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Moonstruck & Stuck

Random crap that happens to be floating around in my head.

Sadppy

A few months ago, the day after the latest Grand was born The Boy found his way into HUGE trouble that, unfortunately, brought him to the attention of law enforcement. I had to make the very hard decision to take him to meet with officers. They determined he would face charges and took him into custody. Let me tell you, I moved heaven and earth to get him released back into my custody. He was in there 3 days and decompensated and regressed so severely that their officers were keeping me posted by phone hourly. The very first day he met with his attorney she told me she had doubts regarding his competency and if he even understood what he had done wrong. I agreed with her. They suspended going forward until he could be seen by a psychiatrist of their choosing. That took 3 months. During that time he was on GPS locator and had to be with me unless he was in therapy or school. When I tell you this has been the most challenging 3 months, I am putting it mildly. Fast forward to finally seeing their Dr and waiting a month to find out his determination. We had court yesterday. We found out that he is not competent to assist in his own defense. That means something that the DA now has to decide if they want to dismiss altogether or have him do ‘competency training” as a diversion to future incidents. The problem is that they have no programs geared to his level of competency. WTF? The juvenile court system, sadly, comes in contact with kids of varying abilities all the time. But, he is an anomaly. They don’t know what will work for him. While I am happy to know this ordeal is almost over, I am so very sad to know my Boy really doesn’t understand why what he did was wrong. I am sad because all these years we have been trying to get him to be accountable for his actions and we find out, he can’t. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to. He fucking can’t! And that honestly breaks my stupid heart.

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Write Time For a Change

Sometimes, when certain feelings hit, I write.

Sometimes, when those feelings hit, what I write is uncensored and raw, full of profanity and overflowing with emotion. It is the real story of who I am in that moment and how I became the person I am today. Sometimes I share what I write here or on my personal Facebook page, because it might be funny, have merit to someone other than myself or because I just don’t give a fuck anymore.

More often than not, I type it up in Word and delete it or save it to my computer. More pieces make it in those 2 places than they do here or FB. They might ramble to and fro, with no real meaning  or simply, not for the faint of heart.

I live the majority of my life with the shades drawn. I introvert and keep to myself only sharing  bits and pieces.In censoring myself, I am not protecting anyone, all I am doing is being untrue to myself. To the experience. The whole point of this blog was to share my story, in case someone else out there was living the same story. They would know they weren’t alone. I thought I was for years. That is no way for any one to feel. I have a story to tell. It won’t be for everyone. I think it is time for me to open the shades and stop hiding. To be true to the process and , damn the consequences. Well maybe not that far, but more than just an occasional peek. Somewhere out there their is an ex-cosmetologist,chef,lunch lady, preschool teacher with 5 kids, a survivor of horrific violence and  who lives with chronic pain just waiting for someone like me to come along and say, ” look, here I am. I am all of those things too. We are not alone.”

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Not ready for this yet

Kept The Boy(man-child #2) home to take him to the Dr and as we walked outside in the cold I made a statement about hurrying back home when it was done to get back to where it is warm. His therapist, who picked us up for the appointment, reminded me he is 18 and I didn’t have to go. TBMC2 got a little too happy and had a huge grin on his face while telling me he could handle this on his own and that I should stay home. So, I stayed home and he left with his therapist to go see the Doc. I woohoo’ed and made a speech about coming in and playing the Sims now that my morning had freed up, and then I came upstairs, sat on my bed and cried. I am not ready to let him go. All the trials and tribulations of single motherhood, with the added bonus of Autism don’t change the fact that the little baby I could hold in my hand at birth is a six and a half foot adult.
Excuse me while I deal with this new batch of eye sweat.
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President Obama Addresses Nation About Decision 2016 — Black America Web

 

I won’t lie. I’m terrified of a Trump presidency. He mocks those with differing ability’s, he is a xenophobe and a hate monger. The fact that this country elected him, shows just how screwed up we really are.

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President Obama addressed the country about the latest election results and how to move forward as a country. Watch the live feed below. [ione_media_gallery id=”571260″ overlay=”true”] Like BlackAmericaWeb.com on Facebook. Follow us on Twitter.

via President Obama Addresses Nation About Decision 2016 — Black America Web

Ouch

“Chronic pain is often defined as any pain lasting more than 12 weeks. Whereas acute pain is a normal sensation that alerts us to possible injury, chronic pain is very different. Chronic pain persists—often for months or even longer.” (Chronic Pain: Symptoms, Diagnosis, & Treatment, 2011)

Living with chronic pain takes a toll on a person. Not just a physical toll, but emotionally and spiritually. It changes who you are on such a radical level that it becomes difficult to relate the person you are now versus the person you were before chronic pain. Since pain signals can remain active in our nervous system for months or years, and because there is such a variance in intensity and length the emotional toll can sometimes feel more burdensome than the physical pain.

