell. I went home with my precious cargo and began what I thought was the road to recovery. I wanted to snort those antibiotics I was so desperate for relief. I now had a wretched pain in my side and thought I would die if I didn't get to pee. One long, luxurious, god given pee was all I needed. I was sure of it. By 2 pm I was writhing in pain on the couch and it was clear I wasn't going to the wedding. My wonder husband decided on a course of action that included margaritas, lots of water, and weed. Plus an 800 mg tablet of ibuprofin. That helped quite a bit, it was the best I had felt in days and I was still unable to move. Five 32 ounce glasses of water, 3 margaritas and an a pot brownie later, I still couldn't pee well and the antibiotics were not helpful. PE was giggling hysterically somewhere, I just couldn't hear it over my screams of agony. There were a few breakdowns on Sunday. Crying, begging for help, etc. After the calm eye of the storm, Monday morning arrived.
     I was supposed to go to work. I had three inspections to do and I was ready to walk out the door when it became clear to me that PE was in charge. I couldn't stand up. I was shaking and crying. I was in more pain than I ever thought possible. (I had no idea it was going to get worse) I had my office cancel my appointments and I drove straight to the doctor's office. My regular doctor wasn't there but one of the other doctors took one look at me and let me into his office. I was almost hyperventilating at this point from pain. They asked for another urine sample. (Seriously??!!) So not only do I have to try that fun experience again but I have to do it while doubled over, shaking, and crying. So not amused. Took forever and only about a half ounce showed up. The nice doctor man decided there was no way it was a UTI and that I most likely had a kidney stone. It was either that or I was in labor and since there was no way for the latter to be happening, it must be the former. PE had taken up residence in my kidney. (when I say Pure Evil, I mean Hitler and Freddie Kruger and Richard Ramirez and Manson and Hannibal Lecter and anything else that is dark and deadly and wrong in this world all rolled into one) He said I should go to the emergency room and needed to be admitted. He would call ahead and let them know I was coming. He was worried I couldn't drive myself. At that point, I would fly there if it meant relief.
     I check in to the ER (another urine sample for fucks' sake!) and they are kind enough to pump something called dilauded into my IV. Oh sweet wonderful bliss. The searing pain faded into a dull throb and I was able to breathe again. They took blood, did a CT scan, came back with results. I wanted to stay there forever wrapped in their cocoon of freedom from PE. The doctor came in and said, you have a kidney stone. He didn't know that it had a name, PE. It is 3 mm and we don't usually do anything for less than 7 mm so we are going to send you home with some meds. One will dilate your pipes to make it easier for the stone to pass, one is for the pain, and one for nausea. I'm not nauseous. Oh, just wait, you will be. PE has plans for you. And home I went. Far away from the safety of their dilaudid filled IV. I had no idea how many times in the next few days I would wish I lived at the hospital. It seems like such a blessed place full of sweet little old nurses and relief. Home was not this place. Home did not have peace for me. Not this week.
     The dilaudid wore off. Now all I had was percocet which in the sceme of things is like butter. Nice to have but doesn't really do a whole lot but slightly lubricate with some flavor. The rest of Monday, all of Tuesday and Wednesday, and part of Thursday were spent in a blur of pain meds and severe pain. The vomiting arrived on Tuesday morning. That was an entirely unneccesary addition to the misery. I was so unhappy. I even tried a home remedy of 2 oz. olive oil, 2 oz. honey and 2 oz. lemon juice. Wasn't all that bad really but I threw it right back up. PE didn't want to leave without a fight. Each time I peed I was sure the pain couldn't get any worse and that this was time it would pass. And each time, the pain did get worse. I still can't believe the degree of pain I felt. It changed the whole 1-10 pain scale for me in a big way. There is no comparison for me but according to what I have read, it is as bad a birthing a child but without the epidural and nothing to take care of you in your old age as a result. I don't ever fucking want to know. It was PE. Without a doubt, just Evil.
     It took a week but I'm fairly sure that PE has finally left me. I woke up today feeling almost normal and pain free. Peeing is starting to be fun again. I won't miss the percocet which just made me itchy and constipated. I hate puking so that won't be missed. The writhing in pain, the crying, the hopelessness, yup, it can all go. I only wish this pain on those who deserve it. Those who are PE.

