To the Idiot Child Driving the Green Pickup Truck;
4:52 PM, December 10, 2007
Apple Drive and 144th, Nunica, MI
Please go directly to the Secretary of State's office and surrender your licence, if you even have one. The purpose of a stop sign is so that you STOP, look BOTH WAYS, and then WAIT if there is traffic coming before proceeding across the intersection. You seem to think a stop sign means to slow down, then drive slowly across the intersection, causing motorists with right of way to attempt to brake with less than 50 yards between you and them. Thank goodness the roads were not icy. If talking to your friend or adjusting your radio is more important than keeping your eyes on the road that you barely glanced in my direction as I laid on the horn for those 50 yards, you shouldn't be on the road. Period.
Since you have obviously not learned such a fundamental driving law, you don't deserve to be on the road. You almost got yourself t-boned today. You probably would have been all right, since I drive a tiny Geo Prism. My daughter and I may not have been so lucky. I don't think you want lives on your conscience at 16 or 17.
Driving is a priveldge, not a right. If I knew how to contact your parents, I would. I hope for your sake you did notice how close you came to a serious accident today and talk to your parents about it. They should think twice before allowing you back on the road.
Showing posts with label rants. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rants. Show all posts
Monday, December 10, 2007
Monday, September 24, 2007
Skillz 2 pay da billz
K assures me he has them.
Even IF, he says, I don't get a new job, we can still pay the bills! He's done the budget! If we get WIC and Food Stamps and Medicaid. To me, that is not paying the bills. That is continuing to suck off the tit when we really don't need to.
He seems to think I should be overjoyed at this. I do not want the meaningless trailer park existence nor do I particularly WANT to stay home with my spawn. All day. Because we won't be able to afford the gas to go anywhere or do anything fun. Being a stay at home mom is only cool when you have the $$ to do the things you want to do.
I would much rather work. Work. Earn money. Pay off debts. Pay off the trailer. Buy a real house with a real yard with room for spawnlings to run and play. Enjoy my spawnlings on the weekends and the evenings.
Staying home and having to watch every penny does not sound like anything I want to do. It will most certainly NOT be better for my children because vitamin Z won't even help me out of the low feeling like a non-contributor will put me in. K can try to tell me that being with the kids is the most important contribution, but when he's the one stuck at home with no adult interaction, trying to keep a toddler and a newborn quiet all day because Daddy works 3rd shift and is sleeping...well...maybe he'd get my reluctance.
I hate the feeling of not having any money in my pocket and having to ask The Husband for anything I want or need, having to justify new shampoo, or new underwear, or this cute outfit I saw for the baby. I had enough of that during Freyja's first year. Maybe if he were making double or treble what he does and could "pay" me for staying home then I'd be OK with staying at home, but the way things are now, I just can't fathom it.
And of course, because I think it's better for me to work and send my kids to daycare, I'm a Bad Evil Mommy for doing what's right for my family.
Fuck it all, I'm doing what I think is right, and to hell with what anyone else outside the family thinks.
Even IF, he says, I don't get a new job, we can still pay the bills! He's done the budget! If we get WIC and Food Stamps and Medicaid. To me, that is not paying the bills. That is continuing to suck off the tit when we really don't need to.
He seems to think I should be overjoyed at this. I do not want the meaningless trailer park existence nor do I particularly WANT to stay home with my spawn. All day. Because we won't be able to afford the gas to go anywhere or do anything fun. Being a stay at home mom is only cool when you have the $$ to do the things you want to do.
I would much rather work. Work. Earn money. Pay off debts. Pay off the trailer. Buy a real house with a real yard with room for spawnlings to run and play. Enjoy my spawnlings on the weekends and the evenings.
Staying home and having to watch every penny does not sound like anything I want to do. It will most certainly NOT be better for my children because vitamin Z won't even help me out of the low feeling like a non-contributor will put me in. K can try to tell me that being with the kids is the most important contribution, but when he's the one stuck at home with no adult interaction, trying to keep a toddler and a newborn quiet all day because Daddy works 3rd shift and is sleeping...well...maybe he'd get my reluctance.
I hate the feeling of not having any money in my pocket and having to ask The Husband for anything I want or need, having to justify new shampoo, or new underwear, or this cute outfit I saw for the baby. I had enough of that during Freyja's first year. Maybe if he were making double or treble what he does and could "pay" me for staying home then I'd be OK with staying at home, but the way things are now, I just can't fathom it.
And of course, because I think it's better for me to work and send my kids to daycare, I'm a Bad Evil Mommy for doing what's right for my family.
Fuck it all, I'm doing what I think is right, and to hell with what anyone else outside the family thinks.
Friday, June 29, 2007
sleepy
What is it about traveling even short distances? I went about 90 miles away this week for a training. What in hell am I tired from? Sitting on my butt in a classroom for 2 days, sleeping in a ghetto Holiday Inn, and driving 180 miles?
Saturday, June 16, 2007
Crummy Day
We were supposed to go to the beach today, and then have a cookout. I haven't seen my best friend in weeks. We had plans.
Freyja refused to take a nap. Flat out refused. Threw herself around. Acted up. Jumped on the bed. I told her "If you don't take a nap, we don't go to the beach."
She still acted up.
So here we sit. Maybe most parents would have backed down on that, gone to the beach anyway.
I can't. She's a monster lately. Nothing we do or say has any bearing on her behaviour. I had to stick to my guns, even though I'm missing out on my fun, too.
It sucks to be a mom today.
Freyja refused to take a nap. Flat out refused. Threw herself around. Acted up. Jumped on the bed. I told her "If you don't take a nap, we don't go to the beach."
She still acted up.
So here we sit. Maybe most parents would have backed down on that, gone to the beach anyway.
I can't. She's a monster lately. Nothing we do or say has any bearing on her behaviour. I had to stick to my guns, even though I'm missing out on my fun, too.
It sucks to be a mom today.
Friday, June 08, 2007
An Open Letter, Part Deux
Dear Women's Clothing Industry,
I know it is hard to believe, but fat chicks like to swim. Not sit by the pool, not try to cover up all the rolls, chunk, and cellulite you seem to think we should be covering with the ugly-ass bathing suits you have on offer this year, but swim. To do so, we need to not be encumbered by swimsuit skirts that are reaching lengths not seen since the Victorian era. And would it be too much to ask to put some decent support for the girls in there? The half shelf bra with wimpy foam cups is just NOT cutting it here.