If you know or love someone who lives with chronic pain, be patient with them. As inconvenient as their chronic pain is for you, it is a million times more cumbersome for them. They carry that burden daily, minute by minute. It becomes the focus of their very existence. Pain is subjective so what is mild to me may be excruciating for you. What is an inconvenience to you may totally incapacitate me. It plays havoc on your body in so many ways, causing fatigue, compromised sleep patterns, a weakened immune system, psychological issues like depression, stress, fear and an overwhelming feeling of help and hopelessness. It can cause total disability coupled with a need to rest more often, which may cause one to become withdrawn. Be patient. Be kind. Treat them with love. Trust me, if they had a choice they would not choose to live with chronic pain, but the choice is out of their hands. Even with pain interventions, pain management, physical therapy and life style changes those pesky pain receptors constantly stay turned up to high.

Works Cited

Chronic Pain: Symptoms, Diagnosis, & Treatment. (2011). Retrieved June 14, 2016, from National Library of Medicine: https://www.nlm.nih.gov/medlineplus/magazine/issues/spring11/articles/spring11pg5-6.htmlchronic-pain42.jpg

 

Say Goodbye To My Little Friend

Back at the beginning of May I had a laparoscopic cholecystectomy. In simple terms, gall bladder removal surgery. I was so happy to know the pain would be gone that surgery didn’t even scare me. Just get this rotten thing out of me! After a long hospital stay (read sorta, kinda vacation) I was excited to know they could yank this sucker out and send me home all in the same morning.

What I wasn’t prepared for was after surgery. I thought I would be back to normal within a few days and back to eating like a fat ass soon after that. Ha! Fooled me. I couldn’t sit up without help the first few days. In a drug addled haze I made a comment to my older sister, who had all 3 of her boys by C-section that I knew what she had gone through after each one. I believe she is directly responsible for my recovery taking longer. She refused to help me up after that. I lay there like a fucking turtle on my shell, flailing around trying to get up before my bladder just said ‘screw it’. She just stood there and smiled evilly. At one point she told the kids, “let’s go get Starbucks, she should be up by the time we get back.” WTF Bro?! At least prop me up so I have a fighting chance. I did learn during that time that my sister has a mean streak a mile long. Heifer!

After GB removal they don’t give you printed directions. Like ‘don’t eat this, don’t drink this, unless you want your butt to break do not even think about eating this’. They tell you to Google GB diet. Guess what? If you Google it you get links to forums full of horror stories. And sprinkled throughout you have that one guy who had no issues. He got out of the hospital, ate a 72 oz T-Bone, 2 fully loaded baked potatoes, veggies covered in a cheese sauce and drank 2 milkshakes to wash down his triple scoop banana split and had zero issues. LIAR! His butt erupted like Mt. Freaking Vesuvius. The first month if I even thought about meat, diary, bread, fruit or vegetables I spent the next few hours in the bathroom, crying for an end to the madness. I drank broth when I got hungry. Just broth. And I drank water. When I went in for a follow up my regular MD hit me in the head with some papers and told me to eat something for crying out loud. I told her if I did I would be crying out, loud. She said go get some ensure. So I went to Wally world and got milk chocolate flavored ensure. First of all, that shit is gritty. And chalky. Like drinking liquid chalk, but not chocolate flavored chalk. Chalk flavored chalk.  I figured maybe I just need to drink it over ice or freezing cold. Nope. Cold chalk. BLERGH! Nasty shit. That is exactly what that bullshit gave me. I think I actually died on the toilet twice. The stench emanating from around me revived me. And killed me again. Never a-damn-gain.

People kept calling asking how I was feeling. I always said ‘better’. I didn’t want to say, “I am shaky from starvation and moody because my stomach is eating itself and even that is making me sick.” So I stuck with better. It has been 2 months since my surgery. I still can’t eat 95% of what I used to eat. I miss bacon. Gawd how I miss bacon. I still drink my broth, instead of eating, most days because what I ate yesterday may be on the ‘hell no ‘list today. I keep getting invited to BBQ’s or out to eat. I wanna be like listen up asshole, is this your idea of a joke? Cus it ain’t fucking funny, you dick. I am hungry Damon! So hungry. And on top of it I ain’t losing any weight. So I am hungry and still fat as hell. Not fucking fair. I want to have a reason for being round as a beach ball.
Hmmm, I think I will go add this word for word to one of those what to eat after GB removal forums. It is about time someone exposed this shit for what it is. A conspiracy to make the toilet paper companies filthy, stinking rich!

 

