The stupidity of teenagers

One would think that being dx with cancer, and a particularly deadly form just a few years ago would make a kid sit up and take notice. Apparently, if that kid is my 19 year old nephew, one would be wrong. He virtually stopped taking his medication back in January. He's not doing well in school and last semester, we all said "Well, who can blame you?" His local MD wrote out a "Get out of flunking out of school letter" but warned him he'd never do it again. He started an antidepressant, started seeing a therapist, and hell I needed those things without a dx of cancer.

He seemed to rally, is doing marginally better in school, and likes his job. He's taken interest in a girl who seems to reciprocate the feelings. But stopped taking the medication, taking the chance that his cancer could become resistant to the gleevac. His cancer MD opened a can of whoop ass on him, asking him what he'd like to do die or go for a bone marrow transplant. Smart ass teenager replied "I don't know, I'd have to think about it."

This statement says that for now, smart ass teenager is alive and well, but he thinks the cancer is not in control. Part of me is glad he's still acting like a "normal" teenager. It's no surprise that his stopping the meds coincides with him achieving cellular remission. He may not hit molecular remission now though, which means that he risks a full cure. What he fails to understand, like most of us, is that we ourselves are not in control either. We fool ourselves into thinking that we control our own destinies, and God just sits back and smiles. Occasionally, He will let us continue with that delusion for quite some time.

I sincerely hope his wake up call does not come in the form of a bone marrow transplant. He'll wish he was dead before it's over and has a 50/50 shot of that happening anyway. He'll have wished he took the damn nausea inducing, joint pain causing gleevac instead. And his family will sit by his side, in a mask and gown, and hold his hand wishing the same thing. Dumb stupid teenagers.

When Nurses Have Meltdowns

When a nurse is having a bad day, here are a few handy tips for coworkers:

1. Jump in and help. Don't wait for the nurse having the bad day to ask. This is a good time to put the phrase "Just do it" into action. Thankfully, I have such a co-worker, actually, surprisingly two. And one of those is a manager. Color me surprised!

2. Don't bitch about what a rough day YOU'RE having and ask for my help. This will rapidly piss me off even more--and make your day harder for sure.

3. Don't walk by me and announce "Oh you're going to love me for sure! Guess what? You're getting an admit in about an hour. This makes me want to give you an enema--after taking a running start, without the lube.

4. For God's sake, do NOT give me the slowest TMA on the planet--nice woman, good heart, good CNA, HORRIBLE TMA. Oh yeah, don't do that AND short me on an aid.

5. Jump in and help with the needy, cranky, demanding family members.

I have a pt. dying, with family calling for updates. I happen to have a distant connection to this family as well, making them expect more from me. Under normal circumstances, I want to go that extra mile. I want all of my pts. to have the highest quality of care. I have high expectations of myself in this regard.

Next, had a discharge. Fairly simple, straight forward, anxious to leave. Fine, until he calls me because he can't get the meds he told me he didn't need me to order. Why is this my problem? Could have solved it at 7:30am before my day went to hell.

Next pt. is sure that the meds are WRONG, and don't you dare bring me those meds after my food is here. Fine, eat your food cold...want one to one care? I'm a lot more expensive...so a call's made to try and straighten out the meds and spouse harrasses me for not getting a reply fast enough. PLEASE NOTE: I'M NOT THE SECRETARY FOR THE MD WHO WORKS OUT OF AN OFFICE DOWN THE STREET. This one doesn't want to eat either, refuses her supplements, can't figure out why she's so tired. Surely there's a reason...could it be the terminal dx, the high dose pain meds? The lack of food? Nah, probably the inhaler you insist I didn't order correctly for you, even though I didn't enter your orders.

This one still has a port a cath access needle in (and I need to figure out what to do with it, um, how to get it out) wants a suppository--but not now--maybe later. Asks me why the maintenence man would know the therapy schedule. Maybe because he's a really nice guy, trying to be helpful, and was here to set up your requested equipment that therapy provided. Maybe you could treat him a little crappier, eh? After all, he's JUST the maintenence man.