Also, please get a reality check on the prices. I just paid $13.84 for my husband's brand new board shorts, and there is more material there than in a lot of womens' suits, yet it was a quarter of the price of many suits I tried on yesterday. What the hell is going on with that? The last bathing suit I purchased was about $25 and I wore it for five years, so it's obvious that I'm not going to get higher quality with the higher prices, unless I'm looking for a competitive swimming suit, which I'm not. To be fair, there were some suits for $17 or so at the Evil Store, but they were ugly.
I did purchase a suit yesterday despite my annoyance with the industry. Wonderful Target came to my rescue as usual. I think $25 is plenty to pay for a swimsuit. I bet a LOT of other women feel the same way.
Get a clue,
Heather
I know it is hard to believe, but fat chicks like to swim. Not sit by the pool, not try to cover up all the rolls, chunk, and cellulite you seem to think we should be covering with the ugly-ass bathing suits you have on offer this year, but swim. To do so, we need to not be encumbered by swimsuit skirts that are reaching lengths not seen since the Victorian era. And would it be too much to ask to put some decent support for the girls in there? The half shelf bra with wimpy foam cups is just NOT cutting it here.
Also, please get a reality check on the prices. I just paid $13.84 for my husband's brand new board shorts, and there is more material there than in a lot of womens' suits, yet it was a quarter of the price of many suits I tried on yesterday. What the hell is going on with that? The last bathing suit I purchased was about $25 and I wore it for five years, so it's obvious that I'm not going to get higher quality with the higher prices, unless I'm looking for a competitive swimming suit, which I'm not. To be fair, there were some suits for $17 or so at the Evil Store, but they were ugly.
I did purchase a suit yesterday despite my annoyance with the industry. Wonderful Target came to my rescue as usual. I think $25 is plenty to pay for a swimsuit. I bet a LOT of other women feel the same way.
Get a clue,
Heather
An Open Letter
Dear Moron;
When half of all americans are likely to use food stamps at some point in their lives, it is no longer a welfare queen problem (not like it ever was one), but a shitty economy problem.
Your "tax dollars" are more likely to go to funding that war in the big sandbox and paying for police and fire services to keep you safe than to government aid programs.
Die in a fire.
Heather
When half of all americans are likely to use food stamps at some point in their lives, it is no longer a welfare queen problem (not like it ever was one), but a shitty economy problem.
Your "tax dollars" are more likely to go to funding that war in the big sandbox and paying for police and fire services to keep you safe than to government aid programs.
Die in a fire.
Heather
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Take a letter, Maria
On Eden and Thor's suggestions, here's the letter I wrote to Freyja's doctor. I haven't printed it yet.
Dr. So n So:
I’m writing to you today to let you know about an experience I had in your front office on Wednesday, May 2, 2007. I had called on Monday, April 30 to schedule an appointment for my daughter, Freyja lastname (birthdate 8/27/04). She has a corn or plantar wart on her little toe. I spoke to M, who scheduled the appointment for me with no problems.
On Wednesday morning, A from your office called and spoke to my husband, saying that Freyja had no insurance (which I was aware of, it had lapsed and is in the process of being renewed) and that I needed to bring “paperwork” with me to the office visit. I had no paperwork other than a letter from DHS requesting that I send them a copy of Freyja’s birth certificate.
I realize that no one can make me feel inferior without my consent, but I felt low as we had to turn around and leave your office without being seen the other morning. A’s attitude was “well if you don’t have insurance, we don’t want you”. I am glad that it was only a corn on Freyja’s toe and nothing more serious that she needed to be seen for.
Freyja was very upset as she was looking forward to seeing you. I know that may seem kind of silly, but we’re delighted that she likes and looks forward to seeing her health care provider. We are moving to ThatTown soon and had planned to continue coming to ThisTown for Freyja’s primary care, but if your front office staff (who have all been wonderful every other time we have been in the office) are going to treat us poorly because we happen to be in a lower economic bracket we may have to rethink that decision.
Wednesday, May 02, 2007
Three-freaking-twenty-five?!
Gas prices have hit $3.25/gallon here - that's a 30-cent jump.
If we don't move closer to town, I don't know how we'll afford to go to work, much less do anything else. I know we pay less than most European nations, but most European nations have decent, safe, affordable mass transit systems. Unless one lives in a large metropolitan area, there's no real mass transit to be had in the US. There used to be a light rail that ran right through my town - but it's been gone since the 60's.
This is ridiculous. And it's only going to go higher. I hope the fat cats at the oil companies are enjoying their profits.
If we don't move closer to town, I don't know how we'll afford to go to work, much less do anything else. I know we pay less than most European nations, but most European nations have decent, safe, affordable mass transit systems. Unless one lives in a large metropolitan area, there's no real mass transit to be had in the US. There used to be a light rail that ran right through my town - but it's been gone since the 60's.
This is ridiculous. And it's only going to go higher. I hope the fat cats at the oil companies are enjoying their profits.
Denied.
Freyja has a corn on her toe. On Monday, I talked to her doctor's office and made an appointment for today since a pumice stone hasn't helped. They called this morning to tell me that she doens't have insurance. I'm aware of this - I just faxed in the last of the endless paperwork (since Congress now needs to make sure every person getting medical help is a valid citizen, you know) to get her re-approved for HealthyKids (medicaid). She was up for renewal, her caseworker sent me a paper that said "send this crap in" yet didn't tell me what it was for and never returned my call, so it ended up lapsing. They only spoke to Kerwin (who has no clue about how any of it works), and wanted me to bring "paperwork" in with me. I had no idea what "paperwork" they meant, since they didn't specify so I didn't bring anything.
They refused to see her, since she didn't have "current insurance". The new MA who was manning the front desk was snide and had the air of "take your government tit-sucking ass out of my office". I explained that Medicaid covers 3 months retroactively, so what was the big deal? Well, there's no "proof" that she'll be covered and it's "too much hassle" to see uninsured people, since they "rarely get paid".
