All the things.

Argh! So many thoughts. So much going in my brain. Unfortunately, it’s not organized, really, so you’re getting a good, ole fashioned Rae braindump.

I woke up this morning well-rested, which almost never happens. I think it’s because of the new strains of medical marijuana that I’ve just gotten access to. (Harmony for daytime, which is a 1:1 THC/CBD strain, and Mag Mile, a heavy indica that puts muscle spasms down, for bedtime.)  Crazy thing, sleeping well because you’re properly medicated!

Even better, I woke up to find out that “marijuana cannabinoids hold the capacity to literally kill the brain inflammation responsible for causing cognitive decline, neural failure, and brain degeneration. ” {story here}  Put plainly, it means that if you have multiple sclerosis and you’re not using cannabis in some form, you’re missing out on something very helpful for you!

I mean, today I almost feel like a normal person who can get things done, even with a toddler. Almost. 🙂 I’m still blogging instead of doing dishes, so…

Anyway. I think the best thing I’ve done recently has been to really look at some of my worst case scenarios in an attempt to fight anxiety. And really, they’re not so bad.

If Trump & party decide to go full Nazi, Canada and Japan are both making it easier for Americans to immigrate. Sure, Adam and I would dearly miss our family and friends, but we started out in Los Angeles, without any of them.  Japan is lower on the list for us, since we don’t speak Japanese yet, and they’re easily within North Korea’s nuclear radius.

Then again, nuclear annihilation is instant and painless. We all have to die sometime. It’s the only guarantee in life. How great would it be to not worry about death hurting? We’d be dust before our pain receptors got the message. And the afterlife? If it’s actually the brain activity that exists after death, there’s no suffering there either, because there’s no brain.

And can you imagine not worrying about who and what you’re leaving behind, and how they’ll be because it all went kablooey at the same time you did?  WHEW.

I mean, it’s fucking dark to think this way, I know — but I’ve been dark as long as I remember being alive. There’s definitely something comforting to me about going out with the rest of humanity… In a really warped way of thinking, it’s kind of a merciful possibility. Nobody would have to deal with calling ScienceCare or planning a memorial for me. Less stress for everyone! (Dead people can’t stress.)

Of course, I’m thinking about this because the POTUS has some serious mental health issues, and North Korea is actively running tests for a first-strike nuclear program.

Oh, and because I read all of the bullshit linked in this blog entry on Facebook, which is both a good thing and a bad thing.

I took a FB vacation for a few weeks in February, and it was really helpful. It let me know that a huge amount of my anxiety comes from reading news that my friends think they should share… but I had to ask myself whether reading that stuff was making me happy or if any of it was helpful.  And the answer to both questions was a resounding “nope.”

My signal-to-noise ratio was all fucked up again.  I was seeing multiple stories about terrible things that I cannot affect every day, multiple times a day (since the stories pop up over and over and over again when people comment on them). Even though you train yourself to just scroll past, it still takes up mental/emotional bandwidth.

So, these days, I only hit FB when the kiddo is sleeping or I’m killing time in a waiting room or going to the bathroom or something.  Whether or not I read about it, antisemitism, poverty, class warfare, fascism, racism, and sexism are going to exist. I’d really rather spend my time dealing with shit I can affect, like potty training Henry. (Pun very much intended.)

He’s really amazed me, picking up potty training so fast.  He’s doing really good about staying dry as far as pee-pee is concerned, but he hasn’t learned how to poop on the potty yet.  I know we’re getting close though, which is both incredibly exciting and a very tiny bit sad. (He’s a big boy! He’s not a baby anymore.)  We need to pick him up some big-boy undies. Right now, I’ve somehow got him snowed into thinking that cloth diapers are big-boy pants. I know it’s not gonna last long. *lol*

Anyway, if you’ve stuck through this entry long enough to get to this point, you totally deserve a picture… because my boy is beautiful, and he makes me smile. I hope this pic makes you smile too. I took it this morning.

Henry 22 mo

Well, duh.

