Whoa to my Woe

I wrote this in August after my big adventure. It rambles a bit, but I blame it on the medication.


The last few weeks have been interesting; dramatic enough to warrant a blog visit.
Here' goes...

Mark and I left the kids with my wonderful, amazing, perfectly competent little sister and ran away to Lake Powell. The magical place of sandstone and majestic beauty, and almost zero cell service.
Mark was staying from Wednesday to Wednesday, and I planned to cut my stay short and fly home Monday morning to rescue my sister from our children. My vacation on the lake was perfect. On Sunday I rode to Mark's parents house with his sister, Myla and her husband, Brandon. On our way through Hanksville we stopped at Blondie's and had lunch. I should have taken cues from my servers lack of body fat and front teeth that this was not where I should be consuming food, but when in Hanksville you don't have a lot of options so I dug in. I regretted that choice the moment I got back in the car. I felt sick. Not heinous, but definitely not right. Being the nice car guest that I am, I decided to fall asleep rather than vomit on the roadside. We made it to Bountiful and planned to stay the night in Mark's parents empty house. I still felt nasty, but thought it was a little food poisoning that would be cured by some self induced throwing up. No dice. Vomit was not the answer to my woes. Just to cover my self medicating bases I ate a handful of tums, and some gas x and tried to sleep it off. I had a plane to catch at 6:25 the next morning.
I warned Myla and Brandon of my condition as they went to bed. Brandon told me to wake him if I needed medical attention. I laughed and told them I would see them bright and early. Little did they know how early we would be seeing one another.
I writhed on the couch until about midnight, and decided I did in fact need medical assistance. I crept down the stairs to chat with Brandon, but I didn't have the heart to wake him. Instead I grabbed his keys and drove myself to the Lakeview Hospital emergency room. I thought for sure I has something lame like Gas and there was no way I was dragging my brother-in-law along for that diagnosis.
I made it to the hospital and stumbled to the abandoned reception desk. The lights and tv were on, but there was no receptionist! By this point I was barely standing upright, so I sat on the floor and rocked back and forth for 10 minutes until she came out of the back laughing and dragging a giant bag of Carl's JR and her 86 oz. mug of soda. I tried not to be rude about her absence, but I was a bit inconvenienced. I silently cursed her with a beard and halitosis.
I then signed away my next child and she gave me a bed with a curtain around it to lie on. A very nice nurse put in an i.v. and gave me some morphine. Bless her. The doctor came in and poked and prodded me a bit. I mentioned my fears of food poisoning and he gave me a half gallon of spew to drink and told me I was going to have a CT scan. Oh Goody! He also mentioned that I wouldn't be driving home and to call for a ride. Perfect! By this time it was about 2:30. I dialed Mark's parents number to give poor Brandon a heads up. I had to call back 6 times before he answered, poor guy. I filled him in on the details and promised to call back when they had results from the scan. I drank my spew and had my scan, all the while thinking it was a lot of hoopla for a little food poisoning. At around 4 the doctor came back and told me I had appendicitis and would be having surgery at 6:30. Nice. I had a small emotional break down. (Do you remember when I mentioned that I had left my husband at Lake Powell where he had no cell phone service for 3 more days, and that I was flying home in like 2 hours to save me sister from my kids?) I think I deserved to have a breakdown. I was in a po-dunk tiny hospital where people only go for stitches and I need an operation and my husband is in a black hole and my kids are expecting me in a few hours. NICE! The poor doctor had no idea what to do with me. He stood there awkwardly as I cried and blubbered questions about the skills of the surgeon and then he hoofed it out of the room as fast as he could.
After a few minutes I pulled myself together and then called Brandon and gave him the news. He took it like a champ and said he was coming to my rescue. He couldn't find any car keys at Mark's parents house so he grabbed a bike from the garage and rode to the hospital. (remember it is 4 am :)
He sat with me behind my curtain and took down all the numbers to call and canceled my flight and stayed with me until they wheeled me away.
After the surgery my parents came and visited with me and then at 6pm the hospital was ready to get rid of me. My brother and his wife came to pick me up and took me to Myla and Brandon's house where I was to spend the night.
I don't know what I was thinking, but I decided that I really needed to get home to my sister and my kids so I booked a flight for the next morning. (Yes that's 24 hours after I had surgery. I am an idiot)
My brother picked me up again and took me to the airport. I put on a brave face and lugged my 50 pound bag to the counter and got on a plane. I was properly medicated, but I was dying. I kept thinking "I just need to get home." When I landed I lugged my bag out to the curb and caught the shuttle to the park and ride lot where I lugged my bag to the north 40 and got in my car. I drove home and collapsed on the couch. My kids were much happier to see me than I was to see them. My dear sister stayed and helped me get them to bed and then I was on my own. My cute hubby was still in the dark.
Somehow we made it through most of Wednesday morning and Mark finally heard the news. He couldn't get an earlier flight so we survived without him until Thursday late afternoon.
The whole time I was home I kept thinking that having an appendectomy was worse than having a baby. I was eating vicodin like they were smarties and they were barely touching the pain.
By Friday I thought I should have been feeling better, so I called a doctor. The nice nurse lady told me my condition was all wrong and that I should be good to go not good to go/die. She got me into a surgeon's office that afternoon for a little re-check.
The surgeon seemed like a nice guy. I laid on his table and bared my flesh and he promptly told me that a plastic surgeon could do wonders for my mid section. Awesome! I know I am not barbie these days, but can we save the pep talk for some one out of the child bearing years and a blank check in their pocket. Sheesh! After giving me the once over he turned to Mark and told him to check me into Stanford immediately for another surgery. What the?? So off we go to Palo Alto for another adventure. We went to the check in desk in the lobby and they directed us up to the 3rd floor to check in. I limped up there and collapsed into a chair just long enough to hear them tell Mark that w had to check in down stairs. I think I wept. A nice big man got me a wheel chair. Mark wheeled me back through the 3 mile maze and kindly told the lobby people they sucked rocks. After that I got a nice bed next to a man who called for help a lot. Good times. I ended up staying the night and had surgery the next morning. I awoke from anesthesia with a giant hole in my abdomen and the explanation that the hospital in Utah gave me a staph infection as a parting gift. How thoughtful, and I only paid them 20 grand. :( I got a giant bag of take home supplies and the instructions to pack my "wound" twice a day and come back in a week. I don't do wound packing. I can barely look at my scraped knee with out fainting. Wound packing seemed like a stretch. The doctor sent me home anyway. I spent the next week lying on the bathroom floor twice a day watching the black grid inching across my vision.
After the week was over we went to Utah for our semi-annual pilgrimage to Zion. Stella only screamed for 7 of the 12 hours we drove. Sweet little siren of a child.
We had a great trip until we went camping and I threw out my back. I spent 2 days lying under a tree in a contorted position. One of our dentist friends was there and prescribed me a pain killer and a muscle relaxer so I could sleep. No dice. So I became Quazi Modo with a bum abdomen and no bell to ring. I was feeling a bit like Job where his flesh rotted and his life sucked, but my family was still alive so I wasn't quite losing my faith. We cut the camping trip a day short and I went to the chiropractor, because there was no way I was going back to Lakeview hospital for a second round of Staph. The chiropractor straightened me to a semi standing position and we came back to Cali. Now I am lying in my bed with a hole in my gut and a tweak in my spine and no fairy godmother to twinkle it better. But Mark is here and he is even better than a fairy godmother because he lets me lock my door and he makes a mean toast.
Hopefully my life has hit the low and I on a new up swing!