It was only a corn on her toe, but Freyja LOVES her doctor and was looking forward to seeing him today. I told her we had to go home and she screamed "I WANT DR. GREG TO LOOK AT MY CORN TOE!!!" and started crying. Boy, did I feel like a jerk - except why should I? Has our medical system become that broken that they won't see children who need health care? It's a private practice. They do have the right to refuse service to anyone - but Freyja is an established patient, not some unknown new person. What if she had been really sick, like with a high fever or something?
On one hand, I can see their reasoning. On the other, that MA was a royal bitch. The MA's there are usually very nice and never have talked down to me. I don't know what I should do - wait for her insurance confirmation to come back and make the appointment again? Find a new office - maybe an FQHC so they CAN'T refuse her service? Write a firmly-worded letter to the doctor to let him know my displeasure? Frankly, I'm disgusted.
They refused to see her, since she didn't have "current insurance". The new MA who was manning the front desk was snide and had the air of "take your government tit-sucking ass out of my office". I explained that Medicaid covers 3 months retroactively, so what was the big deal? Well, there's no "proof" that she'll be covered and it's "too much hassle" to see uninsured people, since they "rarely get paid".
It was only a corn on her toe, but Freyja LOVES her doctor and was looking forward to seeing him today. I told her we had to go home and she screamed "I WANT DR. GREG TO LOOK AT MY CORN TOE!!!" and started crying. Boy, did I feel like a jerk - except why should I? Has our medical system become that broken that they won't see children who need health care? It's a private practice. They do have the right to refuse service to anyone - but Freyja is an established patient, not some unknown new person. What if she had been really sick, like with a high fever or something?
On one hand, I can see their reasoning. On the other, that MA was a royal bitch. The MA's there are usually very nice and never have talked down to me. I don't know what I should do - wait for her insurance confirmation to come back and make the appointment again? Find a new office - maybe an FQHC so they CAN'T refuse her service? Write a firmly-worded letter to the doctor to let him know my displeasure? Frankly, I'm disgusted.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
So We Were Almost Killed Today...
So I was taking DH to work, driving down the highway, and all of a sudden this asshat comes flying off an entrance ramp and careens into the left lane where we were ever so courteously driving so he could get on the damn highway. He didn't even look where he was going.
Thankfully we were not up against a barrier, just a grassy median, and I was able to pull off and over enough so he didn't hit me. He did the whole hand up in the rearview mirror thing like "Oh, I see you now, sorry I almost killed y'all"
Then when we drove by him he gave us a dirty look! WTF! It was some thug ass gansta in a doo rag, yapping on his damn cell phone. What, because you have a shiny car and a cell phone you have the right to kill people on the highway?! I DON"T THINK SO, ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!
If there had been a barrier in the median I would probably be dead or in very bad condition right now. What an adrenaline rush!!!!!!!! OMG! I couldn't breathe and then I started giggling like a madwoman, happy to be alive.
I did manage to crack DH up by singing
"All night, all day, angels watching over me, my lord"
as we exited the highway by his work. Hoooooly shit.
Thankfully we were not up against a barrier, just a grassy median, and I was able to pull off and over enough so he didn't hit me. He did the whole hand up in the rearview mirror thing like "Oh, I see you now, sorry I almost killed y'all"
Then when we drove by him he gave us a dirty look! WTF! It was some thug ass gansta in a doo rag, yapping on his damn cell phone. What, because you have a shiny car and a cell phone you have the right to kill people on the highway?! I DON"T THINK SO, ASSHOLE!!!!!!!!!!!!!
If there had been a barrier in the median I would probably be dead or in very bad condition right now. What an adrenaline rush!!!!!!!! OMG! I couldn't breathe and then I started giggling like a madwoman, happy to be alive.
I did manage to crack DH up by singing
"All night, all day, angels watching over me, my lord"
as we exited the highway by his work. Hoooooly shit.
Friday, March 23, 2007
Pee in a Cup? I Think Not.
Inspired by Babycenter's Drama...er...I mean Bargain Board
As a person who gets food stamps through a loophole in the system (AmeriCorps stipend doesn't count as income) and who uses that money I have in my pocket b/c Uncle Sam buys me groceries and daycare to pay down my debt (we would be screwed without the help), I do have a problem with drug testing. I've never done drugs in my life. Most people on welfare or food stamps are - gee - surprise - like me. Not users, not losers, not government tit suckers. Why in hell should I be treated like a criminal when I'm not one? Also, what makes anybody think I have the time or gas money to cart myself down to the FIA office monthly or weekly or however damn often these drug tests should be done to pee in a cup?
So just sit there in your 3500 sq. foot McMansion on your cul-de-sac in your designer gauchos, drinking your afternoon margarita while the nanny entertains your gymbo-clad kids and keep talking about those drug tests for welfare recipients. You so know what it's like, don't you? Oh, you don't have a nanny? Sorry! That's what happens when people start to assume things about other groups of people.
As a person who gets food stamps through a loophole in the system (AmeriCorps stipend doesn't count as income) and who uses that money I have in my pocket b/c Uncle Sam buys me groceries and daycare to pay down my debt (we would be screwed without the help), I do have a problem with drug testing. I've never done drugs in my life. Most people on welfare or food stamps are - gee - surprise - like me. Not users, not losers, not government tit suckers. Why in hell should I be treated like a criminal when I'm not one? Also, what makes anybody think I have the time or gas money to cart myself down to the FIA office monthly or weekly or however damn often these drug tests should be done to pee in a cup?
So just sit there in your 3500 sq. foot McMansion on your cul-de-sac in your designer gauchos, drinking your afternoon margarita while the nanny entertains your gymbo-clad kids and keep talking about those drug tests for welfare recipients. You so know what it's like, don't you? Oh, you don't have a nanny? Sorry! That's what happens when people start to assume things about other groups of people.
Tuesday, March 13, 2007
Crunchy, yet mainstream.
I signed up with MotheringDotCommune's forums a while ago so I could access their childbirth professionals section.
I get an email from them about once a week, with highlights, chat updates, etc. In this last issue was a book reccomendation that they said "wasn't a usual Mothering book since it was oriented toward doctors and hospital birth" but had good information anyway.
I consider myself mainstream - we did the full schedule of vaccinations, every well-baby visit, and you bet your sweet ass I take Freyja in to the doctor if she's under the weather. In general, I trust allopathic medicine and doctors. I don't think the hospital is the safest place to have a baby, but I think taking my child to see a doctor is a good idea. If we had naturopaths around that the insurance would cover, I'd happily consider going to one.
