Just another Friday

I could have so done without yesterday.  Seriously. 

So, the first step in this happy horse grenade, (yes, grenade.) is that my daughter was being picked up from my ex-husband at 8pm from my Mom.  Which, if you think about it, is kind of a win/win.  Mom gets out of the house, (as she is of an advanced age and therefore doesn't get out too often, but still likes to.) and Lily gets some much needed spoiling from Grandma.  But as with everything there is a catch.

Flashback to 2008.  My daughter accuses my husband of touching her in a sexual manner.  Queue Child Protective Services.  Queue 2 years of hell where my husband was not allowed into my home.  Then queue the part, two years later,  where they said “oops!” and as quickly as they appeared, disappeared.

It was finally investigated by the police a few months ago.  Back in 2008, I found a soaked Carhart suit in my daughters laundry bag then and kinda shrugged and washed it.  Then it occurred to me I didn't know the origin of said suit, then it occurred to me that it didn’t fit my husband, best friend, ex-husband or anyone else who had been in my house.  Then I asked anyway, same response.  “Not mine, but good luck with that doncha know!”

I did tell the original CPS caseworker this part, and she just poo poo’d it away.  She wanted to nail my husband for all he was worth, (and I mean that in the proverbial hammer VS nail, not the sexual connotation.  She was OLD, and I’m pretty sure after all she’s seen and heard, she’s an asexual being, and anyone who wasn't was subjected to her constant cry of “liar!”)

So, although it was quite a relief for things to be considered “solved”, (the police decided someone had broken into my home at a point when my daughter’s window didn't lock.)  It did create an undue amount of tension in my wee child raising village.  (or is it razing in this case?  I’m not too sure.)  One of the casualties was the ability to leave my husband home with my daughter alone.  Which means, when Lily is around I have to have all of the kids at either my inlaws house or my mom’s, or just leave Lily alone somewhere.  Since we are fairly certain that someone did break into our home, we obviously aren't too keen to allow that to happen again.  Adding to this, my brother in law who is the primary Nanny of my children, (he’s very agoraphobic and it actually gets him outside and doing things,) doesn't feel comfortable watching Lily without another female adult there.  My mother in law works overnights… are you picking up what I am throwing down?

Lemme spell it out.

1.       Lily is picked up in Lansing, I live in Ann Arbor.  It’s a 1 and ½ hour drive.  Add a bathroom break or a meal break, you've got yourself a cool 2 hour drive.  She is picked up at 8, getting her to Ann Arbor at about 10.

2.       My mother in law splits her sleep, a nap right after work, then bed between 8 and 9.

3.       Bro in law won’t watch Lily when there is no female around.

4.       My family is a sausage fest aside from my sister and my sister in law.  My sister lives in Northern Ireland in Holywood (not Hollywood), and my sister in law lives in Carol Spring, IL.  And of course, the Mom’s…

So basically, to fit all of these criteria, either Lily had to stay at my Mom’s, or Lily had to go home by herself.  Well, you know THAT ain't happening.

But, when all of this was decided, it was 10 pm, which meant the kids were already at my Mother in laws, and they normally would have been dropped off at home with their father around 8pm.  This meant hauling 3 sleepy children from my Mother in Laws, leaving Lily at her Grandma’s house.

Ok, so now we've set the scene.  I am coming home at 1am with two of my 3 little boys, and my husband, who’s looking ashen and grey.

I say “are you ok?” he says “I’m fine.”

I say “how are you feeling?”  He says “with my fingers” (which is how we know he is fine… He has amongst the worst senses of humor I have ever known.)

My brother texts, remember my brother?  This is the super awesome guy that I’m very close with even though he’s several years older than me.  He’s in Ann Arbor, which never happens, he’s done with a gig, which again never happens, he asks what I’m up to.  I give my hubby the puppy dog “please please puulllease can I go see my big brudder?  The boys are asleep and they won’t be any sort of trouble for you at all.  I promise I won’t be out late, puulleeaase???”

He says “Ok.”

I say “YAY!!!” in a very Kermit the frog sort of way, complete with the arm wiggle.

