My mother is much better. Thank you everyone who prayed or sent happy thoughts.
According to my stepdad, my mother recognises people and smiles when they talk to her.
Funny thing is, I don’t feel stupid for asking for prayers and for people to send good thoughts. I don’t feel foolish for fearing the worst but hoping for the best. There was one person who talked shit about me in third person on FaceBook hoping to start drama, but I didn’t take the hint. Fucking Bitch. Hahaha.
Here I am, working on finishing Book #21, and thinking about all that is going on. The class I helped teach is graduating today. I can tell which of the male students were crushing on me by their invitations to graduation and Grad Night. I’ve had to graciously decline several times today. I just can’t bring myself to go to Grad Night or the celebration.
My mother is off the respirator. She’s still dangling on the plateau of living and dying, but I feel that she is getting better. Thank you for all the prayers. Please keep sending them her way! Much love!
I have chemically induced amnesia. It’s apparent in most of my posts that I dare stay awake after popping my pill for the night, that I am under the influence of something, but this medicine seems to have no mercy. No matter how long one has been on this medicine, it induces amnesia, there is no building up a tolerance, and the amnesia comes at irregular intervals.
Last night’s entry is the perfect example of that.
Part of me wishes that I had spent that time working on my new Theme because that was a fairly frustration for me. I’m trying to make a theme that matched my old MoveableType layout, but so far I have had no luck.
I also, apparently, ate a bag of potato chips and have no recollection of doing so. The positive side? I don’t have any guilt in inhaling a bag of potato chips, simply because I don’t remember doing so!
I’m planning on seeing my doctor at 4:30pm today. Happy thoughts for me? Warm thoughts? Prayers? I want to be healthy for a change!
A week ago at 11:07pm, Little One came into this world. Since I haven’t revealed the gender or name on my site, I’m not going to reveal them here. Little One was 6 lbs 2 ounces (I believe – I don’t have my paperwork in front if me), but Little One was the smallest baby born on April 9, 2013. At 7:16pm on April 9th, just after we sang Happy Birthday to Dennis, and he was in the process if blowing our his birthday candles, my water broke and I started having sharp labour pains. I thought I could survive at least one slice of cake, but the pains became so uncomfortable and harsh that I took Dennis aside and told him to get me to the hospital NOW.
I was in labour and delivery, pushing as hard as I could every ten minutes. Little One would just not come out. The doctor said that it appeared that my cervix and muscles weren’t working properly. Three hours later, Littke One was in distress, I was in distress, and the doctor went ahead and ordered a Cesarean section. I remember laying in the table with blackened snow/spots spreading across my eyes. A nurse commented that my heart beat was super low, and the doctor ordered a crash cart to be in the O. R. just incase. A soft mask was put on my face, three deep breaths later and I blacked out. My world went silent and black.
I woke up a little after midnight, and checked to see the new strip of staples across my belly. Little One was asleep in a bassinet in the room with me. Since waking up, Little One never slept in that bassinet again. They slept in the arms of Dennis or I. Little One is so curious, looking around, trying to take it all in. Little One is an eager feeder, and had gained an entire pound by the time they were six days home, and once my blood tests came back clear of infection, we were both discharged from the hospital.
There is a sad part to Little One’s birthing story. Our little baby came home with a nebuliser. Little One has severe lung injuries because Dennis took the baby outside and would chain smoke while bonding with our baby, the first four days of their life, and Little One’s tiny lungs filled with second hand smoke, killing off the lining in the new tiny lungs. Our little baby has COPD. Whether it is permanent or not is another story. Since he caused it, I have been making Dennis do the breathing treatments with the nebuliser. He’s not happy, but neither am I. Our little baby was so happy to have us for their family, and so bouncy when one if us would talk, sing, giggle or laugh, and now that is a little stunted because it hurts Little One to breathe, especially to exhale.
Warm thoughts or prayers. Our little baby deserves to have a healthy, happy childhood.