Next pt. has c-diff...lots of fun. Doesn't want to eat, despite this, a shocking amount still coming out the other end.

Opps, another one started hospice and is rapidly declining. Someone else can convince him to deep breath and cough every hour. Doesn't want to eat.

Super Gay Hospice Nurse had to add a little dig at the end and piss me off..."Just a friendly reminder to do oral cares frequently." WTF? I personally did oral cares x2, there were swabs bedside, and vaseline bedside. Did it look like efforts were not being made? Asshole.

Damn, trays are late and I gave insulin to another pt...crap...should I re-check his insulin? Where the hell is my TMA? I already have my medicare vitals done, how can she not have that cart done yet?

Why isn't anyone in my dining room? Thankfully Super Nurse Co-worker is on top of it and now a bunch of my pts are in the dining room. No clue where my CNA is....

Great, the discharge from yesterday wants us to round up the O2 cylinders he brought from home. Dude, call your O2 company, not me. You have been DISCHARGED.

Okay, guess I'll have to pass meds for the second cart. Crap, there are three people who have crushed meds. Oh, there's my CNA, someone is refusing to get dressed until I change his saturated dressing. YUCK. Gross...it's smelly too...What does he mean I slapped the bandage on wrong? How many ways are there to put a giant band-aid on? Seriously? You won't get up until I get a new one? Oh my, that IS tempting. Of course the other nurse does it right...she works with you every single day and I'm just a big old loser replacement nurse in charge of double the amount of pts that she is because we're working short handed again!

Oh, pain meds, pain meds, and more pain meds. Pain follow up, ice packs, and rubbing sore joints. Answering hospice questions, social worker questions, and doing treatments down the other hall that has the best TMA ever. Damn, why couldn't I have had her instead? Doctor's call...I hope it's on one of my regular pts. Thank God, it is and I knew what he wanted to know/hear.

This is why I had the meltdown when I found out my admit was early. I seem to keep finding more and more problems, have no time to fix them, and can't get my assessments done.

Thankfully, my Super Nurse Co-worker validated my crappy day. I was actully feeling bad about crying, but she made me feel better, told me I was right, and that a lot was being asked of me (yeah, I know it's pathetic that I still felt bad) Just call me the doormat.

Thank God it's my weekend off!

Baby thoughts and dreams

I'm surrounded by pregnant people, yet again. This is the way the world works. Population statistics say this should not surprise me. Yet, occasionally I'm caught off guard. Because it takes doctors, medications, surgery, and tons of prayer and tears to even get close to a pregancy for me, other people's "surprise" pregnancies and happy accidents still have the power to catch me off guard.



Progress has been made, though, as these events no longer send me into a week of tears with the covers over my head. There is, and I know always will be, a twinge of jealousy. However, progress has been made, or perhaps that damn cliche is true that time really does help heal. There is a work friend who is now pregnant, a happy surprise in her case. I've watched her go from "OMG, seriously?" to "I can't wait to have a belly". It's beautiful to watch, and still, despite the progress that's been made, manages to re-open a small area of my heart that never quite heals.



And I think about the babies that should be running around now, with beloved's blue eyes and curly hair. I see in my mind him playing with pretty little girls, rocking both of them in his recliner. I hear them calling him "daddy" and him lovingly scolding them when they are naughty.



It's terribly confusing, when you can be happy with your life as it is, yet long and wish it was another way. When you can come to acceptance, and then something happens to make you wish the dreams would have come true another way. I suppose its regret, but how can you have regrets about something you couldn't have in the first place?

Sadly, one of the ladies lost her baby this last week. Even more sad, I felt a little bit of satisfaction, now she'll know what it's like to be a member of my club too. I'm one sick puppy.