I dropped the kids and Paul off at home and went out with my brother for some serious giggle time at Denny’s.  (would have been Ram’s horn, but they don’t have any of those near my house.)

About an hour and a half later, I come back and Paul informs me that he’s thrown up 4 times in an hour.  He also has the Chronic Hiccups he’s had for the past week… now, I’m a little slow sometimes, but sometimes, just sometimes in a rare blink of the eye of the blue moon, I’m fucking brilliant.

So, brilliance struck.

Something said to me, “Kidney failure, he’s got signs of kidney failure, and all three of his meds can contribute to kidney failure.”

So, I googled the symptoms, and sure enough, first selection on “the google” says “Kidney failure.”  And my wee brain, (forgetting my eldest son had the stomach flu a week ago,) says OMGWTFBBQWEGONAO!

I call my brother who is now most the way back to Dearborn, where he lives.  I need someone to keep an eye on the two little boys so that I can rush their Dad to the ER.

And my brother turns around and comes back, it takes him a long time too; the roads were better going eastbound than they were westbound.  (yeah, I don’t get it either, but it’s true on that patch of road.)

So 3am, and here I am at U of M’s ER.

And they check us in, and I make clear that they NEED TO CHECK FOR KIDNEY FAILURE,  Cus kidney death=bad.  (I figured I needed to explain this to the interns who have had several years more medical training than I because… Yeah.  I've got nothing.)

And they test him, attach him to every machine imaginable that goes BING and BOOP and BUZZ BUZZ, and then they escort him to his room.  And he pukes a few more times, because you know, it just wasn't eventful enough to puke 8 times before going to the ER.

Oh, and those epilepsy meds, he had taken them sometime between puke 3 and 4, so they were of course, flushed down the toilet in a quite literal fashion.

So… Here we are, in the ER, me expecting Paul to go Clonic Tonic and fuck shit up.  He doesn't.  I’m amazed, but not so amazed that I feel comfortable.

I should also take the time to mention here I have an awful fear of needles and blood draws.  The lore goes that my Dad used to chase me around the house with a needle when I was 3, threatening to give me a “shot” if I didn’t eat my meat.  I am an avid meat eater to this day, but the minute you start talking injections or IVs, I turn as white as a sheet, throw up, pass out, and shake uncontrollably.  I don’t know if this is a story, or truth, but I will say it scares the willies out of me.

To put it another, MUCH EASIER way to understand, when given the choice between delivering my children in a hospital or at my house, without the help of medication or modern medical conveniences,  AFTER HAVING HAD THE HOSPITAL BIRTH AND UNDERSTANDING IT WASN'T THAT BAD, I not only chose to have 1 of my kids at home, but all 3 of my little boys; all because I DIDN'T WANT THE STUPID IV.

So you can just imagine how fucking thrilled I am to spend time in a hospital. 

And my husband keeps saying things like “I deserve this for not having taken care of you as well as I should have when you were sick.”

And I’m like… “Really?  Then why do I get to go through the absolute joy and pleasure of not only seeing you in pain and discomfort, but smelling your vomit and dirty sock feet, while seeing you in a hospital gown, in a place with a lot of noisy VERY SCARY looking equipment?  If all you did was disregard my needs, like you ALWAYS do, WHAT IN FUCK DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?”  I mean, this is, quite literally, my version of hell.  Some people think fire and brimstone, I think the hospital and people I love suffering.  That’s how you can tell I am a Mom.

Ok, so they get ready to do the IV.  I go out for a cigarette, I stay away 15 minutes.  No big.  Come back, Paul’s attempting to sleep.

I’m like, “cool” and I sit there for a while.

Another doc comes in and says something super important like “Give him 50cc’s of Anaprovaline STAT”  *drug name may or may not be stolen from Star Trek ;) yeah, I’m a geek, you totally know it is.