It was hot enough to run the air conditioner today. And we dyed Easter Eggs, in the part of the house that had no air conditioning. Makes sense, doesn’t it? Do something like cook hard boiled eggs in an already hot kitchen and then dye them. After all, tomorrow’s Easter, and we weren’t planning on celebrating, with my knocked up and due any day now (C’mon baby! I’m ready to meet ya!), we were going to do a small celebration, but now I don’t think we’re going to just have some toys and coloured hard boiled eggs around the table. I’m not that up for any hard boiled eggs. I can’t stand them when I’m not pregnant.
So I’m five days overdue today. I feel as though I am five years overdue. I feel like I have been pregnant forever. Worse, I feel like I am wasting everyone’s time with being pregnant, because nothing is happening.
I picked a bad time to try and blog. Dennis is due for his medication, and we’re going over double the dose, triple to be exact, and he’s just as scared as I am as to what this new dose is going to do. So here goes nothing. Happy Easter, in case I don’t get back to posting until Monday or so.
Again, still knocked up.
I’m starting to sound like a broken record, aren’t I?
I’m beginning to feel guilty of asking for so much time off from work, when the kid seems to be a permanent attachment to my insides. I read Carl’s FB post and he’s having a hard time grading papers, doing lectures and making PowerPoints for upcoming lectures, all while writing the third exam. I love his lines “I’d fucking fail this goddamned exam, if I had to take it! That’s how little I know this psychobabble I’m preaching to sleeping pharm students every morning and afternoon!” I think there was a GIF of my work ID photo burning as the icon. But, Carl, you wanted to be a full time professor! That’s what you told my boss! You even suggested that you be promoted just because you couldn’t get pregnant, in your own words, you were unpregnantable, a word that doesn’t exist, by the way, and therefore you were more reliable, responsible and respectable than I. Little did you know that I was over sixty percent of the meat in the exams, PowerPoints, Lecture notes, grades, and even the handouts and the agenda. I was that valuable.
Still, his brother is my dream man, so I’m going to forgive him this once, pretend that I was deaf at that staff meeting, and offer to come in and grade some papers or just go through the online grade book and assign everyone an F because that’s what they deserve if Carl is telling the truth and people are sleeping through his lectures. I say “if” because I know Carl lied about being more responsible than I (he’s behind in everything and it’s almost two weeks out of Spring Break!), he’s certainly not more respectable, naming names on his Facebook, friending students (my personal NO) and then linking to their profiles when he goes on a profanity-ridden fit when he’s frustrated, and forget reliable. Maybe Carl is pregnant? That’s got to be what’s wrong with him. He’s demanding help from other Assistant Professors tonight, and when they decline because they don’t want to get behind in their own work, he calls them irresponsible and lazy! Oh Carl, you are so not getting promoted in August.
So, since I’m legally going to be pregnant until August, and Mark told me to get rid of the brain tumor while I was off for four months, I feel that I should be doing something productive. Something. Anything. I even made Josh a PlayList for March because I just want something to keep my fingers busy, I’m sick of this …disease… that I caught from unsanitary Carl at the staff meeting a few weeks ago, and I need to occupy my mind. I need something to do. Something that makes me feel accomplished. Something that I can look back on and say, “I did so much while I was waiting for that kid to be born!” that I’m willing to sit down at my computer and write.
So I’m going to work on this site.
By “working on this site,” I’m going to start by changing my handle to “Acid Queen” but that’s not an LSD reference. Not for me anyway, and I’m not secretly Tina Turner nor have I fucked Roger Daltrey or any other member of the Who. I like the name, and I once drank a flask of hydrochloric acid in high school chemistry, I lived, cancer-ridden but alive, and still here to talk about it today.
Being the Acid Queen is one of what I consider one of my stories.
By stories I mean interesting things that have only happened to me.
