I love my parents, but it's definitely a relationship wrought with things I did as a child that my mother has not forgiven me for.

However, this trip, I was extremely fortunate. My folks replaced the tires on my car, gave us a check for $300 and bought dinner a lot.

As soon as they left though, the water tank blew water all over the garage.

ugh.

yay! The kids are gone and I'm done with school.

Yes, we're broke! Yes, we are doing housework, but we're also having a great time hanging out with each other.

Yup. Graduate school is still hard. I was surprised at how hard it was. Summer sessions are for linebackers, I swear it. I haven't taken summer session in 18 years and I forgot how flipping hard it is to contend with the summer heat. I also forgot about having to walk anywhere to get to a class. I had to walk to a building in the center of campus, which if I weighed what I did 18 years wouldn't have been a big deal, but with my big ass and my yucky knee I would hit a the final steps into the building and feel my knee just shift enough to hurt like holy hell and then I'd gimp down the halls to get there. I found I had to leave an hour in advance to get to campus, to give myself time to get to class, which sucked eggs, rotten yucky eggs.

I've been nothing but frustrated trying to get my sorry butt through classes. One professor thinks I shouldn't be in her class because I'm already in special ed and she doesn't think it's a requirement (though the chair told me I should take it) and the other I simply am buried up to my eyeballs in. Every single day is homework. Every. Single. Day. And a lot of it is good for me, but a lot of it makes me want to rip out all my hair in frustration. I'm writing 1-2 page single spaced chapter synopses. What the hell ever happened to letting me catch up on my reading on the weekend? I'm actually supposed to read it on the due date and it just freaking blows.

I just had to write a position paper on inclusion of special education children in regular education classes. Um, yeah, my position was that there isn't enough strategy teaching for teachers that shows them how to work with multicultural factors in regular education settings, nor with special education kids. Being that so-called minorities make up a bigger than they should portion of special education classrooms and that these same minorities and special ed kids are often on referral or suspension at a higher rate than their regular ed and white peers. And that the majority of teachers in the US are white middle class women. Yeah, there's a bit of an issue, in my opinion. It's flipping called bigotry.

erf.

Ok...I'm not even coherent. I just wanted to check in.

All I know is that graduate school is hard. It's only the first week and I'm already clear that there are not enough hours in the day to do all this stuff. It scares me to think about what it will be like the rest of the year, trying to do this stuff around working nearly full-time.

I'm wildly tired. I slept for an hour when I got home yesterday, to recover some missing hours. I slept 7.5 hours last night, but I feel like old jeans -- worn, faded, and with a few tears in the knees.

And lord, I'm so behind. I've done reading as skimming, which isn't bad, but definitely isn't good. *sigh*

Mike commented on the fact that he has to take over everything while I do this. All I could think is, "Welcome to my world!" I put him through engineering school, and I remember it well.

I like my classes, but the things I'm learning overlap so much, it's hard to pull them apart and separate them in my head. I'm hoping that a few days away, i.e., the weekend, will give me some perspective.

I have two classes so far. I have been sure to email a teacher who griped that she was feeling forced into having me in the class by the chair, so I told her she could back out if she wanted.

The afternoon class is a class that could bury a gal. I had 2 chapters, a writing assignment, a form, and notes to take for a quiz tomorrow. I haven't finished, but I'm so damned tired, I'm going to bed and will get up early to try again.

Russell couldn't imagine why I would be so tired from "just school." I explained that I had gone to one class, discovered that the room had been changed to a different building and that I'd had to walk there on my cruddy knee and back again and that my knee wasn't amused. I also explained that on the first day, it's a lot of material to cover, so, I was overwhelmed and that my brain simply shuts down in response to that.

And besides, old people need their naps.

Just shut up, dammit.

I am starting grad school today. I feel like I did in Kindergarten when I stood outside our 60s-70s ranch house on Cape Street in a homemade sack dress of red plaid with my little white tights and black shiny patent leathers -- nervous, vulnerable, and very grown up.