Which means, of course, they start fucking with his IV AGAIN. So I leave the room for another cigarette, I stay away a half an hour this time, making use of the computers to “OMGWTFBBQ” to all of my family and friends on facebook, who of course say the same 2 lame things, “OMG how awful, you are in my thoughts/prayers/good juju.” Or “*hugs*” which… everyone knows you can’t hug with atomic arms… or… facebook arms, because on facebook we are just a bunch of walking pokey fingers that go about and poke one another at inappropriate times.  Not that those things aren't appreciated or appropriate, they don't offer as much comfort as a real honest to goodness hug from someone dear to you.

I come back again, the doctor is seeing him, its 515.  The doctor starts asking my half asleep and still hiccupping-every-two-second-husband all kinds of medical questions, which, being as when he is in the hospital he is usually unconscious, I am asked to answer.

And I start to answer her and she shushes me and tells me she needs to hear it from the patient.

If you ever wanna piss someone off REALLY fast, especially a caregiver, that’s the way to do it.  So, my hair set on fire right there and I smoldered in the ash of my anger for about 15 minutes.  Then I leave really fast, run outside, have another cigarette, using my still smoldering head as a lighter.

Anyway, so I go back to his room, it’s 6am.  They are like “so we are giving him two bags of fluids in his IV, then we will send him home a much fuller and happier looking human being.”  And I’m like… KIDNEY FAILURE… and they’re all like “It’s not a toommmerr” Arnie style.  And I say “what’s your proof.” Because something in my head says you should just be THAT MUCH MORE ANNOYING.  And they said “Labs.”  Which, every scientist knows, even BAD scientists, that labs cannot be disproven easily, at least, if they are the correct tests.  And they were… so…

And I look at the bag. It has a #2 on it, he had already had one bag, I’m watching the bag, drip, drip drip…  one hour,  I listen to some tunes, I meditate, I meditate while listening to some tunes, I email my shift lead to give him a progress report, (because I have the illusion that all of the people I love and respect want to hear my life’s story, and the guy legitimately needs to know what’s going on in case I can’t make it to work.)  I see this damned thing, still dripping, only half gone.  It’s 7am, I have a red bull in my purse, I walk back out, smoke another cigarette, and sit on the wet fence.  I come in and chat with my Dad on one of the hospital run computers, telling him what’s going on.  My Dad, being a nurse, and a damned good one too,  gives me some suggestions.  Also asks if I’m taking care of myself and eating right.  Ask how the new job is going.  I decided to mention that 3 of my co-workers are on protein shakes to try to buff up.  He says they are Kidney stones waiting to happen to which I said “how did you know that’s what they call em?”

So I finally rip myself away from the computer at about 730, I get back, Paul is still asleep, curtain still drawn.  I’m listening through the curtain while some guy gives a nurse his dissertation on global warming and how exactly it effects Southeastern Lower Michigan’s climate.  After 20 minutes of that, I was super interested and listening, then he ran off to help a patient.

And finally at 830, the bag was empty, it took 3 times longer than the first bag.  And 9am, 9 fucking AM… I leave.

And my daughter texts, “are you coming for me?” and the Mama heartstrings go “awww sobsobsob my baby”

And I sigh, and I text back “yes my little girl, of course.”

So, I tell Paul he’s going home to sleep, the boys are going to his Mom’s, (who is, by the way already at my apartment to pick them up.)

Paul insists he MUST COME WITH ME TO MY MOTHERS.

He sleeps all the way there, he wakes up, goes to her house, lays on her floor and falls back asleep.

I drive him to his Mom’s, he sleeps there in the guest room, my daughter has an unusually spry and non teenagey moment and says “Mommy, the other boys are at Meijer with Uncle , can we go please???” to which, I reluctantly say “yes.” Even though I haven’t yet slept.

So, 1pm comes along, and I finally lay down for the night… setting the alarm for 2.  All of the sudden ALL of the kids decide that it’s time to make the most noise EVER.

All told, I sleep for a half an hour, only to be woken up by Captain Autistic himself, my oldest Son, having a fit that he can’t play video games.  Howling as though someone has mortally wounded him.  I turn off my alarm and arise, without one word, head to the computer to email my shift lead telling him that he needn't worry about coming in tonight, and I walk out the door.

Some days… Some days just that act alone is the greatest accomplishment.