RenovationGirl

Surgical Regrets

Remember the Frank Sinatra song..."My Way?"  Let me refresh your memory. "Regrets...I've had a few..."  I find myself singing this song today for that line.  I had my laproscopic surgery on Thursday to determine if I had endometriosis and to remove any scar tissue found.  Last week was a whirlwind of fear and unexpected hospital stays that culminating in a surgery that may have proved to be unnecessary.  Let's recap.

On Sunday, my father was taken to the ER for two days of vomiting and severe stomach cramps.  He was admitted and had his gallbladder removed Monday night.  Besides finding an adominal anuerysm, all went well.  I was going to cancel my surgery yet again, but because they were able to do the gallbladder removal laproscopically, I decided to go ahead with my own procedure.  The days before I had to spend figuring out how to get Builder Boy to and from school, have someone to watch him after school, how to get me to and from the hospital, and how to function alone post-anesthesia.  My go-to gal (my mom) had her hands full with my dad and my other go-to gal (my sister) is so busy at work we didn't want to bother her.  It was stressful to say the least.  Couple this with an overwhelming fear that I would die during the surgery and I was a pleasure to be around.  I spent showers sobbing thinking about all that could go wrong and that how irresponsible this was fo us to do while we already had a child.  I wasn't sleeping as I thought about poor Builder Boy growing up without me.  And I thought of all the pressure on Remodel Man to go it alone.  Yes, I know this was anxiety working on me.  A very dear friend pointed this out to me and it helped me in dealing with the fear. 

Dad came home on Wednesday and was doing well, so mom and dad decided that she would come down and pick up Builder Boy from school and stay with him until we got home.  This alleviated some stress, but also added to it-dad would be home alone and what if something happened? With my aunt and my dad's best friend on call, mom headed down to help out with many phone calls home to her honey.

I woke up Thursday less anxious and feeling more prepared.  The hospital we go to is an amazing place with the kindest staff I've ever experienced in a hospital.  They held my hand (literally) through both D&Cs and encouraged me to cry as we waited for both procedures.  They asked me questions about my life and got to know me.  They cracked jokes and answered questions.  This visit to the hospital was no different.  They were kind, supportive, encouraging and put me at ease.  They clearly respect my doctor and he clearly holds them in high esteem.  The procedure went fine and I went into recovery with another set of kind and amazing nurses.  Besides throwing up immediately upon waking (OUCH!), the rest of the recovery went okay.

So the regret part?  The doctor found some signs of scar tissue, which he removed, but it wasn't much.  Stage 1 or maybe Stage 2.  Just from some minor research, with such little amounts of it, the surgery was probably unnecessary and was probably not the reason for our inability to get or stay pregnant.  And this was very discouraging.  I feel very weepy about losing out on a beautiful fall weekend with my son because of a procedure that probably isn't going to give him a sibling.  I am using up three precious sick days for nothing.  I woke up last night sick with a fever that has yet to break.  I am worried about infection or something worse.  And for what?

I know there was no way to know how severe the endometriosis was without surgery, but I just feel like our desperation has reached new levels when I thought we were heading into the acceptance phase of this infertility journey. Our next steps?  No idea...

 

A Prize For My Birthday

Yesterday was my birthday.  I turned 38.  I've never been a "look at me" kind of girl on my birthday.  Because of that, my birthdays have been rather tame in that lame kind of way and that was okay with me. This year, though, it was totally different.

While I have no idea why the difference occurred, it turned out to be a good thing.  It seems that turning 38 was a little bit harder than I thought.  37 is your mid-30’s; 38 begins the slow march to 40: I am officially in my late 30’s.  I’ve always said that age is just a number and I still believe that.  I also believe that you can’t spend the time given to you depressed about your age.  As my husband alway says, “the alternative isn’t much better.”  So I have always embraced my age and never shied away from it.  This year, I do that, too, but’ it’s been a bit more dificult to swallow than usual. 

Being shy, attention has never been something I have sought out.  If anything, I have always run in the opposite direction. This year for my birthday proved to be a time of attention and celebration.  The birthday part of my day began with a giant hug from a great friend at work and a package of chocolate-covered pretzels. 
Twenty minutes later, I received a serenade from 20 underclassmen in the middle of the hallway, loudly and full of hugs and high-fives.  Shortly after that, during the change of classes, a group of seniors came in to wish me (again, very loudly!) a happy birthday and improvised a shortened Happy Birthday song.  During my lunch duty, a group of senior boys who looked like they were up to something (and they usually are!) started the entire cafeteria of 90+ kids singing Happy Birthday to me and presented me with two cookies, one with an "H" and the other with a "B" for Happy Birthday because they couldn't find a candles (we're good at our school about not allowing the students to play with fire...).  I turned every shade of red imaginable to the delight of the entire lunch.  After my face turned to its normal and lovely shade of pale white, I went to eat my own lunch with friends to find a yummy chocolate fudge cake and a bouquet of flowers waiting for me with lots of hugs and song.  Text messages had my phone bleeping all day and my email inbox was filled with Fa.cebook well wishes.

Upon arriving to pick up Builder Boy at school, his first words to me were, "HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAMA! I love you!!" and I was given a huge bear hug and sloppy kisses.  He talked all the way home about my presents he couldn't wait to give me and promptly made me a beautiful card to go with the store-bought one he already had.  He waited patiently (not really) for Remodel Man to come home so he could give me his presents-a Sock Monkey and Sock Monkey slippers (I love Sock Monkeys!!!) in a Sock Monkey bag.  He told me about my present from Remodel Man (an iPhone!!!) and we headed to a wonderful dinner at one of our favorite local restaurants. We finished the evening by stopping at nearby bakery  for some amazing sweets.