You know, there are days when I realize that for however smart I was in grade school, that may well be how completely clueless I am as an adult about common sense things.

smart-vs-dumb

Gorgeous, either way, though, right?

See, I’ve been living in Orland Hills, IL for a little over a year now.  The town is so small that in order to use public transportation, you actually have to call a phone number more than 24 hours in advance and set up your ride.  It’s like paratransit, but for everybody.

When we moved here, I walked over to the town hall to get all of our paperwork in order, and I was told by some of the ladies who work there that I couldn’t bring my baby on the bus because they don’t allow car seats.  Thus began my year of walking everywhere and having absolutely crushing stir-craziness in the winter, wondering how I would make it until my son turned 8.

Well, today, I had enough of it.  It’s gorgeous outside (but -5 degrees wind chill), and despite having time travel seizures yesterday, I decided I was tired of feeling like a middle schooler who was impatiently waiting for one of her friends to get a drivers license. I decided to ask the hivemind — my friends on FB and the folks in one of the local parenting groups on there.

And do you know what they suggested? A taxi service.

benny

I’m not sure why it didn’t occur to me earlier, and I feel totally dumb for not thinking of it. It’s so simple and straightforward that it makes my head hurt.

For some reason, I thought that since we’re living in the suburbs, we wouldn’t have access to taxis out here… but we do! I even thought, “Hey! Uber might work!” but riding in an Uber with a baby and his car seat only works if the Uber driver is cool with it — and most of them aren’t. (Who can blame them? If my baby pukes, Uber’s not gonna clean it up for them, and if we are in an accident, the liability for them is too great.)

So, one of the ladies in the parenting group suggested a specific driver who works with her elderly mom, and I’m going to be giving him a call tomorrow.

I’m tired of feeling like less than an adult, simply because I can’t get where I want to go when I want to go. Henry deserves to go to the library, regularly. He deserves to go on playdates. He deserves a life outside of this house, and a mommy who has more self-esteem than I do right now.

Cabbing it might seem kinda costly, but I’m going to do everything I can to remind myself, when I’m feeling too cheap to give us freedom, that if I had a car, I’d be paying more for gas, maintenance, licensing, and insurance. Not to mention how much we’ll save on psychological therapy in the coming years for me and Henry. (No agoraphobia allowed!)

So, I’m now looking very forward to going to pilates or yoga classes during the day at our gym like I’ve wanted to for so long. I’m going to make friends here and be a functional member of this community. I’m going to stop using my inability to drive as a reason to feel sorry for myself. I’m taking back at least some of the freedom I’ve unconsciously given to seizure disorder.


On a completely different note, I was approached by an employee of Earnest a few weeks ago who asked me to write an entry on holiday budgeting. Over the course of our emails it appeared that they wanted me to suggest to my readers that they refinance their student loans. They didn’t offer me any compensation to promote them, so my link above exists out of nothing more than goodwill towards someone who may have read one of my entries, but who definitely has a tough job if they’re trying to get sporadic writers like me to pimp their product.

Anyway, I have a ton of tips that I would be happy to share about how I personally save money, but I also have a massive amount of respect for my small and dedicated group of readers. I don’t believe that y’all care one iota about reading about that sort of thing here.  If I’m wrong, let me know, and I’ll happily write it up for you.

Hope everyone’s feeling well, and that 2017 isn’t half the shitshow that the Great Dumpster Fire of 2016 was.

2016dumpsterfire

Carving It Out.

Time

pumpkin-clock1I don’t think I realized, when I decided to become a mother, how difficult it is for a stay-at-home-mom to make time for herself, let alone to make time for writing, practicing music, or even keeping in touch with friends and family who don’t use social media… but it has become increasingly obvious that sublimating my sense of self is detrimental to more than just my happiness.

So, here I am, eating my lunch while attempting writing my first blog entry in several months.  Why?  Is it because I have such important stuff to say? Is it because I need attention?  No. It’s because writing helps me be the person I want to be. It helps me think.