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Mini Vacation

At the end of May I was taken to the hospital in excruciating pain. I was doped up, had a ton of tests taken and sent home with some files to take to my surgeon in hopes he would find a time slot for me to have gall bladder removal surgery. Less than 24 hours later I was rushed back to the emergency room, vomiting blood. 30 minutes after I got there, I was being admitted. The MD told my older sister and my eldest that I was a “very sick woman” and that I was not leaving there without at least one surgical procedure. Thus began my 10 day stay in the hospital. Apparently because my original surgeon was dragging his feet scheduling my surgery I had an errant gallstone that was in the duct between gall bladder and pancreas AND one between the gall bladder and liver. My liver function was very low and my pancreas was just decoration at that point.  During that time I was on NBO or nothing by oral because they needed me to be ready for surgery at any given time. I was filled full of IV fluids and some awesome pain meds. I was poked, prodded and poked some more. I had an IV in my freaking inner elbow, so I spent 3 days with my arm completely straight. Well, as straight as someone with arthritic elbows can get. On or around day 4 the nurse was taking my vitals and panicked, it seems my heart rate had dropped to 62. But my blood pressure was super high. I spent a few nights with an EKG machine strapped to my chest. And panicked nurses rousing me throughout the night to take my pressure and check my heart rate. It stayed low the entire time I was there, until the day before surgery when it went up to right under 100. I have still have no idea what caused it. And believe me, they did enough tests to try to figure it out. On the 6th or 7th day, they decided to let me have clear liquids. That consisted of veggie broth and jello for breakfast, chicken broth and jello for lunch and beef broth and jello for dinner. I was on that for 1 lousy day. The next day, after my liquid breakfast, the nurse came in and said they were going to give me real food for lunch. They brought me a burger. I can’t honestly say it was a hamburger because I am still unsure of the meats origin. I ate a couple zucchini and carrot sticks, and then I took a bite of the burger. As I started to chew a woman came in and identified herself as the anesthesiologist. She informed me I would be having a procedure later that evening. As she was talking and I prepared to take my second bite the nurse came in. She took that damn burger out of my hand, snatched my huge container of ice water and threw it all out. I was back NBO. I wanted to cry. I didn’t have my surgery that night or the next. They woke me on day 10 at 4:30 a.m. and prepped me for surgery. I was in the OR by 8 and in recovery talking to my sister by 8:45. I was dressed and wheeled out to the car by 9:15. I walked through my front door at 9:30 and made it no further than the couch. I spent the next 6 hours dozing off and on while my kids stared at me like I might fall into a million tiny pieces at any second. The surgeon who did my surgery called to check on me the next day and told me I had one gall stone the size of a large plum and 2 smaller ones that had blocked the ducts. He was adamant that my liver and pancreas would be just fine over time.

During all this I still had to make sure the kiddos were cool at home. The Boy was at his stepbrothers the day I went in, so I called and had them keep him. My sister took the Youngest and the Gal stayed at home with her older brother and sister. We facetimed every day, so I could help with homework, tell my son where the bills were that needed paying and the info needed to access the funds to pay them and just general check ins. I fielded calls from therapists and schools, all while lying there in that lovely bed. Even sick and in the hospital a single mom still has to keep shit together for her family. We don’t get breaks.

 

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Update

I haven’t written a blog post in moons. Life has kicked my ass twelve ways from Sunday and is still drawing back its boot on a regular. Between the kids, the grands and myself, I don’t have a lot of time for outside relationships. I am not just talking about romantic relationships, but friendships and even some within my extended family. If it isn’t about or involving my immediate 6 (plus 1 on the way, but that is its own post) then it isn’t a priority for me. Now don’t get me wrong, I still cherish those relationships, hell I even miss them, but my reality right now is this little clump of humans. My humans.

Recently The Boy has gone on what I hope is final growth spurt going from 180 lbs and 6’2” up to around 260 lbs and is looking his father in the eye at a lovely 6’7”. His shoe size went from a 10 to a 14. Since freaking December!!! He eats like food will no longer exist after that meal. I can’t keep food in the house. He and his brother went through $500 worth of groceries in 9 days. 9 days! Then, he had the nerve to be mad when I got mad that my fridge echoed when I opened it. Boy bye!

The Youngest has lost his fucking mind. He is doing some real out of line, unacceptable shit. Cussing at his teachers, refusing to follow direction at home and school, running off at the mouth regardless of where he is and being aggressive with his sisters and a female teacher. I do not play that shit. First of all I am not raising males who get their kicks demeaning, threatening or in any way being an asshole to women. Sisters, teachers, whoever. If she has a vagina stay out of her face with that aggressive, disrespectful bullshit.

The gal humans are doing better than the boys right now. But that could change as I am typing. Cindy has been struggling a little. A lot. She is struggling a lot. And I can’t help her because she hates me. I guess because I am breathing, I dunno. So I just try to stay out of her way and call her therapist a lot for support. PTSD sucks as an adult, I can’t imagine how fucked up it is as a teenager.

Eldest Gal is 5 months pregnant. With a boy. One more human for me to love. And clothe. She dropped out of school(again) because she is sick every waking moment with this little fella. And because she was sleeping 14 hours a day her first trimester.  She has made arrangements to go back in the fall. And she did it on her own, with no coercing from me. Which is huge for this chick!

The Grand is hitting a stage I call her ‘threenage year’. She has gotten to be a real handful lately. But, she is still my little cupcake so I am really trying to discipline in a positive way instead of tying her little ass to a tree or packing my shit and running away. I remember telling her Mom that her kid would be paying her back for all the shit she did to me, but hell I didn’t mean do it while you still live with me.

The Eldest is doing any and everything he can to avoid being at home. He dances with three different crews; he goes to school, does shoots for his dancer friends and goes out a lot. If he is home he rolls in around 1 a.m. and is gone by 7 or 8 a.m. I get it though. If I could leave like that I would to.

And me? I am a big ole ball of fucked up, mixed with some gnarly-ness and sprinkled with Meh. A fucking ray of sunshine I am not.

Update

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