And You Wonder….

Why I never get anything done.

So first of all, just disregard the oxygen tubes and machine I cart around.  Totally forget about the bag of pills, the order of bedrest, the spine fusing together, the two shunts I had put in my head over Christmas, the hearing aides,  the chemotherapy scars, and the crackling noise I make when I move.  Just put those aside.

Then go ahead and stop thinking of my middle son with the life and mood altering autoimmune disease who swallows 18 pills a day plus a monthly treatment to live.  Don’t worry about his bipolar like mood swings where he wants to die, or manic OCD episodes where he can’t stop repeating the same noise over and over until it feels right because of the autoimmune encephalitis.  The Tourette’s and narcolepsy?  Nah, just pretend they don’t exist.

My husband, also with OCD and my teenage cheerleader daughter who has a seizure disorder and anemia?  Shhhhhhhh, darling.

Those things are my day to day life.  I’ve gotten them down to a frenetic rhythm that 51% of the time I can handle, but this last punch was too much.

After a full plate of personal pan poopy that I got through eating yesterday my six year old, Jack, comes running in our bedroom to tell us when he went potty the toilet was full of red water but he flushed it.  What?! I told him I couldn’t know for sure unless he tried to potty again, so he did, and BLOOD poured out.  Oh my god, my poor baby.  I had so many intestinal blockages growing up I can’t even count, but I thought this burden had passed over my children.  Not so, I guess.

I rushed him to the emergency room and they did bloodwork, but they barely parted his cheeks to ascertain there was in fact, blood coming from his bum and then watched us for hours.  Since without the aide of a toilet, not much came out and his bloodwork was ok they sent us on our way with the advice to see a pediatric gastro doc the next day.  They failed to also tell us to catch a unicorn or find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.  Those three things don’t exist, bee tee dubs.

Problem was, they didn’t have a rectal scope on hand and didn’t want to do a DRE ( digital rectal exam) on a 6 year old.  UURRRGGLLLBRRRGGGLLL

So I didn’t get to write yesterday, or today, or the foreseeable future until this is handled because all I can think about is my baby and how it’s all my fault for passing on bad genes.

So yeah…  even if you discount all the regular life things my little family handles on the daily that yours would fall apart attempting, yesterday was enough to bring even us to our knees.  Steve and I slept last night holding hands like Jack and Rose post Titanic, except we aren’t stupid and knew there was enough room for BOTH OF US DAMMIT on the door.

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On a brighter note, I sold a short story today for a decent paycheck but it came at a time that it’s hard to celebrate, so celebrate for me, K?

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