That said, why is it so damn hard to get people to understand that just because I happen to be mainstream in the majority of my thinking, it doesn't mean I don't understand their choices in childrearing, childbearing, infant feeding, bla bla bla bla you name it, or that I can't hold a few "crunchy" ideals too?
For example, I work full time out of the home. My husband also works full time out of the home. I don't LIKE to stay home. My child goes to daycare with a wonderful home provider who treats her like family. Does that in some way impugn the choices and rights of families who DO have a parent at home? No! My choices for my family are going to be different than your choices for your family.
I didn't "succeed" at breastfeeding, yet I think that breastfeeding is something that you should do if you can. However, I'm not going to accost you in a mall for feeding your child with a bottle. If you prop the bottle, I reserve the right to give you a dirty look. Other than that, do what you like. Did you know it's almost illegal to mention that you can still practice "on-demand" infant feeding using formula? (you can - I did - it works but SHHH don't tell anybody) WHAT?! NO! ALL formula babies are scheduled and left in baby buckets with propped bottles and you know their mammas don't love them because they are TOO SELFISH to breastfeed - at least that's what the crunchy folks want you to believe.
And what is up with the random guilt trips for women who had c-sections after failed inductions? Maybe if our culture was better oriented toward woman-friendly birth those failed inductions wouldn' t happen. Woman-friendly and baby-friendly birth is my main crunchy soapbox, yet the majority of doula clients I have are in hospitals to give birth. If they get a shot of Nubain, does it make them less of a woman? That's the idea I get from a lot of my professional colleagues and random natural birthers in general.
What I'd like to do is change the landscape of crunchiness. There's got to be a decent term for us middle-of-the roaders who like the idea of homebirth or birth center birth but didn't quite get there themselves, who wanted to breastfeed but either got bad advice or no support, who work or attend school and actually enjoy their time out of the home, and who do other various sort of crunchy hippie things in regards to childbearing and childrearing yet don't quite subscribe to the elitism that I tend to see. Can we rise up against the elitism? I sure hope so.
I get an email from them about once a week, with highlights, chat updates, etc. In this last issue was a book reccomendation that they said "wasn't a usual Mothering book since it was oriented toward doctors and hospital birth" but had good information anyway.
I consider myself mainstream - we did the full schedule of vaccinations, every well-baby visit, and you bet your sweet ass I take Freyja in to the doctor if she's under the weather. In general, I trust allopathic medicine and doctors. I don't think the hospital is the safest place to have a baby, but I think taking my child to see a doctor is a good idea. If we had naturopaths around that the insurance would cover, I'd happily consider going to one.
That said, why is it so damn hard to get people to understand that just because I happen to be mainstream in the majority of my thinking, it doesn't mean I don't understand their choices in childrearing, childbearing, infant feeding, bla bla bla bla you name it, or that I can't hold a few "crunchy" ideals too?
For example, I work full time out of the home. My husband also works full time out of the home. I don't LIKE to stay home. My child goes to daycare with a wonderful home provider who treats her like family. Does that in some way impugn the choices and rights of families who DO have a parent at home? No! My choices for my family are going to be different than your choices for your family.
I didn't "succeed" at breastfeeding, yet I think that breastfeeding is something that you should do if you can. However, I'm not going to accost you in a mall for feeding your child with a bottle. If you prop the bottle, I reserve the right to give you a dirty look. Other than that, do what you like. Did you know it's almost illegal to mention that you can still practice "on-demand" infant feeding using formula? (you can - I did - it works but SHHH don't tell anybody) WHAT?! NO! ALL formula babies are scheduled and left in baby buckets with propped bottles and you know their mammas don't love them because they are TOO SELFISH to breastfeed - at least that's what the crunchy folks want you to believe.
And what is up with the random guilt trips for women who had c-sections after failed inductions? Maybe if our culture was better oriented toward woman-friendly birth those failed inductions wouldn' t happen. Woman-friendly and baby-friendly birth is my main crunchy soapbox, yet the majority of doula clients I have are in hospitals to give birth. If they get a shot of Nubain, does it make them less of a woman? That's the idea I get from a lot of my professional colleagues and random natural birthers in general.
What I'd like to do is change the landscape of crunchiness. There's got to be a decent term for us middle-of-the roaders who like the idea of homebirth or birth center birth but didn't quite get there themselves, who wanted to breastfeed but either got bad advice or no support, who work or attend school and actually enjoy their time out of the home, and who do other various sort of crunchy hippie things in regards to childbearing and childrearing yet don't quite subscribe to the elitism that I tend to see. Can we rise up against the elitism? I sure hope so.
Friday, December 22, 2006
The Lord Will Bless You
He will, huh?
I had to answer the phones today at the clinic for 2 hours. I probably spent a good 45 minutes of that trying to explain to this woman that she's lying to me through her teeth and I don't beleive a damn word of it without out and out saying "Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire" to her.
Did you know that mortgage underwriters call on the Friday before a holiday and demand a letter, on your doctor's letterhead, from disabled people to prove that they're disabled? And demand that that letter be faxed to the mortgage underwriter before the close of buisness the same day?
I didn't either. And I don't beleive a damn word of it. You'd get more time than one buisness day.
And truth be told, I was all right with continuing to explain until she told me, "I know it's against the rules, and you're not supposed to, but THE LORD WILL BLESS YOU if you do this and help this poor girl keep her house".
Hold up, lady. I had to hit the hold button in the middle of her platitudes. Lady, you did NOT just say that to me. I put the phone down and looked over at one of our phone nurses, and said, "Hey J, the Lord will bless me if I break the rules for this woman."
Apparently she thinks blessings from her Lord will placate me and get me to do what she wants.
Oh yeah. He'll bless me with a $25,000 fine for violating HIPPA, a potential lawsuit, and the loss of my job. Blessings indeed.
Pardon me while I go laugh hard enough to pee my pants.
I had to answer the phones today at the clinic for 2 hours. I probably spent a good 45 minutes of that trying to explain to this woman that she's lying to me through her teeth and I don't beleive a damn word of it without out and out saying "Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire" to her.