Things I hate about being a RADish parent

1. Lying: RADishes lie. Constantly. If their lips are moving they are lying. It's true too. I'm tired of it.
2. Stealing: RADishes steal if it's easier. I'm sick and tired of finding evidence of such in DS's room. I stopped going into his room, for the post part, because of this. I'm tired of locks everywhere, of having to hide my soda, my meds, having a separate fridge with a lock, a lock on my closet, locks on the basement, locks on the heat/AC controls, locking the vehicles, locking up all the keys, my purse, not being to ever have cash around
3. Eggshells everywhere: I walk on eggshells around him, because you just don't know when he's going to blow. So instead we have a lot of silence. Yesterday at Easter, everyone was asking how he was doing--since he was in the room, I had to lie. Yup, now I'm a liar too.
4. Hopelessness: When we first met DS, we felt like we were helping a child. Who doesn't want to help and protect a child. And we saw evidence of the fruit of our labor. He was happier, responded to therapy, and there was signs and symptoms of child-parent relationship. Then he discovered drugs and alcohol, and we landed right back at the beginning.
5. Isolation. When you're the parent to an addict, who also happens to be a RADish, you end up feeling isolated. There are two choices, lying, which sucks and makes you feel isolated, or telling the truth, which results in akward silences, lots of "I'm sorrys" tons of assvice, and everyone taken a big old step back. There also seems to be a callusness to me, an edge to my voice, and this I do not like about me.
6. Along with hopelessness...helplessness: Do we try treatment? Therapy? More therapy? A new therapist? Family therapy? Can we afford any of this? Can we afford *NOT* too...and then the callusness again on my part when we do the leg work, get services lined up, and he refuses to go more than once. Bitterness and anger with six months of bills...
7. Frustration: Sadness gave way a long time ago to frustration when I see this child who had a future throw it all away. When I saw more than he did, when he would look to me to make sure he was worth it, and watching him say "fuck it" and run away from himself.

It's hard to walk around tired all the time. It's hard to admit I'm happier when my child is not home, while knowning I'd rather not know what he's doing when he's gone. It's hard to look at him when he's home, seeing the pot-bleary eyes and knowning what he did. When we first started doing this, I was passionate, reading and studying everything I could get my hands on that was practical about living/raising/helping RADishes. When one technique didn't work, I happily and, with determination, tried another. Some things worked, and we'd celebrate our success--which meant DS's success. The books and therapists are out of ideas, and so am I.

Pain is NOT subjective!!

Today I got called into my DON's office, where our executive director--who is not a nurse--yelled at my for charting "Pt. states pain is an "8/10". I listed my interventions, what her response was, etc. ED told me that "If her pain was really that bad, we should be sending her to the hospital. You need to do a full assessment then to see if that corelates to what she's saying." I asked her if she was concerned about drug seeking....

This pt. is A&O x4, has an infection in her hip incision, AND has fibromyalgia, for which she takes methadone 5mg BID. "You need to use the faces scale then if the objective assessment does not agree with what she's saying." And then what? Only give her 1 pain pill instead of the two that I did that reduced her pain to a "3/10"???? Why, why, why would I use the dementia pain scale for someone who is A&O? That is then saying we are not taking our pt's pain complaints seriously.

She had previously stated "7/10" and the day nurse gave her one vicodin and vistaril, she was asking for more within 3 hours...What ever happened to pain is subjective?

And I wonder why I can't get anyone to believe me about MY pain issues. This is Nursing 101: "The patient is always right; Pain is subjective, a sensory experience unique to each indivdual".

Chronic pain sufferers do not cope with pain the same way as people with acute pain. I attempted to argue this point, with the response being "An 8 is acute pain." Period? Says who? Not my patient.

If I talk to the patient and say "If your pain is that bad, we should send you to the hospital. Remember 0 is no pain, 1-3 is mild, 4-7 is moderate, and greater than that is severe. Now is your pain REALLY THAT BAD???" I'm telling my patient that I don't take her seriously.