Memorizing you

 Monkey has a brain tumor, we don't have much time left together.

I find myself staring at you. Each part as if it were separate, its own individuality. Then I step back and stare again at your whole. Move closer in and there is the back of your foot, I feel sad about seeing the callus. Like maybe somehow I could have prevented it. But that is just a small part of the whole. The whole is that I have given you and will continue to give you a pretty great life and the best life that I can give you. You have been indulged, loved, laughed at, considered, teased, and tolerated. I move back in to breathe your feet. Your personal 'fresh baked dog' smell. The way your nose still smells like puppy when you have been sitting in the sun. I can't keep that. Smells don't come back in memories. I have to smell it over and over right now but not so often that I lose it. Just enough to feel you. Then there is the heart shaped patch of fur missing on your chest. How even? Couldn't have been planned. Just your heart sitting out there to see every time you roll around on your back. How do I ever honor your sense of humor? I can't explain that you were actually funny once. That it was pretty obvious you were laughing at us all just a bit. You still sometimes get that glint in your eye just before your mouth droops open slightly and your bunch up your meaty butt and spring into a lap. The lap can expect it all it wants but you find a way to catch that one surprise second. But then the cancer takes your laughter away and you find yourself unsure of why you are even there. I have to stop staring at you but then again, I need every second. Your ears bounce with all your steps. You have a truly 'jaunty' gait. I wish I could say carefree but I know you aren't. You never have been. I hate that I couldn't fix that, couldn't fix you. Couldn't calm your fears. I want to hold you so close, kiss you a million times a day but it only makes you more uncomfortable. So I back away and just watch you sleep. Try so hard to capture forever your tiger stripes because a picture won't be enough. Try to smile at the many crazy 'Go Monkey, Go Monkey, Go, Go, Go' runs around the yard. Try to remember that even though you made me crazy, it was still said with a sense of pride that you could jump a 6 ft. fence. Try not to cry every time you come close to me even though I'm sick with the pain of losing you. Try to hold on to the hope that I will get to be with you again someday because that is the only way I can get through this. I love you my Monkey. I love every part, I always have, and I'm terrified that you don't know it.

Why should I have to age?

I certainly don't think I should have to age. I'm still a kid in so many ways. I wake up super early on Christmas, I love toys and hate to share them, my birthday is the best holiday of the year, butterflies distract me, I hate math and school in general, I giggle uncontrolably and unnecessarily, puppies are the coolest thing ever except Johhny Depp, I still listen to my music super loud, I do cartwheels, walk on the curb like it is a balance beam, swing on the swing in my front yard, smell the flowers all the damn time..etc. Now things are breaking and I'm fucking pissed off! I'm in the best shape of my life, mostly. I was thinner in my early twenties but definitely not as strong or clearly not as smart if you have read my previous posts. I'm thinking my dad must have gotten the 35 year warranty and I'm lucky it lasted until 37. In the past year I have had an endless headache. Yes, one long headache and after 3 MRIs with no answers I gave up, arthritis in my spine, tennis elbow, bunion surgery with another looming, and now..a new bonus feature! Not only am I talking about my health on a daily basis before I turn 60 but I might now have breast cancer. So cool. I'm weirdly calm and also super totally freaking out about it. I found a lump that the doctor doesn't think is a big deal but want to have checked out. Anytime a doctor wants to check things out, I begin to weigh the options of panic vs remaining calm. On the calm side I have the luxury of not worrying and most likely having the outcome of nothing happening but on the panic side there is the sleepless nights, the eating whatever I want, the drinking my evening away all in the hopes that this will just go away. I don't want to lose my boob. I like both of them, quite a bit. I'm not sure at this point that I find them to be a part of my identity, I'm a woman with or without but my boobs are fun to touch. Especially by me. I only found the lump because I woke up in the morning already playing with my boobs. Not playing sexually, just touching them because they are there and I can. I found the lump before I woke up fully. I was awake the second I noticed it though. It is amazing how a woman can go from not totally awake to I can take on anything in seconds. I'm not sure if men have this ability. I'm not trying to put men down, I just don't think they are built like that. I didn't know how to process what I thought I had found. I wasn't even sure it was what I thought it was. It still might not be. I hate that it takes time to find these things out when it is scary. Or is it just that time takes longer when things are scary? To his credit, my husband is scared too. He is taking this seriously but can't be truly a part of it because he isn't a woman. There are just things we have to deal with that men cannot. He offered to come with me to the appointment but I just couldn't bear to have him in the room as it was time for my regular check up and the insertion of the scapula and poking about n all is just a bit much to share. Obviously not too much to share here. So there it is. A possible cancerous bit of my body. Pissing me off. Making it clear that I am ageing even though I shouldn't have to. I'm a child. I haven't grown up, why should I have to deal with grown up issues? I'm not ready to stop loving silliness, play dough, bouncy balls, general goofiness, puppies, and anything that makes me giggle.