I'd rather be teaching. ;)

Working in the Coal Mines...Going Downtown

I decided I was going to start work again on Thursday. So I called my favorite school and she asked me to work Thursday and Friday and then wanted to know if I'd work tomorrow. I hesitated, but I said, sure. I said, "If I go limping home tomorrow night, we'll know it was a bad idea," and she laughed.

I've bought lots of dresses because I can't stand having anything touch or put pressure on my mid-section. I pull them on, my stomach starts to heave, and I yank them off before I yack like a sorority girl on party night.

I had looked at Lane Bryant, but I swear that store never has decent dresses. They always have jeans, shirts, dress pants, skirts, and blouses, but never decent dresses. They're either dress like a whore dresses or here, have a flour sack to wear kinds of dresses. I had tried on what they had and good God, I don't know what woman would look good in those. And damn, if most of the same old dresses have lingered on that rack for the past month.

I went online to Catherine's and found that they had really nice dresses that fit my style and needs. I kind of need long and sweeping dresses because I run around the classroom like a Football Coach on IV caffeine and something tight and conservative won't do. They had a couple like that and a couple more conservative shirt dresses with fuller skirt bottoms. I also bought some stuff on catalog. I also bought a full slip.

In 80+ degrees fahrenheit, double layers sucks (especially when one is your polyester slip), but as a teacher, you're not allowed to give kids a peep show and there's no way in hell I can stand a half slip touching anywhere along my mid-section. I also wasn't really too thrilled to have to wear my tie dye hippy momma tank dress to conservative redneck country nor the hot fuschia mu-mu. I mean, mu-mu's are great for the beach and duffing around the house, but teaching? And fuschia? Not!

----

Lately, I've been a real hardass with myself about food. Every time I even think of stepping sideways to eat something I shouldn't, I simply tell myself something gross about being diabetic and the consequences of it, and I stop thinking sideways. I tell myself,"Stuff like that will kill you over time and you can choose something else." Then I flail about in my head about what I could do instead and something always seems to come to mind. Last night, I wanted bad stuff and ended up having fat-free ice cream and a banana. I had told myself that I already have enough health risks and that adding to my padding didn't need to happen.

I often have a different conversation where I worm my way out of it, but I'm not doing that lately. I'm horrified by the size of my body at the moment and I'm the only one who can fix it. So I am.

And I can't get exercising heavily because, well, I'm too heavy, but food I can do, until I'm able to exercise better on my cruddy knee.

So, that's all I've got cooking. Well, that and tomorrow night's veggie lasagna. ;)

This is a new Ruby mini-series,"When Gall Bladders Go Bad"

Episode 1: The Surprising Colon

I am drowsing through the colonoscopy in "twilight sleep." When all of the sudden I just I wake up screaming. They gave me one pain shot and I continued to scream. So they gave me a second one, and I continued to scream. The doctor stopped the colonoscopy. Apparently, they were passing my gall bladder at the time.

Episode 2: The Diagnosis

This part of the things included an hour and a half on a slab while they chemically signalled my liver to produce bile and then chemically signalled my gall bladder do dump bile:

Basically, the white indicates bile distribution in the liver and the very white places at the bottom are kind of my small intestine and my gall bladder. My gall bladder shouldn't be bright white. It should look more diffuse like the stuff above.

So, all that yummy delicious radioactive crap they gave me to get my gall bladder to show on the purty picture made me sick as hell from that moment on.

Episode 3: Removal of the Scourge of Ruby's Digestive System -- Gall Bladder Gone

The surgery, I was told would take 45 minutes tops, but mine took 1 hour and 45 minutes. Apparently, the doctor was trying to keep it laprascopic and because my gall bladder was pretty wedged in there and swollen he had a hard time getting to the little bugger. He put some clamps on the bile duct and left a drainage bag in me. After a day or so, my drainage bag began to fill with bile, like instead of my small intestine. Our heroine is rather discouraged to discover, that unfortunately, that was a bad thing. Yeah, like with my healthy history I'm surprised by this? Not even a little.

Episode 4: Change of Venue

So, they transferred me to the hospital via ambulance with about the roughest bastard paramedics I've ever met in my life. I swear they were just freaking pummelling me over every freaking bump they could, just to hear me scream. It's one thing in sex. It's another after a crappy tummy surgery. And they didn't apologize. Not even once. Even the nurse who rode with me was suprised they were such heathens and asked them several times to take it easy. Assholes. When they finally bill me, I'm going to call them up and bitch. And no, I haven't forgiven them. I mean, I had to pay for that fun!