Piss of, you business worried about your survey PITA!

Snowy mornings

Thursday morning, as I walked to the van, the snow crunched under my feet and the moon was bright. I suddenly flashed back to high school, walking to the barn in the winter. I absolutely hated getting up early in the morning, swore at that time that I'd never, ever end up getting up that early and here I am doing it. Despite the fact that I long for my warm bed, waking up slowly and lazily, I love those crisp, cold mornings.

I can't explain it, but there is a calm and peace in the air that is unlike no other time of the day. In my mind, I could hear the whir of the barn fan, and the clunk of the calves' milk bottles after I fed them. Now I hear the fan of the car heater the crunch of snow as I pull out of the driveway.

Some things do change, there are no cows to feed or milk. My dad would probably be surprised to hear that on such mornings, I do think back to those times and can honestly say I miss them. Well, not quite miss them like I want to do them again, but they are good memories.

My mornings now are filled with those few residents who are early risers asking me "Are you my nurse today?" And being disappointed if I'm not. It still surprises me that I mean that much to my residents, because with 24 of them, divided by eight hours, that means they get a total of 20 minutes max of my time, most of which is not face to face. Somehow I have become someone meaningful in their life.

To have those peaceful snowy mornings first, and then be greeted this way is really just the icing on the cake.

Goodbye, Radish

Now that we are foster kid free, and I've sorta cleaned the spare bedroom, added all the junk that spare bedrooms should have, I'm nostaligic and thinking about all the kiddos we've cared for over the years.

Dear Courtney, Coleen, Ashley, Gavin, Nick, Deavon, Derek, Scott, Rich, Dillon, David, Kyle, Verle, Paul, Andrew, and the 1/2 dozen or so respite kiddos....I truly wish you all of life's happiness, and I hope that you are able to find the best in life that God has planned for you. Yes, even the big D.

Seven years ago, we were broke and I was wondering if our home would ever know the pitter patter of little feet. Today, I look around at the scarred furniture, floors, walls, doors, and can say, yes, we've had THE parenting experience. There's the dent in the living room wall from where the Big D used to slam his feet up against doing hand stands. The damaged doors, the grape jelly stains, and the giant holes all tell stories, not unlike the holes I see in my Dad's house.

The ceiling at home bears wounds from where my brother, age 12 or so, said "Hey I bet I can touch my elbow to the ceiling", but his head hit first. Or the ragged carpet that the cats kept scratching at, the burn mark from my tea candles (damn, was I lucky I didn't burn the house down!), and the little dings that kids leave on a house that says it's lived in.

My house now bears those marks. They made me mad at the time, but as I repair them I hope I can say "thank you Lord".

Dear Social Worker (revisited)

I decided to do a little research, and here are a few things I've discovered.

"A social worker is a helping professional who is distinguished from other human service professionals by a focus on both the individual and his or her environment."

This implies a working understanding of the actual environment of the people intended to be helped. In this case, you're supposed to be focused on my children, and their environment.

"Social workers comprise a profession that had its beginnings in 1889 when Jane Addams founded Hull House and the American settlement house movement in Chicago's West Side. The ethics and values that informed her work became the basis for the social work profession. They include respect for the dignity of human beings, especially those who are vulnerable, an understanding that people are influenced by their environment, and a desire to work for social change that rectifies gross or unjust differences.
The social work profession is broader than most disciplines with regard to the range and types of problems addressed, the settings in which the work takes place, the levels of practice, interventions used, and populations served. It has been observed that social work is defined in its own place in the larger social environment, continuously evolving to respond to and address a changing world. Although several definitions of social work have been provided throughout its history, common to all definitions is the focus on both the individual and the environment, distinguishing it from other helping professions."

