Too Tired, Too Worried, Not Too Merry


Too Tired, Too Worried, Not Too Merry

It comes in waves, I tell my daughter, breathe and ride it out.

She has a whopper of a migraine, complete with nausea, vomiting, light sensitivity, and the killer headache. The nurse on call said to take Tylenol. Emma knew better. She knew it would come right back up again. So we're going for all the tools in our pain/stress toolbox -- imaging, yoga breathing, stroking her skin lightly, cold washcloth on the head, hot water bottle on the tum. The headache is one of the non-marketable effects of the anti nausea medicine which she takes for the non-marketable effects of the anti rejection drug which she takes to protect the biologic infusion drug which she takes to treat her Crohn's disease.

"May cause nausea" is an understatement. So is "may cause headaches". I'm sleeping on this side of the house tonight so I can go to her and help her through when the wave hits hard. I probably won't sleep much, but I'll get a lot of knitting done. Knitting calms me.

Yesterday, I had double duty. Grandchildren in the morning -- a venture out to the park, home for snack and playing with puppies (two 4 month old Maltese foster pups), started working on homemade bread, thinking they'd help, but instead, we had two little mice children rummaging in my cupboards and making their new playhouses. Took out all the pots and pans and put them in the back room so the mousekins could have their houses. The third grandchild was far too old and sophisticated for this game, so he kept his grandpa company. Let bread sit to rise. Checked on puppies. Cleaned up poop. Washed my hands for the 43rd time. Made lunch. Managed three active and silly children who have decided that poop, pee, and fart are the coolest words ever and must be used at least 20 times in each conversation. Okay, the oldest one knows he's not supposed to say these words at the table while we eat. Instead, he whispers to his brother and tells him to say them. My husband, Chris, said I handled it well, but I know I don't have much patience or focus right now.

"May cause nausea" has flared up again. The wave has hit. Emma throws up again. I clean out the pan and bring it back, along with another wet washcloth. I stroke her arms a little and try to keep conversation light, with a bit of humor. After the wave subsides a little, I go back and sit. I've been up and down all day, never sitting for more than about 5 minutes at a time.

Emma is calling again. Her dog, our dog Bennie, just threw up on her carpet. Sympathy pains? Maybe, but more than likely, he's been chewing on some apple tree bark. Cleaned it up, checked on the wee pups. Cleaned up more poop. These puppies poop, pee, and fart more than any other pups we've had, giving our grandkids even more excuses to use their favorite words. The pups also get baths every evening because they're recovering from mange.

I'm late getting a Hanukkah card and gift to my best friend. I wonder if the Jewish people were feeling like celebrating after their battle with the Greeks/Syrians? I mean, yes, they got their temple back, but it had been desecrated. Got to clean up and resanctify the temple. God, those Greeks desecrated all over the place. It's going to take a week or more to get it cleaned. And nobody thought to get more oil for the lamps? It would take a miracle for it to last the whole time they were de-desecrating.

After the grandkids left yesterday, I picked up Mom and took her to the eye doctor. She told me she needs new glasses. I told her this is the retina specialist to check her macular degeneration. She said she needs to go to the other eye doctor then. I told her she saw him last month. Why didn't she get new glasses? She knows she needs them. I waited for an hour and a half while she saw the retina specialist and I knit a whole slipper in the waiting room. Took her back home in rush hour traffic as she, repeatedly, told me she needs new glasses. Back at the apartment, she complained about the food. We should have picked up something on the way home. Something with sustenance, like a hamburger or cheeseburger or a milkshake or Reese's peanut butter cups. I ate six Oreo cookies while I looked for my dad's hearing aide which had gone missing.

Chris finally went without us to choose a Christmas tree. We're not feeling very festive this year. At least, not yet. He brings the tree home and sets it up by himself. We'll decorate another day. I feel guilty for not being in the Christmas spirit, but then, I doubt Mary and Joseph were feeling merry a week before their son was born. Joseph must have felt the pressure to get things done, to get to Bethlehem to pay taxes and take care of his wife... his wife who needed to stop every half hour or so to climb off the donkey and pee. I wonder if he was patient all the time. Mary must have been uncomfortable and cold and scared. Would everything go okay with the birth of the child? What a responsibility, bearing God's son! And Joseph, please stop again because Mary needs to pee. Again? he says, By the time we arrive, there won't be any place to stay.

"May cause headache" has flared up. Another wave. "May cause nausea" joins the party. I worry about her becoming dehydrated. I worry about her heart rate going up. I worry about how we're going to find time and energy to get gifts for our kids and grandkids. I worry about whether Emma will have health insurance when Chris is eligible for Medicare and his insurance from his job ends. I worry about big things and little things and stupid things. I don't say any of my worries out loud because I don't want to worry Emma. I think she might be able to read my mind, though, and I think it just bored her to sleep.

Shhh! Time for me to snooze a little, too.


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OMG. I want to cry, laugh, and pee at the same time reading your post. Pierces the heart. Thank you for the humor and the clarity and the wisdom to share. Love you.