And the fun didn't end there!

Oh, no.

Episode 5: The Stint of the Stent

So in my new bed at the hospital instead of the surgical center, I am told I am first on the schedule to have a stent put in by my GI guys. The stent basically is a tube they put in your bile duct so that the bile goes through that until the place where the clamps were leaking can heal on its own. I go back in to get that removed in a couple months.

So, I'm fasting. I get told at 2PM that my 130 time has been pushed. I'm irritated, hungry, but I suck it up and wait. At 345 PM, they come in to get me. I'm seeing one of guys who was at the colonoscopy and I'm feeling comforted about a friendly face. I'm about to get pushed into a second elevator. An officious lady come up and says, my thing has been pushed. We all piss and moan.

I get my first meal of the day at 430. The doctor originally orders clear fluid diet I beg him for soft foods, and he relents. I snarf what I can...which aint much.

Then I'm mad. I'm paying 10% of that day at the hospital for a delay that was not my fault at all. Piss on them. I call my mother to tell her that things have been delayed and she can't begin to understand why I'm in a bear of a mood. Other than I'm fucking hungry, low sugar and being charged for the fucking privilege? OOoh. No reason. I tell her I don't wish to discuss it further with her and that we'll call her after the stent thing occurs.

I get the stent in the day after at 130pm sharp. The same guy I know is there and and they try to discharge me the next morning. I'm not happy.

Episode 6: Unpleasant Smelling Discharge

Being that I've been on and off vicodan for 2 years, I'm rather resistant to painkillers. Going home scares me on a number of levels, not the least of which is the drugs aren't as good at home! Some idiot social worker comes in saying she hears that I don't wanna go home yet because of issues at home. I say, "No, I would like an extra day for the drugs." She checks with the nurse and comes back and says,"Oh, yes, the nurse says that you're right and that you're planning to go home tomorrow with your doctor's consent." Then she whips out the whopper,"I just thought you should know that your insurance company hasn't approved your stay since Monday." What she omits, but tells the nurse is that that's no big deal and that it'll be handled. I'm hysterical. Then, Mike comes in and cries because I don't want to come home. He misses me. I relent and say that I'll come home that night after I've had a nice fresh dose of drugs.

The Epilogue:

All and all, I had 9 pokes for IVs. My veins couldn't handle the harsh drugs and kept collapsing. And I had the nicest most capable nurses on the whole freaking ward poking me. I was told in the future I should get a pick which is basically an IV spot that is in an artery, so it doesn't collapse. They had to remove my IV early which meant the meds were oral and not nearly as good or as immediate. The doctor suggested I get an IV in my foot for the stent removal.

The next morning is Genny's birthday. And I'm in so much pain, I can barely remember to wish her a Happy Happy. I can only lay on my back and my bed doesn't recline or change position.

Even now, there are locations in my back which are really aggravated and would like to have words with me about this whole sleeping on my back thang.

I got my drain out Tuesday. Um...I'd give that an episode, but it squicks me to even think about it. I'll just spare you and toss that under, "Sensations too Gross to Discuss."

By far the creepiest things, is that I have an abdomen with 5 wounds, not the least of which is the still not quite closed drain hole with a big old bandaid on it. I am still sleeping on my back, which is why I'm up at 330am writing in my blog.

My body hurts and sometimes, drugs aren't enough. Oh, and I still can't lift more than 10lbs for yet another damned week. I can fold clothes one at a time, sit at the computer with good posture, and stand at the sink carefully to do dishes or at the stove to cook.

On the plus side, my knee has had nearly a month to rest, so it's hardly swollen at all.

All I've been doing is working as a substitute teacher for several months. I like teaching. I've been discovering where I'd like to teach and where I'd rather gnaw my arm off than teach at.