Am I really?

It has come to my attention by way of my insecurity that not one of my family members seems to think that I'm worthy of taking care of their children if something should happen to them. I'm pretty much hurt by this. I realize that I have always been against having children but that is only for me. I don't think that others shouldn't do it. I just don't want to be a mom. That being said, there are children out there that I would not only be willing to raise, but would be super happy to see on a daily basis. I have the means. I live in a house that is large enough and in a safe neighborhood. If the schools couldn't provide a good enough education, I can afford tutors or even private school. I'm fun (god I hope I'm not lying to myself here). It was a pretty big blow when my brother and his wife never approached me about being in their will, especially since at the time I was making more money than I knew what to do with. Then my cousin didn't pick me either. Nor did who I thought was my best friend (no, it wasn't the lack of being chosen that changed our friendship, I'm not that pathetic) I get that there was probably a time when I wasn't the best choice, maybe people thought I'd be dumb enough to give the kid a tattoo or piercing at a ridiculously early age but at this point, still not a one has approached me and said, 'would you be willing to parent my kid(s) if something happened to me/us?' It makes me think that perhaps I need to take some stock in my life and figure out what it is that I'm doing so wrong in the eyes of  others. What exactly is it that makes me so unworthy / undesirable?

To 673 Harrison Av. Many Thanks

I'm leaving my home. After 9 years it is time to go.  I don't know if anyone can grasp that walking into this place for the first time, I knew I was home. I felt in my soul that this was it. I was finally here. That place I had been searching for, the safety, security, the womb I had lost 28 years prior. It was here. At 673 Harrison Av. I found love, friendships, parents, time, memories. It was where I could be the person I couldn't help but be. I walked into an endless amount of nothing short of 80's blue carpeting, over sized flower metallic wallpaper, fake pine paneling, clashing blue tile kitchen counters, more clashing blue wallpaper in the master bedroom, and a massive plate full of random keys. One of my first memories was of my mother calling me from my home to let me know that the pool guy had left the water on to fill the pool and she couldn't turn it off and the pool was over flowing and who should she call. Oh christ! I have a pool guy?! I had no idea that pools have a separate nozzle to fill them. I had always seen my folks use a hose in the past. The first of many lessons I learned at 673. I wish I could remember the first time I met Chris and Steve. That first time I met people who showed me what a neighbor is, what a neighborhood means. I'm blessed, blown away, so incredibly grateful. I could never have imagined what I got. I learned to water my lawn in the morning, time spent chatting the morning away isn't a waste, there is always a spot on the couch, how to make the best meatloaf, the giant spider really is that fucking big, a fence is sight proof not soundproof, a good hug is only a few feet away, it is ok to get mad at a friend because that is what makes them your friend, the proper way to stack firewood, I'm not the only one who doesn't want  listen to my mom talk, shred my mail damnit!, there are a lot of ways to see something, love is beautiful, friends don't judge they just save you and hold you, and probably a million other things that will come to me in the next few weeks and over the years as my life flashes through me. There was Wendy and Tommy. I saw the pain, the struggle of making Ava a reality. I saw the wonder of a special little girl grow up and then the sadness of the move. Lost friends. Made me realize change was going to happen but at least I could comfort myself that I was going to be a constant. I had the morning walking ladies to say 'hi' to. I had my route to walk the dogs . Altered it a bit as Kaiya and Echo got older. Still, not a huge change. Then came Drew and Anh. They showed up on a similar wind as Matt. It was all one big gust and here they all were. Drew and Anh came first but it was Matt that brought them to us. Before he came along I think they weren't all that sure about me. Then there were lunches, time with the 'Salmon Killer', time spent making chapstick or salt scrubs, taking care of the cat babies, naming Shaqdaddy, sharing movies and ingredients, crazy Chinese diet pills, the beauty of Sang, the love of Alexander's, curds and jams, a reason to cross the street chicken or not, a tool share, a giant and a tiny friend. Nancy, Doug, Terry. Solid staples of my neighborhood. I love them too. They aren't as close yet I still feel that in a moment of crisis, they would absolutely be there for me. Carol and Carson, opinions and all. The kid who grew up and drives too fast in his loud Dodge. To Lupe who passed away. To Pat who passed away. To James who moved away. To all the ghosts of past and present who I will miss and miss and miss every day. Thank you to all of you for being the best place I have ever lived without a doubt.