And, fortunately for me, Henry just went down for a nap…at 2:15 p.m. This may not seem like a big deal, but it is. He’s down to 1 nap a day, and it usually happens around 12:30 or 1. When kiddo refuses to give in to sleep until his body just conks out, it usually means that I’ve got more than an hour to myself — plenty of time to eat lunch.  Maybe even enough time to get dinner up in the crock pot.  And, if I’m feeling really feisty, enough time to do the dishes too. There’s no chance of that happening today. I wish I were napping too. Instead, I’m writing. It’s what I need to do.

Pumpkins

Can you believe it’s only 2 weeks until Halloween?  I can’t. I mean, I actually bought some decorations for our house yesterday, with the goal of getting them up before the holiday is over.  (Who am I becoming? I never decorate!) I keep asking Adam if I can buy a pumpkin at the grocery store, and so far, it hasn’t been time.  Hopefully, I’ll convince him to get some this weekend.  I’m looking very forward to carving one. I’m not quite sure why, but I’d bet it has everything to do with getting the chance to do something creative. It also probably has something to do with how much I love roasted pumpkin seeds…

I’m not sure yet what I’m going to be for Halloween — or what Henry’s gonna be. Originally, I wanted to be Sarah & Duck, since that’s his favorite cartoon right now.

 

sarahandduck

Sarah & Duck or, as Henry likes to call it, “Duck Duck”

duckduck

Whoever made this costume is radicool.

 

Unfortunately, I cannot find a mallard costume for the little guy, and I am absolute shite at sewing. I can’t even remember how to properly thread a bobbin. (Thank goodness Craftsy classes are forever.)  If it weren’t so close to the date, I’d try to replicate this awesomeness. –>

So, I’m currently at a loss. Maybe I should think of a 3 person costume for the whole family. Who knows. We’re not planning on taking him door-to-door, but we are planning on giving out treats, and it would be a shame to half-ass the holiday like last year. I’m pretty sure he wore his $25 costume for 15 minutes max. Worth it for the pictures, sure… but not ideal.

I’d really like to take him to a petting zoo or pumpkin patch or some other age-appropriate autumnal “thing.” Adam seems on board to do that this weekend. I hope the good weather holds out.  I don’t know how I’d handle it if we end up spending the whole weekend in this house. I’ve got mad cabin fever.

I’m getting really, REALLY, really tired of not being able to drive.  Like, it’s one thing when it only really affects you, but when the kiddo is obviously stir crazy, it makes me so sad.  I mean, it shouldn’t be a revolutionary thing to get to go to the library, but when it finally happens, it will be.  I’ve only wanted to go for over a year now. It shouldn’t be so difficult.

In all seriousness, I have to figure out how to get around in the outside world with a kid when the only public transportation available to us doesn’t accommodate car seats, and Uber Family doesn’t exist in our area. Aside from asking my mother-in-law to take us places, which obviously can’t be an everyday thing, I’m at a loss.

Dear Tesla, Toyota, Google, Volvo, and every other company that is working on automated vehicles and getting the laws changed so they can be on the road: thank you for your efforts. Please do more faster.

Turkey

turkeyHalloween, of course, means that Thanksgiving is right around the corner. Adam and I, shockingly enough, still have a big-ass turkey sitting in our freezer from the Christmas sales last year.  According to Butterball, it’s still good if frozen and unopened for 2-3 years, but I’d be lying if I weren’t slightly concerned about how it’s gonna turn out.

We’ve been trying to organize a day of Turkey & Twilight Imperium, but it’s really hard to get a group of friends together for a 6+ hr chunk of time these days. Everyone’s got dogs and babies and jobs and other things they need to take care of.  Shit, if we could even get everyone together even to watch a tutorial on how to play, that would be something.

I would say that we’ll bring it with us to Colorado Springs to play with my family, since we’re doing Thanksgiving with them this year, but the game is larger than a carry-on bag, (No, I’m not joking.) and the idea of my family sitting through learning all the rules when we’re high on Pancho’s cheese dip and sleep deprivation (since my newborn nephew and Henry will be in the same home for the first time ever), sort of tickles me.