Did you know that mortgage underwriters call on the Friday before a holiday and demand a letter, on your doctor's letterhead, from disabled people to prove that they're disabled? And demand that that letter be faxed to the mortgage underwriter before the close of buisness the same day?
I didn't either. And I don't beleive a damn word of it. You'd get more time than one buisness day.
And truth be told, I was all right with continuing to explain until she told me, "I know it's against the rules, and you're not supposed to, but THE LORD WILL BLESS YOU if you do this and help this poor girl keep her house".
Hold up, lady. I had to hit the hold button in the middle of her platitudes. Lady, you did NOT just say that to me. I put the phone down and looked over at one of our phone nurses, and said, "Hey J, the Lord will bless me if I break the rules for this woman."
Apparently she thinks blessings from her Lord will placate me and get me to do what she wants.
Oh yeah. He'll bless me with a $25,000 fine for violating HIPPA, a potential lawsuit, and the loss of my job. Blessings indeed.
Pardon me while I go laugh hard enough to pee my pants.
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Holiday Hell
I have never been happier to have an iPod. I’m not a Grinch by any means, but there’s only so much I can stand of current pop stars with over inflated egos making a self-serving mockery of the gorgeous hymns of my childhood and the classics done better by stars of an earlier generation. This hour of answering phones over lunch is going to take an entire afternoon of Avenue Q and Brigid's Cross to erase.
Thursday, December 14, 2006
Birth
For Thordora's contest - and my own personal therapy.
Freyja's Birth
32 Weeks.
“I think she’s breech, but I can’t tell because of all your padding!” The nurse-midwife said, in a good-natured teasing manner. We had a good relationship, and she knew how best to get through to me. “Let’s send you for an ultrasound to make sure, if she is, there are some exercises you’ll want to do before she gets too big to flip easily.”
The husband and I nodded; another look at our growing baby was okay by us. Little did I know that agreeing to that ultrasound would start a steep, slippery slope of myriad interventions that would end in what I truly believe, for me, was birth trauma. I’ve learned a lot about labor and birth in training to become a doula – and yes, it was my birth experience that pushed me in that direction – enough to know that what happened to me just shouldn’t have happened at all.
32 Weeks, 5 Days
Checking my voicemail on the way home from work, I found a message from the scheduler at the clinic. “Heather, this is Josi, from the midwives office. I need you to call me back as soon as possible!” Driving down the highway, I dialed the number, my hands shaking and my heart in my chest. I could feel Freyja moving around inside of me, but it didn’t reassure me.
“Your ultrasound showed Freyja as too small for dates. She’s not growing properly, and we need you to come in for a non-stress test as soon as you can.”
I drove straight there, after calling Kerwin at work to have him meet me at the clinic. I got hooked up to the machines and the sound of Freyja’s heartbeat filled the tiny monitoring room. The midwife came in, not MY midwife but one of her partners. “I’m afraid we have to diagnose the baby with IUGR. That means –“
I cut her off. “Intrauterine growth restriction. I know what it means.”
I had twice weekly NST’s leading up to my due date. Every one was fine. I had weekly Doppler ultrasounds to measure the blood flow from my placenta to the baby and how the blood moved through the umbilical cord. Every single one was normal, even the one on my estimated due date as I napped on the table while the tech phoned the results into my midwife. I was terrified at each ultrasound, most of which were scheduled while my husband worked, terrified that they would say “She’s not growing, she hasn’t grown. The blood flow is bad. We have to induce you now. We have to get her out now.”
40 weeks, 3 days.
I wanted to be done. I walked and walked. Miles, it seemed. The baby was still floating, her head not engaged in my pelvis. The midwife checked my cervix. A fingertip dilated. She wanted to sweep my membranes, but I hadn’t dilated enough.
“You know we can’t let IUGR moms go more than a week overdue.”
“I know.”
“Let’s schedule an induction for Friday morning. That’s my call day.”
Small comfort. I went home and read. I wondered if I was favorable for induction. They wouldn’t induce me otherwise, right?
How naïve I was. How foolish and naïve, and impatient and excited to meet my baby.
41 weeks
We arrived at the hospital at 7:30 am, having high hopes that we would be parents by the afternoon.
We got checked into our room, and they came to give me my IV. They couldn’t find a vein in my hand, and it went on the side of my arm. I should have realized that this was a sign of things to come. We were excited, happy. Our labor nurse was wonderful. She was kind, attentive, and funny. I really wanted to have the baby while she was there to help us.
The pitocin was turned up every hour, until I was having contractions every two minutes that kept increasing in intensity. I wanted to hold out. No drugs. My husband was no help. He sat and read, or listened to music on the CD player that was supposed to be for me, to help me cope with labor. He held my hand in an unattached fashion until I told him to put the book away and pay attention, then he was better. I had friends there, and they helped. They distracted me and kept my spirits up. I finally asked for a narcotic at 2 PM, after 7 hours and only dilated to three centimeters. They broke my water so they could install internal monitors, and then gave me the shot of Stadol. I drifted in and out of sleep, coloring in a My Little Pony coloring book that my best friend’s daughter had donated to the cause. I could feel the contractions, but they no longer hurt as badly as before. I could cope, even if I was singing "Tainted Love" along with the beeps of the equipment.
My dad and grandma showed up around 5 pm as the narcotic was wearing off. My husband went to call some friends and family. My friends left to get dinner. My dad went to go to the bathroom, leaving me alone with my grandmother as the contractions came back with such a vengeance. I wanted to sit up, straddle the bed. The nurses kept scolding me, that they couldn’t get the baby’s heartbeat. I knew she was OK. I wanted to sit up, sitting up helped. My grandmother, bless her heart, patted my back and sat with me as I struggled through the contractions on my own.
I have never forgiven my husband for what I see as abandoning me, and I don’t know if I ever will. I don't think that he realizes even now how I feel about this. I am terrified that he'll do the same thing should I attempt a VBAC - I wouldn't give birth again without a doula, no matter what it cost me - because of my fear of my otherwise very thoughtful, attentive, and loving husband leaving me to go yack on the phone.
My midwife came back to check my dilation at around 7:30pm. My cervix had swollen shut. 12 hours of pitocin induced labor, broken waters, antibiotics for Group B strep, all for nothing.