It was an abundant day.  I felt celebrated. I felt joy-filled.  I felt loved. I felt full.  THIS is what birthdays should feel like.  THIS is why people dread birthdays, because they don't get treated like this on their special day.  People went out of their ways to make me feel so appreciated and it affirmed to me the importance of going out of MY way to make people feel the same way. No more late gifts in the mail-I will get to the post office in time (I huge issue of mine!).  No more fast texts and Fac.ebook posts because the card I bought (or didn't) wasn't going to get to the person in time.  No more excuses.  People deserve to be celebrated! 

Right before going to sleep, I listened to a voice mail message from my goddaughter and her mom, PorscheNut, singing Happy Birthday to me.  "Happy Birthday, Aunt RenovationGirl!" said PorschePeanut,"This is a prize for your birthday!"  You bet it is, baby girl!  I went to sleep with a smiling heart. 

It's Just Really Hard

The title says it all...this whole working full-time, working two part-time jobs, raising an energetic, intelligent, and challenging little boy, attempting to take care of a house constantly under construction, doing laundry, planning/shopping for/preparing meals, and trying to have a life is really hard.  It sounds whiny, doesn't it?  I feel like a child stamping her foot out of an immature frustration.  Of course, I'm not surprised that it's hard-I'm just surprised by how incredibly hard it is. 

I guess I'm not a good time manager, but I'm finding that I just can't get the house clean or laundry folded or meals prepared each week.  One thing may get done, but not all that needs to get done.  Not even close.  This past weekend, Saturday was a family day and date night.  We spent the amazingly clear and hot day picking pumpkins and navigating corn mazes and slinging apples into a lake.  Saturday night, Builder Boy headed to the grandparents while Remodel Man and I had a yummy dinner, a favorite place from our early married days, and went to hear an awesome band.  The day was lovely, it truly was, but it left me stressed and anxious.  I worked on Sunday so my weekend was done. Sigh. How to get anything done?

During the week, my time is even more constrained.  After picking Builder Boy up from school, we head home, changes clothes, and grab a snack.  Builder Boy usually watches a tv show and then we play or read.  Soon after that, it's time to make dinner, eat dinner, and clean up dinner.  That leaves at most an hour before the bedtime routine begins.  We've been having Wii bowling marathons and we try to master our Wii Jedi skills (okay, I just watch on this one!) so we can spend some family time together.  After Builder Boy is in bed, usually around 8:15 if we're lucky, it's time to make lunches, get the coffee ready for the next day, and set out clothes, bags, etc. for the upcoming school day.  At this point, I'm exhausted. I should go to bed, but there's work to be done.  I fall into bed between 11:00 and midnight.  It begins again the next day...I'm living Groundhog's Day!  Add to that the occasional shift at my part-time retail job and the daily checking of my on-line students. 

I just can't figure out how to fit in all that needs to be done.

And I won't lie...I heavily envy those who get to stay home.  I recognize how difficult it is and have profound respect for those who do it, but I'm so incredibly jealous.  Jealous that some days, she can get up, throw on her sweats and drive her child to school, only to go home and enjoy a cup of coffee, the daily newspaper, and a long, hot shower.  Me?  The alarm goes off at 4:49 AM (don't worry, I hit snooze a zillion and one times!), I take the world's fastest shower, usually only shaving what is absolutely necessary to shave, frantically racing around getting dressed and made up, grabbing the coffee, a protein bar, and heading out the door.  And it's really hard. 

On the positive side, though, financially we are finally making all of our bills.  We're still not paying anything down, but at least we're not falling farther behind.  I'm enjoying teaching this year more than I have in the past few years.  And I'm heading to a professional conference in Disney World (woohoo!!!) in a month paid for by my school.  These are all wonderful, positive things.

So if you are a full-time working outside the home mom (and I can't even begin to tell you how very much I have always hated having to differentiate between the SAHM and the WAHM!!), I'd love your tips on how you manage your time.  I'm not asking, I'm begging, because I'm drowning in it all right now. 

HELP!!!!!  :)

No One Prepared Me For This

Many people attempted to prepare me for Builder Boy going to school.  They told me how sad I would be when I left him there (I was).  They told me how tired, and therefore, crabby Builder Boy would be when he returned home at the end of the day (he has been).  They told me to expect homework even though it's kindergarten (yep, he gets a bit, even though they told us he wouldn't get any!).  Oh yes, we were prepared for all of this, minus one major issue:

 

THE PAPERWORK.  THE PAPERS. PAPERS PAPERS PAPERS.

Look, I really like to see how Builder Boy is progressing in school.  I do!  But really, is it necessary for the teacher to send home every single stinking time he writes his name.  Throw me a bone here, lady-just send home one a week.  And yes, he is delighted every time he shows me each paper he has colored, each bear he has counted, every art project he has created, but oh my!  Can't some of this be put in a folder for Parent/Teacher Conferences?

OR...GULP...is there a folder there, too???

If you're like me, I have a hard time throwing away anything he creates...while I realize this adds to the clutter issue we have in our house (bordering on hoarding...), I just love to look back on his preschool creations now and compare how far he has come.  But, I will have to come up with some solution to the paper clutter.  I simply cannot keep everything. 

 
So, seasoned mommies, how do you keep up with the kindergarten paper onslaught?