I have seen little evidence of evolution among you, and hate to paint with a broad brush, but the lack of knowledge about the children you serve, the lack of knowledge of the larger social environment you serve, and the lack of response of any kind makes you well, lazy and useless. Are you aware of your complete ineptness? Should I mention the lying on oh, virtually every "update", every piece of paperwork sent to us?

"practice of social work requires knowledge of human development and behavior, of social, economic and cultural institutions, and of the interaction of all these factors."

Again, I fall to see where you have ever attempted to display knowledge of human development or behavior. The eveidence of this I have seen has concentrated on the norms, however you are not dealing with the norms, you are dealing with abnormal behaviors and this requires knowledge and interventions on behalf of those. You just dumped this last radish on us and walked away. Name one thing, just one thing you did to help. Every single thing that was done for him was initiated by us.

"The social work profession promotes social change, problem solving in human relationships and the empowerment and liberation of people to enhance well-being. Utilising theories of human behaviour and social systems, social work intervenes at the points where people interact with their environments. Principles of human rights and social justice are fundamental to social work.

A professional skilled in talking with patients and their family members about emotional and/or physical needs; an excellent resource for support."

At this point, all I can do is laugh. You've failed on all of these accounts. Who do you think you've provided emotional support to? The children? Us? Nope, miserable failiures. Those few times you showed up to my home and asked what I needed and I gave you specifics? Yeah, that's the part where you're supposed to help. Even the smallest evidence of therapeutic communication would have helped. Nope, we got nothing. You didn't even need to use skills, we specifically told you what we needed you to do--we couldn't access those services without you. And you ignored us.

So screw you, piss off.

Dang, that felt good to get off my chest.

Things you never want to hear

-Woah, you're gonna be mad when you see this mess!
-Hey, where are the wire cutters?
-Um, did the police call here today?
-I think the toilet is plugged (after the second flush is heard)
-Any sort of banging that comes out of the garage
-Any random crash followed by "I didn't do it"
-Yips of pain from the dogs, followed by laughter

Guess which THREE of these I heard today!

For my Beloved

Happy 10 years of wedded bliss! And happy 15 years together. Can you believe it's been 15 years since we first met? A few things to think about...



-OJ was arrested the summer we met.
-We were still in college
-I lived with Penny and Paulette
-You lived with Jeff, Jeff, Dan and Chris
-Gas was just over a dollar a gallon. I could fill up my car for about $15.
-The World Trade Center had been bombed,
-I really did know that I'd met my soul mate when we first met.
-I didn't 'get' the internet

With you, I've learned to golf, been introduced to Chinese food, Indian food, and a few other yummies that escape me right now. You've helped me stand through the loss of my mother, and my crazy family. Together we've survived the Keenans, Kahlow, 3M, Pace, AND Braun. We held each other through financial difficulties, diabetes, depression, and infertility. Oh yeah, and camping in Canada with your Dad.

Which brings us to the Great Parenting Adventures. We survived poopy diapers, magic marker on the carpets, bio parents that were critical of ever single thing we did, our families who thought we couldn't (or shouldn't) be doing foster care, and the nuclear bomb that was the Big D. El Chupacabra and our dear drug-addicted RADish have worked hard to try and undo our family, but we remain strong. With glass smashed into the carpet, dents kicked into cars, drunk kids, stoned kids, kids smoking on the deck, punching holes in the walls, sneaking out, hanging upside down outside the house, setting off smoke alarms while "cooking", nudie pics of girlfriends (what a fun converstion that was with those parents!), how many dirty magazines confiscated, the stealing, the lying, and the doors kicked off the hinges it's a miracle we've survived.

Not only have we survived all that, but we survived despite the best efforts of social workers! It's also spurred us onto new careers, and I'm excited to start this next chapter together.

Beloved, you're stuck with me for richer (ha!) or poorer, in good times and bad, in sickness and health. You can't get rid of me.