“The baby is fine, her heart rate is great. She's tolerating labor just fine, but we’re going to have to do a c-section because of the Group B Strep and your water being broken.”
I was so tired by that point that I just wanted her out. “Can we turn the pitocin off, then?” I asked.
We sat around for another two hours, waiting for the obstetrician who would do my c-section. I called my mom, who left work early. My dad and grandma stayed around, which was nice of them. My friends came back, but they wouldn't allow Angie in the operating room – she was my photographer. The anesthesiologist came in and explained the spinal procedure to me, and I signed away my right to sue if I became paralyzed. I had a catheter inserted. I met the OB, and I trusted him immediately. I can’t explain why, I just did. My midwife would assist with the surgery.
I walked to the operating room under my own power, and clambered up onto the operating table. They gave my spinal in that forward leaning position I had wanted to spend my entire labor in while the nurse held my hand. She was a good nurse, too. The OR was so cold, and I was so tired. I just wanted to meet my baby. Kerwin came in, wearing scrubs, a hair cap, and shoe covers, and was allowed to sit by my head.
I don’t remember a lot about the surgery. I wanted to watch, but they wouldn’t let me. I didn’t feel anything, tugging or pain. I heard the OB say, “Heather, your baby is a stinker; she has her head right where I need to cut!”
I knew the moment they had pulled her out, because she started to scream. She was indignant, angry. I could feel her emotions flooding over me. It was 10:50 pm on August 27th. Happy birthday, baby.
“It’s a girl, right?” I said. Nothing about fingers and toes, just needed to know if it was a girl.
“Yes, it’s a girl!” my midwife called. “Wow, she’s chubby.”
“Wow, she’s chubby.” What? Wasn’t she supposed to be SMALL? IUGR and all that? TINY? We were expecting a five or six pounder. They sewed me up after I sent Kerwin off to the nursery with Freyja. It’s all a blur, that part.
I didn’t see her until an hour and a half later, all cleaned up and smelling like baby wash. She was beautiful. She was eight pounds, one ounce. She had a 34 cm head! One faulty ultrasound measurement screwed up my birth experience. One faulty ultrasound measurement marked me as high-risk, still marks me as high-risk. Intervention after intervention followed, just to “see if she was breech”.
I could probably pay for years of therapy, and it wouldn’t help. I felt cheated, robbed. I still do. I was so consumed by feelings of guilt and anger that I had a hard time bonding with my newborn. I wanted to bond with her so, so badly, and I didn’t. I had to fall in love with her over time. It wasn’t immediate, and I still wonder if I’m a bad mother because of it. Breastfeeding was an utter failure, and I still don’t know why. Was it because of the excess amounts of fluid pumped into me during 12 hours of induction and 36 hours of recovery? Was it because the ill-educated nurse came into my room at four AM and convinced a morphine-doped post-surgery me that my baby was hungry and I needed to use formula to feed her until my milk came in? Will it happen with another baby?
The postpartum period was incredibly difficult. My husband went right back to work and a new semester of college classes. I had little help at home. I still don’t know how I coped, just that I did because I had to.
We’re thinking about a second baby. I have the “right” kind of incision, and I’m hoping for a home VBAC. Birth should be fulfilling. It’s such an incredible, life changing event. It shouldn’t be managed and medicalized. It should take place with those you love, in a secure and comfortable environment where one can surrender to it. At least, that’s what I believe.
(I do feel I have to mention that my husband now knows the error of his ways and has been a marvelous and excellent father since he first laid eyes on Freyja in that operating room. The picture below is from her second day of life.)
Freyja's Birth
32 Weeks.
“I think she’s breech, but I can’t tell because of all your padding!” The nurse-midwife said, in a good-natured teasing manner. We had a good relationship, and she knew how best to get through to me. “Let’s send you for an ultrasound to make sure, if she is, there are some exercises you’ll want to do before she gets too big to flip easily.”
The husband and I nodded; another look at our growing baby was okay by us. Little did I know that agreeing to that ultrasound would start a steep, slippery slope of myriad interventions that would end in what I truly believe, for me, was birth trauma. I’ve learned a lot about labor and birth in training to become a doula – and yes, it was my birth experience that pushed me in that direction – enough to know that what happened to me just shouldn’t have happened at all.
32 Weeks, 5 Days
Checking my voicemail on the way home from work, I found a message from the scheduler at the clinic. “Heather, this is Josi, from the midwives office. I need you to call me back as soon as possible!” Driving down the highway, I dialed the number, my hands shaking and my heart in my chest. I could feel Freyja moving around inside of me, but it didn’t reassure me.
“Your ultrasound showed Freyja as too small for dates. She’s not growing properly, and we need you to come in for a non-stress test as soon as you can.”
I drove straight there, after calling Kerwin at work to have him meet me at the clinic. I got hooked up to the machines and the sound of Freyja’s heartbeat filled the tiny monitoring room. The midwife came in, not MY midwife but one of her partners. “I’m afraid we have to diagnose the baby with IUGR. That means –“
I cut her off. “Intrauterine growth restriction. I know what it means.”
I had twice weekly NST’s leading up to my due date. Every one was fine. I had weekly Doppler ultrasounds to measure the blood flow from my placenta to the baby and how the blood moved through the umbilical cord. Every single one was normal, even the one on my estimated due date as I napped on the table while the tech phoned the results into my midwife. I was terrified at each ultrasound, most of which were scheduled while my husband worked, terrified that they would say “She’s not growing, she hasn’t grown. The blood flow is bad. We have to induce you now. We have to get her out now.”
40 weeks, 3 days.
I wanted to be done. I walked and walked. Miles, it seemed. The baby was still floating, her head not engaged in my pelvis. The midwife checked my cervix. A fingertip dilated. She wanted to sweep my membranes, but I hadn’t dilated enough.
“You know we can’t let IUGR moms go more than a week overdue.”
“I know.”
“Let’s schedule an induction for Friday morning. That’s my call day.”
Small comfort. I went home and read. I wondered if I was favorable for induction. They wouldn’t induce me otherwise, right?
How naïve I was. How foolish and naïve, and impatient and excited to meet my baby.
41 weeks
We arrived at the hospital at 7:30 am, having high hopes that we would be parents by the afternoon.
