Poppy Mom

Plain ol' generic update

Thanks for all the well-wishes and such. I'm doing better today and more importantly, my dad's doing well.

He's got, if I remember correctly, a total of five arteries that are 80% or more blocked. One of them is 100% blocked. And yes, it's good that this was caught during a visit to a cardiologist instead of, well, with blockages like that, I don't have to tell you the other way we would have found out. The main risk at this point is having a heart attack during the surgery, which happens in 1.5% of the cases. So, the numbers look good.

Surgery's Friday, but my mom has told me to not make the trip to be there, since I'll have Clara Jane in tow. I feel like I should be there, but I know she's right. Mom won't be alone; my aunt will be with her. They've suggested that B., Clara Jane and I make the trip on Sunday. Dad should be a bit more alert then, and we all agree that having some baby time will help his spirits at that point.

I had a great big meltdown at my therapist's office today. A little background: Clara "Banshee" Jane has discovered a new way of communicating. She shrieks. Loudly. Constantly. Shrieks when she's happy. Shrieks when she's mad. Shrieks shrieks shrieks shrieks shrieks shrieks shrieks. Such a lovely way to spend every waking hour of every day, especially when your nerves are shot to hell.

She shrieked all the way to B.'s office. Shrieked all the way to the office. By the time we arrived for my appointment I was ready to walk in and ask to be committed. Please, get the straitjacket and get me the fuck. out. of. here.

That's when the receptionist informed me that my doc had left early with the flu. She called all of her appointments. Call? What call?

So we left. Got several miles down the road and my cell phone rang. "Robin!" It was my doc. "I'm here. They screwed up. Get back here! I wouldn't do that to you."

Well, I would hope not. Unless, of course, they're trying to intensify my abandonment issues and extend my treatment.

My doc was waiting for me at the desk and we immediately went to her office. I was sobbing before she had a chance to shut the door. I just unloaded. Completely just unzipped my pysche and poured out all the tension, stress, fear, agitation, frustration and anger that's been festering for the past two weeks or so.

I told her that I'm doing my homework, I'm working on the anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder stuff. Just as soon as I start to make some headway and get it, something new gets dropped on me. It's been so much lately. Too much.

My doc had one word for me, repeated over and over: respite. Respite respite respite respite respite respite. Tonight I'm under doctor's orders to have some alone time. I was supposed to get out of the house but frankly, I don't have the energy. I'm just beat. Currently, Clara Jane's in bed and I've sent B. to his office in the basement with orders to leave. me. alone.

I am feeling better. Not great, but I do feel a bit unburdened. I do know my doc is right about so many things: everything is temporary and manageable. I'm feeling overwhelmed, and rightfully so. I just need to make sure I recharge. And I'm doing that tonight.

So why the hell am I working on this message? Oh, right. Because I lurve you guys.

Is there anything sadder than someone who's just been voted off "American Idol" having to sing "Get Ready"? Oh man. I feel better simply because I'm not that poor girl. And there is a special place in Hell for Ryan Seacrest because of the way he breaks the news to the booted contestants. Granted, even if there was a decent way to boot the contestants, there would still be a special place in Hell, simply because he's Ryan Seacrest. And if there's any justice in the universe, my special place in Hell will be next to Seacrest's place in Hell and I'll spend eternity beating him fuckless with my shoe.

Posted by Robin at February 23, 2005 08:49 PM | TrackBack