There are some schools where the teachers seem disspirited or proud of the wrong things (like cussing out a student in front of the class). There are some schools where the kids are fantastic and the school's fantastic. And there's an elementary school that I refer to in my head as the "Mormon School." Because there are clear signs that the principal and several teachers are Mormons. I actually like teaching at the Mormon School a lot. Nice people and good kids, so it's fun.

I went on Easter Break and on Easter night, I spent the night at the emergency room. My gastroenterologist believes that my gall bladder may be failing. I was off all last week and I'm taking this week off, while I get tested to verify that it's my gall bladder. My diet is low enough cholesterol to where I don't have gall stones, which are made of cholesterol.

I have to undergo one more test to verify that indeed my gall bladder is failing and I get the thrill of a colonoscopy. I asked that they do the two procedures back-to-back, so they could stick me once for the stupid IV and I told them to just give me xanax, so I don't completely freak out while they go spelunking for a vein. My veins are porous, I swear it. They roll, collapse, and generally, act quite badly for phlebotomists. It's a total pisser and at this point, it about panics me to death.

So that's an update. It ain't much, but it's a start.

So we figured out a stop-gap measure on money. We were able to do something with the 401k, so we did.

Also, we decided that for three more months, it was worth it for Mike to stay at his current job through June at a minimum because at that point he'd be fully vested in his retirement monies. The other thing he mentioned is that his company is looking to raise wages to match the way the standard of living has increased here. I think that if it doesn't happen soon, we're out of here. We're essentially living on Nevada wages at a California cost of living, which blows goats. The whole reason we moved here was to escape the California cost of living. We knew housing was cheaper and everything, but now it's not.

The issue is that Russell is in a school situation that is very steady and helpful for him, he has friends, and he's happy. With his issues, I worry about moving. On the other hand, Nevada is ranked 49th in the US for scholastic excellence, so moving anywhere else just about would be a better academic challenge for him.

So that's the most current update anyhow...

Things have been bad.

I haven't quite been able to figure out what I wanted to post here about it, so I guess I'll just say...

...I told Mike that after all the times that I've been there for him, covering things for him when he needed it that I deeply resented that he wasn't there for me when I really needed him over the past two years while I've been ill. There was no excuse, for example, why I should have been trying to pay bills from my hospital bed in March. I had begged Mike for 2 years to take over the bills because I was making stupid ridiculous mistakes and was sick and exhausted and often on painkillers. In retrospect, I understand the looks of horror I got from the nurses when I said my hospital stay from my knee replacement was the best vacation I'd ever had. It really was and that's just fucking sad.

...I told Mike that if he didn't start actively working on house stuff I would move in with Melody in Utah because I cannot do it alone any more. He's started to make repairs, but the house is an unmitigated pit. It's frustrating to be at someone else's whim and at the whim of my body.

...I told Mike that he really needed to pursue support for his depression and that whatever he was doing wasn't working. I also said I realize it's pot.kettle.black., but that I really wanted him to be ok, too. He hasn't done much towards this at all. I think he thinks if he ignores me, I'll go away. What he doesn't understand is that I am seriously considering that.

...I strongly urged Mike to find a job in Utah because we can't afford to live here and because in Utah, I'd have help and support from Melody and her family. I don't get it much from my family and certainly not from Mike's, but whatever. I know Melody would be there for me.

...Things are bad enough financially that we aren't going to make the mortgage this month and a lot of other bills, too. I'm juggling a lot, but it's still pretty ugly.

I put in for substitute jobs, but I haven't heard a thing from any of them. I'm calling this week to find out why.

If I can't get substituting soon, I'm just going to pick up temp work where I can.

My apnea is back, but the leg lifts are helping manage my sugars pretty well. I am back on my cpap machine and have been sleeping delicious sleeps, though my schedule is still completely thwacked, as demonstrated by the fact that it's 630am and I've not slept a whit all night.

I'm panicked and freaked out about the money, but there's not a damned thing I can do about it, except tell our creditors and do my best to pay everyone and hope they work with me. If they choose not to, we'll turn to Credit Counseling and get them off our backs. At worst, if we go into foreclosure, Mike's retirement monies can save us. Hopefully, it won't get to that, but it might. Mike is supposed to take over the bills shortly. Hopefully, that will give him a sense of just how tight we need to be living.