Gas costs are such that a fifty dollar bill pulled out of a wedding card wouldn't have filled the tank, OJ's a free man, and the WTC is gone. The past 15 years have been a crazy ride, and I'm looking forward to the next 15.

You're still the one, my love.

Get a life!

This morning I wake up 'early' for me, which is actually late for most, around 9 am. I wake up to find el chupacabra in front of the tv, with a mess in the house, and he's asking me if I want muffins. It's like a little bit of sand in my shoe.

I'm frustrated. I find this child to be so annoying, I debated going back up to my room and staying in bed. It wouldn't be the first time.

I can't change him, I can only survive him at this point. Unlike DS, I don't have any family building memories with him. He's a very effective RADish.

I don't want to be bullied by him into being miserable. I'm watching "The Pursuit of Happyness" and there's a line that says "How did they know to put that line in the declaration of independence, that line about the pursuit of happiness...is it something you can only pursue because you can never catch it?"

Then I'm back to what Beloved says, Happiness is a decision. It's hard when 50% of the family has firmly decided they will not be happy. No, not hard, virtually impossible.

Lord, change my heart.

memories

Lately a lot of old memories have been popping into my mind, at seemingly random times. Tonight I was remembering how when a new child would come into our home, DS would give them the tour of the house. He would tell new kids "no matter what, you can always knock on their bedroom door, it's really okay". That warmed my heart to hear him say that because it meant he knew that too.

With all the turmoil/teen angst this past year, I haven't been doing a lot besides look forward to the day he turns 18. I've realized what a nasty attitude that is, and have been praying "Lord change my heart".

It seems like remembering better times is how my heart is being changed.

I remember him weeding beside me in the garden, proud.

I remember him sitting on beloved's lap in long johns, on Christmas day.

I remember family dinners, with Sting on the stereo.

I remember asking the kids "What are you grateful to God for today?" DS usually replied "recess" or "school's done".

I remember them being pleasant to be around.

I miss that.

Denials?!?!

Parent: You smelled like booze last night
RADish: We did not smell like beer
Parent: Well, actually you did
RADish: Did I slur my words? Did I walk funny? NO
Parent: Yes you did
RADish: Prove it! Oh wait, you can't because I wasn't drunk. Give me a piss test
Parent: That wouldn't show anything
RADish: Fine, I'll do a blood test
Parent: Well, you appear sober now--so unless you're still drunk or just had a drink, nothing will be evident.
RADish: That's cuz I wasn't drinking.

They're convinced we really are that stupid. I wonder if I'll be there when the world bites them in the butt. I really hope not.

Sad thing is, we'll continue to play this game with them, and we'll continue to let them get away with it. I don't have the energy to fight them, nor do I have the desire. I'm satisfied to not have animosity towards them.

Sounds like the Radishes have been successful at pushing me away.

Bad news

My dear nephew is now awaiting a bone marrow transplant. Obviously this was not the news we wanted to hear, but our faith in God is intact. Whatever the details of God's plan for Michael are, I cling to the promises in Jeremiah: Jer 29:11 (NIV) "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."

The future is unknown to us, but not to God. As much as I want this ache in my heart to go away, as much as I want God to do what I want, I will continue to praise Him and say "your will be done."

But oh how this hurts!

Now Cancer?

Thursday we received the news that my nephew, age 18, has chronic myelogenous leukemia. From everything I'd read in my nursing texts, the prognosis was fairly poor--three to five years. At 18, three to five didn't sound like nearly enough time. I thought I would be sick at the news, and felt everything from rage to devastation. However, pending the outcome of a few tests that will be back sometime today, he's been given a very good prognosis. Apparently the newest treatment is amazing, and unlike chemotherapy, treats the source of the dysfunction in the gene that lead to this.

Yet again, I feel like there is a before and after. This sense of before and after has happened numerous times before. First with mom being diagnosed with Huntington's disease, second with beloved's diabetes, third with our infertility, and finally when our IVF failed three years ago. Each time there was a feeling of lost innocence, but this was somehow worse. It has to do with the fact that he's only 18, full of promise for the future, getting ready to leave for college.