Hiatus?

My blogging hiatus has been unintentional. The forces of life swirling around me are a black hole of neediness and dirty diapers. My life leaves very little time for my written brain spew. Instead I have had to resort to filling my friends ears with woe, just to get it all the emotional out.
There are so many things I should have taken a minute to post about.
For a second I wish that I had kept a journal, and then I come back to reality. (I just can't seem to over come my inner doodle when I have a paper and pen in hand.) My little blog entries are all my children will have to turn to when I am gone. ;( Poor them.
As a little catch up since NOVEMBER... I am no longer up at night or nursing, and I am not pregnant, I am still happily married, I cannot fit into my skinny clothes, and I am not pregnant or nursing (in case you missed that the first time).
Sometime I will get to the rest of the stuff I should be writing about. Maybe by November?

I've been busy...

So I never blog because I have been spending time in my self made sweatshop, and momming for 4 kids. (like nannying but the pay is...not forth coming)

Anyhoo, back to the sweat shop.
I am happy, proud, so stinking glad to have it up and running, and darn excited to say that my friend and I have opened a little shop on Etsy.com. Here she be http://www.etsy.com/shop/rubystitch! Take a look, send all forms of criticism my way, and help me get the word out. My goal is to buy a horrendously expensive rug with my proceeds; so back to the sweatshop I go. I want to have 30 more little dolls on there by Dec 15th, but 6 is a start.

Happy Turkey!!

The Painful Irony

I've been literally praying for the baby to sleep more at night.

The baby is sleeping right now, and I cannot!

Insomnia is tasting more than a little bitter.