And then everything went to shit.
My father is even more emotional and mercurial than I am and apparently there were issues with plane tickets for my parents' anniversary trip in the fall. So after two hours of phone calls he was, let's call it "annoyed."
Then he started working on the broken banister and the project went wrong. And he fucking lost it.
He couldn't find drill bits because he hates clutter and my step-mother might have moved them. He couldn't finish the project because he "can't fucking find anything in this fucking house and can't do anything fucking right!" And so on...
After a bit of this I heard him yelling at his dog Dexter, who only wanted to play and that's when I decided that the night was truly farked and to get Wildflower Child in a shower and to bed as soon as possible. She was crushed because she had wanted to celebrate Father's Day with ice cream and Pop-Pop and that wasn't happening. Also dinner didn't happen.
So I got her to bed, and started cleaning the kitchen and erasing any evidence that I had been there and putting all the food that we hadn't actually prepared away. By now my dear father is sitting on the deck just being a ball of angry. I'm being quiet as a mouse and fucking manic trying to get as much done as quickly as I can and knowing that I have to give my dog her meds early and get the fuck out of sight asap.
Which I did. Also just realized I forgot my meds. Nice.
So anyway...Happy Father's Day to all the dads, even the one's who take their frustration out on their families.
So I had my first physical in many many years this past Thursday. I've had exams and doctor's appointments over the years. Even had a baby. But no regular annual exams. And finally, I made myself an appointment with the Nurse Practioner (Patty) at my clinic. Because it was time, and I had reasons.
Since I first got my period back after having the Wildflower Child, it had progressively becoming more and more of a burden. In that my cycle, while rather regular, was becoming more and more regularly apparent. In that my cycle was becoming ultimately shorter and shorter. There were times when my cycle was 23 days long. Twenty-three days from bleed to bleed. Just over three weeks. With at least, at least, seven days of bleeding. And the cramps start at least a week before the blood. So I was spending about HALF my life suffering pain or blood or both.
When I was 26-years-old I had exploratory surgery to determine why my periods were so painful and heavy. A 2" square piece of tissue was removed that had attached my left fallopian tube to my colon. Other than that, results were negative and all I was left with was a post-operative infection and nerve damage in my vagina and left leg.
I've been on a type of birth control pill that has only one level of hormones since January. I'm supposed to take the active pills for three months, take the inactive pills for a week to have my period, and go back to active pills for three months, repeat. So I'm only supposed to have my period every three months.
This has not happened. The longest I've gone without my period (and this was only once) was 33 days. Other than that, every 29-30 days I bleed, active pills or not. My last bleed was 14 (FOURTEEN) days long.
So I had a physical and brought this up. My NP was very sweet and said she would confer with my primary physician and get back to me.
She got back to me Friday morning. I need an ultrasound.
Not just any ultrasound. A "Total Pelvic Ultrasound" which involves a transvaginal ultrasound. To look for fibroids. Before we can look at different birth control.
So I had a little freak out.
Then I had a bigger one after Googling what might be going on.
Then an even bigger one after Googling treatment options.
Then I found out for the first time in my life that both my biological mother, and her mother, have had fibroids. And that fibroids is why my Gram had a hysterectomy when my mother was 16-years-old. Not cancer, as I always believed. Fibroids.
I'm still crossing fingers that I'm fine and that I'm just not responding to the birth control the way I should be. But the evidence is piling up that I have evil little tumors filling up my insides.
And even if I don't. What the fuck is wrong with me?
And why, when I was 26 and having surgery that left me with a very serious infection and painful nerve damage, did no one tell me that this is my family history?
The Wildflower Child ends kindergarten towards the end of this month, and I have to get her in some sort of day camp for the summer. So I've applied for a state subsidy program that works with a local YMCA.
That application involved very personal documentation and proof my ex is a deadbeat.
Then I discovered I would still have fairly substantial out of pocket costs for Wildflower Child's YMCA program membership, camp deposit and transportation, so I have to apply through them for assistance.
Thirty pages of documentation later...
To save on $180.00 of membership and deposit fees and $385.00 of bus costs, I had to provide thirty pages of financial and personal information.
I spent almost two hours crafting a very comprehensive PDF in order to email it before their financial meeting on Monday or Tuesday. Got a cool new application for my Chromebook in order to make the file. And managed to program the house printer to scan to my Google drive.
Next thing I apply for, their I going to ask for my blood type and if I'm an organ donor.
And people think the working poor have it so easy and are just sucking at the teat of society.
Fuck this hell.
As my somewhat boyfriend would say, I'm now
He's a total asshole, but I kind of love him.
I started out the day by getting out of bed one minute before my alarm, getting ridiculously dolled up for work (if you haven't figured it out, I'm very femme) and forgetting 90% of what I needed to do to get the Wildflower Child ready for school. I'd blame the forgetfullness on old age, but I'm not really that old. I had a rather uneventful day at work although as people found out it was my birthday, the well wishes poured in and it was quite sweet actually. Facebook exploded with Happy Birthday's, as it tends to do. Even my pseudo-uncle tried to call the house to wish me happy birthday this evening. Most pathetically, my ex-husband wished me a good day on Facebook. I ignored it.
Notably missing in all this birthday love...
I had contacted her last week to see if she had ever in fact received a card I had sent her with pictures of her grandaughter. She had, but hadn't thought to say anything. And she did comment on my impending "milestone" and that she'd be thinking of me on the actual day.
One thing I've learned as I've grown older, is not to expect a tiger to change her stripes. My mother has matured and become more responsible, but she won't ever think of me primarily. And my sister (four years younger) goes up to see her all the time and is planning on moving into the house with her family soon. So she gets priority. As in, my sister was there with my mother for her birthday and got the Facebook acknowledgement and everything. I didn't even get a note. Even though I'm the one that took care of everyone for years.
I'm not really surprised.
As for the reality of being 40...
I'm living with my parents. Working part-time. Have a child in kindegarten. Am dating a man who obviously cares for me in his way, and is terrified of committing. Am open and able to fool around with others if I want to. And have abso-fucking-lutely NO IDEA what I'm doing with the next stage of my life. Other than I have a lot of tattooing to do.
I'm not living with an abusive partner. I don't have crippling headaches every single day. I look pretty damn good. I'm going away in less than a month for a week in Wildwood NJ. And I have the world's best dog. Also my kid is awesome.
But it still hurts that my mother forgot my birthday.