The uncertainty is horribly unsettling. So far, things look as okay as they can considering the diagnosis of cancer. He's gotten two units of RBCs, has not felt sick at all, and the leukophoresis treatments have proven quite successful in reducing his WBC count.


When our IVF failed three years ago (hmmm...July again?) the feelings of powerlessness were nearly maddening. Going back to school was the way I found power again. Now that my schooling is just about to bear fruit (and I've had a taste working as an LPN), I'm reminded again that this power is simply an illusion--God is in control and always has been. Everything I have is because of His grace. My beloved husband, our home, my brains, our jobs, and our extended family--all gifts and blessings from my Creator.

So as I try and process this, I'm going to try to refocus on God, and I'm trying to remember how much life means, like the Chris Rice song says..."Teach us to count the days...Teach us to make the days count...Lead us in better ways...That somehow our souls forgot"

That's my prayer for now, that and a cure. God says we are to come boldly, well, boldly I'm asking for a cure.

Depression

I haven't been writing lately because I've been more depressed. I finally went to the dr and got my prescription switched because of the headaches I've been having, and I'm down to only a few HA a week. That's much more do-able. Plus, I got a 'script for celebrex which hopefully will help the foot pain. Hopefully, I'll be able to start exercising again. Yes, that was my latest most long standing excuse for not working out. But it's also the truest, and the most reliable. I'd work out for a few weeks and then slack off because I'd be so sore, among other reasons.

I got weighed today to, which does NOT help my depressed state. I'm back up to 225, with jeans on. But I've been eating just about anything and everything I want. I'm going to try one day at a time. It's such a daily uphill battle. I don't want to fight myself anymore, just the eating disorder. Slowly, I'm beginning to see the difference between me and the ED. Not that I don't still think I'm responsible for it, but I do think that the two are separate; I just could see where one started and one ended for a long time.

So...day by day...hopefully I'll carve out a few minutes each day to write too, it always helps to write down what I'm thinking and feeling. It's the single most useful tool I've learned in therapy. Not that there haven't been other tools, but this one is my favorite.

Biggest Girl in the Room

I often think I'm the biggest girl in the room. Today, I watched a girl I know who has an eating disorder go through the ritual of unwrapping a pack of crackers. Her mannerisms were...interesting. I've done the same sort of thing many times myself when actively dieting. I created rituals to make the process take more time, be more involved, and God only knows why else. I sure don't have it all figured out. It certainly struck a cord with me to watch her. I have a feeling she has also felt like shes the biggest girl in the room. Which makes me think of something else.

I don't WANT to be the one that sticks out in the crowd. Now I think I do stick out in the crowd for being fat, but perhaps the eating/weight gain was related to wanting to hide. However, one of my reasons for wanting to be skinny is to blend in. Hmm. Isn't that ironic? I don't think I losing weight is going to solve all of my problems, or that life is suddenly going to be sunshine and roses. On the contrary, I think I felt worse while I was part of weight watchers. The initial momentum and loss created som euphoria. That was the fun part...but then it wore off. And overall, I felt worse. It was hard work. I had a lot left to lose, body distortion problems, and had lost my favorite coping mechanism.

The idea, of course, is to develop new and improved coping mechanisms. My head gets it. Boy does my head get it. My head is freakin' sick of getting it and not knowing how to follow through. My heart is horrified at the weight gain. If I am developing new and improved coping mechanisms, then why the gaining? I think the therapist would say the disordered thinking is fighting back. Sure it is, it's so deeply ingrained WTF am I (or it) supposed to do? We are entwined. I'm not this eating disorder, and I do think I'm able to recover fully.