Back in the day, before the perils of being forced to upgrade to WordPress because Josh is a cunt and makes me do uncomfortable things, I had pages on here of my stories. They were 100% true fascinating things that had happened to me in my twenty-eight years on Earth. I’m going to be thirty-three, the Jesus age, this year, so I think I should have an accomplished and full website like I had once before. Oh yes, this site, due to my own negligence, has become just a shell of what it was just a mere five years ago. When I first had my own .com and was in college and thus had a lot of time on the computer to write, I frequently wrote about things that made me interesting. I edited my own HTML (remember that? do you even know what that is???), made layouts on the college’s Dreamweaver, uploaded with Blogger.com and an FTP client. I had to link to all my own pages with my own editing. Nothing was automatic like it is with WordPress. You kiddies don’t know! Blogging and site maintenance was once something that required time, skill and patience. Now anyone with a fucking keyboard can be a site master and appear to be good at it.
What will my stories contain? That’s the wonderment of you’ve got to keep coming back here and checking things! I can give you a taste, though, for example, did you know that I had a lover who died in the 9/11 terrorist attacks on New York? That I’ve fucked someone super-famous (it’s not Roger Daltrey, I promise!)? Actually two someones, but sex no longer counts once you marry the one you’re fucking. That there is a famous love song out there that is about me? That for the first fifteen years of our relationship I couldn’t tell my husband from his brother and his brother regularly got sex from me because of it? Okay, that last one is just me being a horny bimbo, but, hey, it’s interesting, right? I could make something of it some day! The best of all of this is I am considering naming names. Famous names. That are on Wikipedia and you’ve probably not only heard of, but that you’ve got songs by on your computer or your CD shelf.
Now that you know all that, aren’t you just itching for me to dish, dish, dish?
Of course you are! But I’m doing this as a side pregnancy project and only through August, though I can probably whip up to thirty pages per month, if I’m really dedicated to it.
Oh, and I promise not to write about drug experiences, with the exception of the prescription drug I was given that caused amnesia. That was a pretty fun experience. I could do shit and not have to feel guilty about it the morning after. I pissed off a pretty good amount of people while I was on that drug. Oh well. The true ones stayed.
Have a good night everyone. Don’t stay up too late!
It’s the second day of spring, but outside it could pass for late November to late December. Shades of gray, dirty white gray skies, bare trees, dead grass. There are sprigs of green all over the neighborhood, but I’m a little more into my own personal little trip than what is going on outside.
I have a cold of some kind. Sore throat, endless snot, something stuck between my nose and throat. Generally miserable, but refused antibiotics. The heat is cranked up to the triple digits here, but not by my doing. I have a horrible stomach ache, but I refuse to eat food or drink cough syrup, for fear that I may hurt Little One. We’re so close. So close. No narcotics these last few days. No alcohol. I think I got drunk in August, but that was an accident. Accidents are struck against you in pregnancy.
Two of my male students have come up to me in the past few days and asked me if I could help them out over spring break. I gave them the news that I was not coming back until the fall, so it’s best that they go bother Carl. That’s what I label students these days: Bothers. Work is a chore that I frantically search my mind every morning to find a way out.
Last week I was put on Seroquel XR at 300 mg to help me “feel better.” All it has succeeded in doing was making me not so sensitive to the assholes online who poke me with sticks, in hopes that I will engage in a flame war over something that ten years from now, no one will give two shits about. I certainly don’t give two shits about it today, but I felt that I should be able to voice my own opinion about it and just go on. Unfortunately there are people out there that cannot go on. They poke and prod others until flame wars break out, and I just refuse to tango this time around. I wonder if it’s as fun for them, with their single-sided fight? Probably.
I’m happy to be away from the knee-jerk, “OMG! GOTTA REPLY TO THIS ASSHOLE!” on the web way of thinking. In that manner, Seroquel XR has freed me from my own stubbornness, but not from my own self-loathing that comes with my personality.
Take me for who I am or leave me for who I am not and will not be. It doesn’t really matter to me at the moment. I have a baby due on Monday. I can’t care too much for what the world thinks of me, or how badly the world tries to change me. I know that I am not breaking any rules, even though I refuse to teeter on the line of “Super cautious” because it’s just safer that way. I like where I’m at. I think I’ll stay here a while and see where it leads me to. Hope all is well with all of you out there in internet land. Smile. Leave a comment. I insist!