We got checked into our room, and they came to give me my IV. They couldn’t find a vein in my hand, and it went on the side of my arm. I should have realized that this was a sign of things to come. We were excited, happy. Our labor nurse was wonderful. She was kind, attentive, and funny. I really wanted to have the baby while she was there to help us.
The pitocin was turned up every hour, until I was having contractions every two minutes that kept increasing in intensity. I wanted to hold out. No drugs. My husband was no help. He sat and read, or listened to music on the CD player that was supposed to be for me, to help me cope with labor. He held my hand in an unattached fashion until I told him to put the book away and pay attention, then he was better. I had friends there, and they helped. They distracted me and kept my spirits up. I finally asked for a narcotic at 2 PM, after 7 hours and only dilated to three centimeters. They broke my water so they could install internal monitors, and then gave me the shot of Stadol. I drifted in and out of sleep, coloring in a My Little Pony coloring book that my best friend’s daughter had donated to the cause. I could feel the contractions, but they no longer hurt as badly as before. I could cope, even if I was singing "Tainted Love" along with the beeps of the equipment.
My dad and grandma showed up around 5 pm as the narcotic was wearing off. My husband went to call some friends and family. My friends left to get dinner. My dad went to go to the bathroom, leaving me alone with my grandmother as the contractions came back with such a vengeance. I wanted to sit up, straddle the bed. The nurses kept scolding me, that they couldn’t get the baby’s heartbeat. I knew she was OK. I wanted to sit up, sitting up helped. My grandmother, bless her heart, patted my back and sat with me as I struggled through the contractions on my own.
I have never forgiven my husband for what I see as abandoning me, and I don’t know if I ever will. I don't think that he realizes even now how I feel about this. I am terrified that he'll do the same thing should I attempt a VBAC - I wouldn't give birth again without a doula, no matter what it cost me - because of my fear of my otherwise very thoughtful, attentive, and loving husband leaving me to go yack on the phone.
My midwife came back to check my dilation at around 7:30pm. My cervix had swollen shut. 12 hours of pitocin induced labor, broken waters, antibiotics for Group B strep, all for nothing.
“The baby is fine, her heart rate is great. She's tolerating labor just fine, but we’re going to have to do a c-section because of the Group B Strep and your water being broken.”
I was so tired by that point that I just wanted her out. “Can we turn the pitocin off, then?” I asked.
We sat around for another two hours, waiting for the obstetrician who would do my c-section. I called my mom, who left work early. My dad and grandma stayed around, which was nice of them. My friends came back, but they wouldn't allow Angie in the operating room – she was my photographer. The anesthesiologist came in and explained the spinal procedure to me, and I signed away my right to sue if I became paralyzed. I had a catheter inserted. I met the OB, and I trusted him immediately. I can’t explain why, I just did. My midwife would assist with the surgery.
I walked to the operating room under my own power, and clambered up onto the operating table. They gave my spinal in that forward leaning position I had wanted to spend my entire labor in while the nurse held my hand. She was a good nurse, too. The OR was so cold, and I was so tired. I just wanted to meet my baby. Kerwin came in, wearing scrubs, a hair cap, and shoe covers, and was allowed to sit by my head.
I don’t remember a lot about the surgery. I wanted to watch, but they wouldn’t let me. I didn’t feel anything, tugging or pain. I heard the OB say, “Heather, your baby is a stinker; she has her head right where I need to cut!”
I knew the moment they had pulled her out, because she started to scream. She was indignant, angry. I could feel her emotions flooding over me. It was 10:50 pm on August 27th. Happy birthday, baby.
“It’s a girl, right?” I said. Nothing about fingers and toes, just needed to know if it was a girl.
“Yes, it’s a girl!” my midwife called. “Wow, she’s chubby.”
“Wow, she’s chubby.” What? Wasn’t she supposed to be SMALL? IUGR and all that? TINY? We were expecting a five or six pounder. They sewed me up after I sent Kerwin off to the nursery with Freyja. It’s all a blur, that part.
I didn’t see her until an hour and a half later, all cleaned up and smelling like baby wash. She was beautiful. She was eight pounds, one ounce. She had a 34 cm head! One faulty ultrasound measurement screwed up my birth experience. One faulty ultrasound measurement marked me as high-risk, still marks me as high-risk. Intervention after intervention followed, just to “see if she was breech”.
I could probably pay for years of therapy, and it wouldn’t help. I felt cheated, robbed. I still do. I was so consumed by feelings of guilt and anger that I had a hard time bonding with my newborn. I wanted to bond with her so, so badly, and I didn’t. I had to fall in love with her over time. It wasn’t immediate, and I still wonder if I’m a bad mother because of it. Breastfeeding was an utter failure, and I still don’t know why. Was it because of the excess amounts of fluid pumped into me during 12 hours of induction and 36 hours of recovery? Was it because the ill-educated nurse came into my room at four AM and convinced a morphine-doped post-surgery me that my baby was hungry and I needed to use formula to feed her until my milk came in? Will it happen with another baby?
The postpartum period was incredibly difficult. My husband went right back to work and a new semester of college classes. I had little help at home. I still don’t know how I coped, just that I did because I had to.
We’re thinking about a second baby. I have the “right” kind of incision, and I’m hoping for a home VBAC. Birth should be fulfilling. It’s such an incredible, life changing event. It shouldn’t be managed and medicalized. It should take place with those you love, in a secure and comfortable environment where one can surrender to it. At least, that’s what I believe.
(I do feel I have to mention that my husband now knows the error of his ways and has been a marvelous and excellent father since he first laid eyes on Freyja in that operating room. The picture below is from her second day of life.)
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Miscellany
So our electric bill and gas bill got paid on time and in full this month. I know for most of you that's not an uncommon occurence, but it is here because we're poor and we have a long commute with a car that is NOT gas-efficient - often we have to wait, or only pay a portion because we need to get to and from work. It also means that I can enroll in the budget plan for both electric and gas - making my payments easier to manage and schedule. Whee! Even coming up on the holidays, I can afford to pay my utilities in full. This is awesome. I feel a little more grown up now.