As i know it

I've said it before. I've been pretty open about it. I've sounded like I knew what I was doing. I thought I had a handle on it. It found a way to sneak up on me though. I have a good life. Things are mostly ok here. And yet, Depression located my hiding place. It hunted me down. I truly thought that after all these years that I was safe. I must have let my guard down. Stupid, stupid me. I know how this has affected me before. I know how devastated I have been. How hard hit. How much pain has found me despite my cries of 'unfair!'. How many times I have curled up like a child at the back of a dark corner of the house begging Depression to leave me alone? The people in my life say that they are here for me, that I can call anytime and they truly mean it. What they don't get is that I can't make that kind of rational decision when Depression has wrapped around me. Imagine a bat, but a massive one, one that sucks the life out of you but not figuratively, literally. Each part of it that touches you leeks a portion of you away. I can see it, feel it but not do a damned thing about it. I am dead inside, so I ask myself why not be dead outside? Problem being, I don't want to be the one to do it. I don't actually want to die. I just wish I wasn't here. Wasn't born. This is Depression. Not me. Not my 'self'. Not in any way the person any one knows. Just this thing that carries the name of Depression. So I became what is called a 'cutter'. I take a deep breath here. It carries such a stigma. It is shitty to admit. I don't want to field the questions but at the same time, if there is one person who is helped or one person who gets me in a better way, then my shame is worth it. I'm scared and scarred. I would have changed who I am years ago if it was possible. That should be obvious but often isn't. I can't 'snap out of it'. I can't 'just get over it'. I can't 'move on'. I couldn't 'just grow up'. I just discovered at 37, it never goes away. I can never be complacent. It will find me. It will always try to ruin me and who I have fought to become. It makes sure I never grow up. It will be forever there to stop me from snapping out of anything. Even if I could, Depression is there to make sure I doubt what I am doing. 

Wow, I'm honored

I have had a few people recently who told me that they actually read my blog and enjoy it. (You guys deserve mention because it did impact me, my cousin Naseim and my awesome friend Bobby) What a moment of suprise for me, self satisfaction. I like to think I'm fucking cool but mostly I doubt it and wonder how much of a burden I truly am on those around me. Especially when my ego takes over and I forget to think of the feelings that other people might have. Hearing that people who don't feel obligated still read what I have to say inspires me. I grew up watching my dad dismiss my mother and her opinions, feelings, thoughts, to the point that I hated being a girl (woman as time went on). I've always thought that if I don't say it loud, it won't be heard. I became opinionated even when I didn't believe in myself just to have something to say. Now I'm saying all those things that I held back out of fear and shame and there are actually people listening. How is that possible? When I am around my friends, or family, or even acquaintances, I want to open up, I want to share, but I find myself halfway through a ramble wondering if they are even listening at all. Especially because I suck at listening. Actually, no, I do listen, I just can't retain most of the time and that is because I am too absorbed in relating. I am mainly trying to find common ground but to such an extent that I don't focus and that seems mean.So I'm sorry to anyone out there that has spoken to me, shared, discussed and then realized that I am in a different part of our conversation. I don't do it on purpose and I do appreciate your being.