In the last year, there have been a number of times where I'm unable to finish a plate of food. This is way out of character for me. To be therapeutic, it's the eating disorder made me do it. Now I'm finding that more and more often I can't finish a plate. That's happened at least 3-4 times this week. I'm bewildered. This big part of me seems to be getting smaller and smaller. I don't know what's going to take it's place. It's scary and more than ever I feel vulnerable, raw, and wide open. A piece of me is leaving, missing, and there is nothing in it's place.

Not my problem

DS's biomom called me last night. She believes DS is holding a grudge against her and that he needs to get over it. What a self-serving selfish biotch! She portrayed herself as the victim in all of this, completely ignoring the fact that she's the one who is responsible for his pain in the first place. Then she comes to me for support. DS shared with us a comment that she made about us. It wasn't negative. It just showed how very threatened by us she really is. I find the mother bear instinct rising up to defend my cub.

I got the impression she wanted me to validate her feelings. I think she wanted me to help her 'gang up' on DS. The problem (for her) is that I don't care how horrible she feels. Plus, DS knows how to get rid of her. She puts too much of her guilt on him and he either can't tell her how he feels or he takes on too much of her guilt. For him, it sucks. He has no voice left. The little comments about us don't help either, he's automatically put in the middle. So he does what always worked to get her to back off--he acts like a jerk. She falls into line, plays the victim and boo hoos to anyone who will listen and blames it all on him. She could choose to give him the space a 16 year old boy wants. She could choose to let him come to her but can't because she's just too CLINGY!

While I hope he could be able to tell her how he feels, she's still not going to listen. She can't possibly hear him. I'm not going to try and make him either. I think he needs to talk to someone other than friends and other than us about all of this. I think he's healthy enough to do one on one counseling. Now if I can convince him...I'd like for him to consider medication again too, winter is so hard for him. Plus he's mentioned that he's been feeling depressed at other times, like mot of the summer. He wants to blame it on the other kids--but that just ain't the case. I doubt if he understands all of the reasons why he's so down.

My poor sweetie.

PSA: Eating with a kitten

1. Stretch well ahead of time
2. Wear long underwear under your pants, remove all strings from the clothing.
3. Consider gloves.
4. re-stretch to make sure you can eat with one hand over your head--this is wear you will be holding your plate.
5. Practice moving the plate or ball back and forth between your hands. Speed counts.
6. Keep a few things handy to toss at the dogs, since they are sure the kitten's prescence near your food is an act of treachary against them.
7. Learn to eat formally hot foods at room temp or better yet, straight out of the fridge. If it stays cold, the aromas may not be as prominant, therefore it might take longer to attract said kitten.
8. Assume you will need a spare set of silverware. You'll probably end up tossing the kitten off of you with fork in your hand. Experienced pet owners won't mind the extra hair.
9. BONUS! Food rubbed off the fork onto the kitten. Now eat as fast as you can while she licks it off of her fur.
10. Don't count on eating standing up. This is why you are wearing long underwear--it helps deter the claws.

Ouch, there's a knife in my back

In all actuality, I don't think the knife is truly in my back. It came from a completely expected source. The hurt feelings come from other sources--all the classmates who believed that I would be such a nasty biotch as to try and get someone kicked out of our program. So, my vent on the Big Fat Liar.

First, you suck. You're not a good nurse. You're completely self-absorbed.
Second, I know why you have so much drama in your life. Bad things happen to you because of karma. Think about it.
Third, you're constant medical dramas are boring the hell out of everyone. NO ONE CARES.
Fourth, duncan hines, cool whip, and cherry pie filling don't equal a black forest cake. You may as well mash 3 different hostess cakes together--your choice be creative! and make ghetto cake.
Fifth, It's not always about you. Truly, there are other people in your surroundings. Try paying attention to them you might surprise yourself.
Sixth, I had a good laugh over you're little card. I debated between laughing and ripping into little pieces and throwing it in your face. You suck.

Wow, that felt good! Amazing what a little venting can accomplish.