Our DSL that I ordered two weeks ago has been activated, but it's not working. We've been without internet at home (except for stolen wireless from a neighbor who doesn't make his network secure and continues to pay his stupid tax which we can only access through our back bedroom window anyway) since mid-august when we got rid of Charter because they kept raising their rates - then we couldn't afford it for months - and now we have DSL. The only problem is there's faulty wiring somewhere. We only have two phone jacks and neither of them are giving me a reliable signal. I was all ready to hop online and do some serious holiday shopping last night once I got it set up, but NOOOOOOO. So now Verizon has to come out, check their wiring to wherever they check it to, and then if that doens't work, I have to bribe my dad to come out and check the wiring under the trailer.
Deal of the day - KMart has basic 800 pc Lego and 120 pc Duplo sets on sale, today only, for half price, $12.97 or somesuch. Since Duplos were the main thing I wanted to get for Freyja this year (after my mom stole my damn thunder and bought her the Fisher Price Little People Castle), that was a STEAL.
Our DSL that I ordered two weeks ago has been activated, but it's not working. We've been without internet at home (except for stolen wireless from a neighbor who doesn't make his network secure and continues to pay his stupid tax which we can only access through our back bedroom window anyway) since mid-august when we got rid of Charter because they kept raising their rates - then we couldn't afford it for months - and now we have DSL. The only problem is there's faulty wiring somewhere. We only have two phone jacks and neither of them are giving me a reliable signal. I was all ready to hop online and do some serious holiday shopping last night once I got it set up, but NOOOOOOO. So now Verizon has to come out, check their wiring to wherever they check it to, and then if that doens't work, I have to bribe my dad to come out and check the wiring under the trailer.
Deal of the day - KMart has basic 800 pc Lego and 120 pc Duplo sets on sale, today only, for half price, $12.97 or somesuch. Since Duplos were the main thing I wanted to get for Freyja this year (after my mom stole my damn thunder and bought her the Fisher Price Little People Castle), that was a STEAL.
Friday, November 03, 2006
Buzzkill
Had a rare night out last night. Freyja stayed with Grandma, since Grandma is on vacation this week, and Kerwin and I went out for dinner and a couple of drinks at Old Boys' Brewhouse once he was done with class and I was finished with an evening outreach event. The food was great, the beer was even better - and better still was the fact that I either flirted the right way with the waiter, or the bartender wasn't paying attention and made them twice - we got free "refills" on our respective microbrews. Oktoberfest for Kerwin, and Golden Sour for me. Very tasty!
We're driving home, I've had two pints and I'm just nicely buzzed. Kerwin getting laid is a gaurantee, with no further work on his part if he doesn't kill my buzz. So what does he do? Starts ranting about political bullshit. To understand, you have to know that this is his very favorite pastime. He's a Political Science - Public Administration major. I don't mean to imply that I'm woefully ignorant about political intrigue. When sober and having nothing better to do in the car I'll happily go back and forth with him - but not when my belly is full and my head is just slightly light. And he knows better.
I glared at him. "You're killing my buzz," I stated. "Were you NOT interested in sex?"
He shut up. For two minutes. And then started again. Not on political intrigue this time, but on the (supposed) fact that when I wear makeup, I act bitchier than normal (For the record, I was wearing makeup because of the outreach event so I looked "professional"). I let it lie. I didn't rise to the bait. I just glared at him until he got the hint that he should probably just shut the hell up and try to grope me.
When we got home, I made him empty clean dishes and load the dirty ones as his pre-nooky penance. I still stand by my 1.5 rating - but I hate that he pushes my buttons so much!
We're driving home, I've had two pints and I'm just nicely buzzed. Kerwin getting laid is a gaurantee, with no further work on his part if he doesn't kill my buzz. So what does he do? Starts ranting about political bullshit. To understand, you have to know that this is his very favorite pastime. He's a Political Science - Public Administration major. I don't mean to imply that I'm woefully ignorant about political intrigue. When sober and having nothing better to do in the car I'll happily go back and forth with him - but not when my belly is full and my head is just slightly light. And he knows better.
I glared at him. "You're killing my buzz," I stated. "Were you NOT interested in sex?"
He shut up. For two minutes. And then started again. Not on political intrigue this time, but on the (supposed) fact that when I wear makeup, I act bitchier than normal (For the record, I was wearing makeup because of the outreach event so I looked "professional"). I let it lie. I didn't rise to the bait. I just glared at him until he got the hint that he should probably just shut the hell up and try to grope me.
When we got home, I made him empty clean dishes and load the dirty ones as his pre-nooky penance. I still stand by my 1.5 rating - but I hate that he pushes my buttons so much!
Wednesday, November 01, 2006
Does anybody even like DOTS?
What.The.Fuck.
Seriously. What compels people to sit and pick through the bowl of candy on their lap, which is full of nice chocolate things that are definately OK for a two year old to eat, only to plop a tiny-ass tootsie roll and a little box of Dots/Jujyfruits into the eversmiling pumpkin bucket? My kid can't eat those things! Nobody even LIKES Dots. I understand that Dots are cheap, my fellow trailer park dwellers - but nobody likes them. Stop buying them. Buy a $3 bag of DumDums instead - EVERYBODY likes DumDums.
After picking through Freyja's pumpkin bucket, over half of it was stuff she can't have - tootsie rolls, dots, bubble gum. Hardly any MnM's, Kit Kats, Reese's Cups and definately NO Take 5's. Why bother giving out crappy candy that nobody will eat?
It must be schadenfreude - and although I am a major propoent of that phenomenon, I think it's cruel to apply it to cute little 2 year old witches out for a chocolate haul.
Seriously. What compels people to sit and pick through the bowl of candy on their lap, which is full of nice chocolate things that are definately OK for a two year old to eat, only to plop a tiny-ass tootsie roll and a little box of Dots/Jujyfruits into the eversmiling pumpkin bucket? My kid can't eat those things! Nobody even LIKES Dots. I understand that Dots are cheap, my fellow trailer park dwellers - but nobody likes them. Stop buying them. Buy a $3 bag of DumDums instead - EVERYBODY likes DumDums.
After picking through Freyja's pumpkin bucket, over half of it was stuff she can't have - tootsie rolls, dots, bubble gum. Hardly any MnM's, Kit Kats, Reese's Cups and definately NO Take 5's. Why bother giving out crappy candy that nobody will eat?
It must be schadenfreude - and although I am a major propoent of that phenomenon, I think it's cruel to apply it to cute little 2 year old witches out for a chocolate haul.
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