respiratory virus

Hello, world!

The summer has flown by, as I knew it would, and as I predicted, I only got about three posts up all summer. Figures.

But life continues to be busy. Since I got home from my grandparent’s house at the end of July, I hosted my college roommate and her family for a few days, was sick for two weeks with a nasty virus that closely resembled strep throat, threw a birthday party for my son and twenty of his closest six-year old friends, and got both of my kids back to school. So yeah, life and children continue to dominate my time and attention. Blogging has been on the back burner for a long time, and I’m hoping now that I have both of my kids in school full-time that I’ll have more time and attention for both myself and all of you.

Being sick for two weeks wasn’t fun. I went to the doctor about five days into it and she ran all the typical tests to rule out bacterial infections. It felt like my head was going to explode, and every time I swallowed it felt like my eardrums were bursting and I was trying to swallow crushed glass. Fever, fatigue, and all the glamorous parts of feeling like total shit. My husband had to be out-of-town for work for several days, so taking care of the house, kids, and all the pets when all you want to do is lay down and die was no picnic. Unfortunately, the doc couldn’t give me any drugs because it was a viral infection, and it took a solid two weeks before I felt human again. To add insult to injury, going to the doctor in the first place is always such a mind-fuck. I already felt like shit, and have you ever noticed that going to the doctor makes you fat? Seriously. I walk in and immediately feel like I’ve gained ten pounds. Then the nurse puts you on the scale and you realize that in the two hours since you got dressed and hauled your sick-ass to the clinic, you really must have gained ten pounds because their ancient scale, that must be counter-balanced with massive invisible boulders, says so. Why don’t doctors use modern digital scales that will weigh me the same as when I’m at home? And now that I feel like a sick, ginormous, fat cow, I have to sit, forever, in the little room and wait. And there’s a mirror in there that is now confirming what the scale said. Somehow my face looks heavier. My ass seems to be climbing up my back and my muffin top is more muffin-y. And now I want to cry because my throat hurts, my ears hurt, I can’t get any meds, and just walking in the door made me feel like Martha Dump Truck.

Damn, I’m glad that’s over.

My son’s birthday party was fun, and humiliating. But I found my self-respect at the top of a bounce house, so that was an unexpected bonus. We had the party at Pump It Up. If you’re unfamiliar with the Pump It Up franchise, it’s basically a party venue with giant inflatables. Each room is a massive, two-story room with multiple indoor inflatables, like bounce houses, obstacle courses, rock climbing walls, and things like that. We had the Glow Party, which is like a super cool rave for kids with music and glow in the dark everything. I had promised my daughter that I would do some of the inflatables with her because as the big sister, she was the oldest kid at the party and didn’t really want to hang with the six-year olds. Thank God it was dark in there. I was a little dressed up for the party and my nice jeans were somewhat confining. Also, you have to wear socks in these things, and I quickly realized that with

This looks a lot like the structure I was attempting to climb

This looks similar to the structure I was attempting to climb. The picture doesn’t do the height justice, though.

socks on it’s hard to get any grip on the structure with your feet. So, I was attempting to climb this two-story monstrosity that was part rock climbing wall and part slide in tight jeans and slippery socks. You see where I’m going with this? You had to put your feet on these small squares and then use alternating tether straps for your hands to climb up. Well, the tiny-made-for-five-year-old-feet squares would collapse under you if you didn’t move fast enough. Half-way up there was this ledge you had to get over, and then another ledge all the way at the top. I fell trying to get over the first ledge. Kids were flying past me and laughing as I flailed and dangled by the tether straps. Did I mention it was also pretty steep? And also that I’m not a ten-year old? Anyway, I dug deep and hauled myself to the top, and as I was struggling to get over the second ledge, and considering saying fuck it and just letting go, my son’s friend from his class was sitting at the top of the ledge, and she was watching me as I hung on the tethers. She’s an adorable little girl and she says, “Keep going Mrs. B! You can do it!” Sweet Jesus. How do I fail in front of her now? I couldn’t, and it was ugly, and I’m glad it was dark in that room, but I managed to get my fat ass over that ledge and to the top. I was sweating and tired, and when I went down the slide it was so steep and fast it actually launched me out of the shoot and I landed in a heap in front of several parents watching from below. There was no way to play it cool, so I laid there like a lump, catching my breath. Thankfully, several parents said how impressed they were that I even attempted to get to the top, so at least I got some street cred out of it. Or they were just trying to make me feel better. Either way, only one other parent attempted the same structure and made it to the top, so that makes me one of the cool moms.

My kids went back to school on August 31st, so I had three days last week of blissful alone time. I’ve never had that, and I savored it. I read several of your blogs, did some housework, ran errands without children, and met friends for lunch. It was heaven. I’m really looking forward to this school year. And for the first time since my oldest daughter started school eight years ago, I didn’t cry at drop off on the first day. I fucking celebrated and went out for sushi!

Life is good, people. Life is Good!!!!!!

It’s been a rough week around here. My family had a nice Christmas, and I’m thankful for that. But for everything else that has happened in the past ten days or so…well, all I can say about that is, “Hey world, go fuck yourself.”

Let’s start at the beginning, shall we?

The entire week of Christmas my son was terribly sick with RSV. For those of you who don’t have young kids, that’s a nasty respiratory virus that likes to linger and can often cause hospitalizations. Bryce didn’t need to go to the hospital, but he did require round the clock breathing treatments and he had a fever for six days. We were pretty much house bound the entire week of Christmas. My husband and I started coming down with symptoms on Christmas day. It only makes sense given how Bryce repeatedly coughed in our faces while we were caring for him. He can’t help it. He’s five. The upside to this was that during our quarantine, we binge watched all the Star Wars movies and all eight Harry Potter movies.

We then had to cancel our holiday travel plans due to the respiratory virus that began sweeping its way through our house. Our relatives thanked us for not exposing them to our hateful contagion.

Two days after Christmas, while this virus was happily laying waste to my holiday cheer and energy levels, I got on Facebook and found that the world had turned itself upside down. You know those moments in life where your reality sort of tips over and sends you free-falling? Two days after Christmas I discovered that an old friend whom I had known for more than twenty-five years had passed away. We went to high school together and we kept in touch mostly through Facebook. I know many people wouldn’t call that friendship, but I went to a small school, and many of us keep in touch with each other through this medium. We post pictures of our kids and laugh with each other over the trials of parenting. Well, this friend was a beautiful human being. She radiated sunshine and light. She was 40 years old and a mother of five beautiful children. And, as it turns out, most of us didn’t know she was suffering. I had no idea she suffered from depression. I think most of us didn’t know. She was always happy smiles and kind words, always giving of herself to help others. She was a great mom and the kind of parent you sometimes envied. You know, the one who seems to find the time to make everything from scratch and still look beautiful and like she totally has everything together. The day after Christmas she took her own life. My heart is broken for her family. For her children. I can’t even imagine the emotional pain she must have been suffering to make that choice. To feel like that was the only option left to her. Depression is a dirty, rotten, lying mother-fucker and it has claimed another beautiful soul.

Yesterday, my husband called our plumber out to the house because he noticed our hot-water heater was leaking. Well, not only does the water heater need to be replaced, but unbeknownst to us, it had been leaking for a while, and we discovered black mold growing inside the wall and under the flooring. We had a crew working all day yesterday, ripping out moldy drywall, wood boards and flooring. We had no idea it was inside the wall. I now have an industrial size de-humidifier in my house that sounds like a damn jet engine. And because of the holiday and drying out/treatment process, nothing can be done for about five more days. Half of my garage is tented off and part of the stairwell inside as well. The noise from the de-humidifier is deafening, and I have no hot water for the next week or so. I know, first world problems. Blah, blah, blah.

Last night, I went to urgent care to deal with this respiratory virus that seems to be getting worse. My lungs feel like they’re on fire and my throat feels like I’ve been swallowing glass. The doctor at the urgent care was super hot. (Huge sigh, accompanied by an eye roll.) I look like death warmed over and I’ve got that awesome bright red ring around my nose that’s all chapped and painful. I accidentally coughed in his face. I’m sure he gets that a lot. Whatever. He says I have bronchitis. He gave me good drugs, so I’m thankful for hot doctor.

Today, after not sleeping much and dreaming about friends lost, I was woken up at the crack of dawn by the sounds of the moldy men crew using electric saws to cut apart my walls, once again. After they left, my husband left for San Diego. He’s going to the Holiday Bowl with his best friend. While I’m home…sick…with two kids…all the pets…in a house that sounds like it’s sitting on an airport runway. He’ll be home tomorrow. He’s staying with his friend in San Diego tonight because it’s a night game. That means he’ll get a hot shower tomorrow before he comes home. I can’t shower. Because there is no hot water. For a week. I think I hate him a little bit right now, but it’s not really his fault. But I’m going to act like it is because I need someone to blame. I know, it’s the bronchitis talking.

This past week has really kicked the shit out of me. I’m exhausted, physically and emotionally. So instead of writing a Happy New Year post filled with bullshit optimistic resolutions, I’m just going to be thankful for my life. I’m thankful for my family, my recovering health (Yay for drugs!), that I have a house and the resources to fix what’s broken. I’m thankful for my friends, both real and imagined (that means you WordPress!). I’m thankful for hot doctors and urgent care centers. I’m thankful for pharmacies, pizza delivery guys, Advil, coffee and that box of homemade fudge my neighbor brought over. I’m thankful for endless boxes of tissues and Carmex ointment to put on my chapped nose. And lastly, I’m thankful for the heart that beats in my chest. The heart that fills with joy at the sight of my family and also breaks with sadness at the loss of a friend. I’m thankful for my ability to feel and love and grow from the hard things in life.