Anyway. That reminds me that I need to set myself a reminder to order cheese dip.  And possibly turducken. God, I love the internet. Gonna carve out some time to do that right now.  Hope you’re all doing well. ❤

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Henry congratulates you on making it to the end of Mommy’s post. 🙂

Out Of Control, And That’s OK

There’s been a lot going on recently that has been anxiety-producing…an unusual amount of mass murder, a trainwreck of a political circus, and, of course, personal stuff.  There are so many things that I would change if I could. The inherent unfairness of life weighs on my spirit.  I desperately want to help make the world a better place — or at least a kinder one… but I am one Rachael. I can only do so much.

I cannot:

  • Stop complete strangers from shooting, stabbing, or running over people.
  • End systemic racism.
  • Fix end-stage capitalism or neo-feudalism.
  • Make the geopolitical landscape either make sense or work the way that I want it to.
  • Force anybody’s political ideals or morals to match my own.
  • Make any decisions about American domestic or foreign policy.
  • Disarm all the nuclear bombs in the world.
  • Make teething less painful for my son.
  • Force the higher-ups at anyone’s place of employment to make wise decisions for the health and morale of their workers.
  • Make it any easier or more fun for anyone to look for a job.
  • Know whether or not the estriol treatment is having a positive effect on my MS.
  • Know whether or not it would be more beneficial for me to get back on Copaxone or if I should try to convince my neurologist to let me try Lemtrada or Ocrevus… or if I should just keep doing Vitamin D and estriol.
  • Know when the optimal time actually is to have a second child. (I have been thinking about this particular question way too much recently.)
  • Make Humana stop messing up my medical billing from over a year ago.
  • Make the muscles in my arms and legs stop randomly, painfully spasming (though cannabis does a good job of quieting it down for a few hours at a time)
  • Cure MS or seizure disorder… or any other medical condition, for that matter.
  • Blow thousands of dollars and hire a full staff.  All I want is a maid, a gardener, a contractor to renovate our home, a nanny, a full-time driver, and an on-call masseuse, so that I can get all the things done that I feel need to be done. Totally reasonable, right?

Panic and despair don’t help anything, and no one else can “fix” life either.

relax

I recognize that I’m not helpless to be at the effect of these worries and situations.

I can:

  • Meditate and let the fear pass.
  • Exercise.
  • Take all my prescribed medicines as scheduled.
  • Talk with my therapist when I need to.
  • Hold my baby tight, love him with all my heart, and teach him to be compassionate to himself and others.
  • Do as much housework as possible to help relieve some stress for my husband while also showing myself in a clear way that I make a visible difference in the world around me.
  • Make healthy food choices for my family.
  • Comfort friends who are sad.
  • Find a way to compliment or show appreciation to every person I talk to.
  • Make music and art.
  • Share my experiences so that others who face similar challenges don’t feel so alone.
  • Be an ally, an advocate, and involve myself in the community
  • Do my best to both give myself credit for what I already do and still be ambitious.
  • Choose optimism.
  • Focus on gratitude.
  • Consciously look for the good in life.
  • Remember that I don’t have to read my FB newsfeed like it’s my part-time job. I don’t need to internalize anyone else’s stress.

My mantra for the last few weeks has been this, and it’s serving me very well:

doit

 

 

Good Enough.

Well, 6:30 a.m. rolled around this morning, and Henry decided that since Daddy was very obviously awake, he needed to be doing things too.  I would still be cranky about this if not for the fact that he is, mercifully, napping right now, which puts us on schedule for him to attend a Gymboree class at 12:30, assuming it doesn’t rain.

You know, life is funny. When you’re little, you rage against naps and against sleep. Fear of missing out is so strong that you can’t even comprehend why your parents want you to rest.  As a grown up,  I know that what I’m actually missing out on most of the time is… a restful nap.

The irony that I could be taking one right now instead of writing is not lost on me.

Ghosts of the Past

Social media never ceases to amaze me. Several days ago, I got a friend request from someone who used to be my best friend in the whole world.  When I say “used to be,” I mean that it’s been 25 years since I last saw her. We went to elementary school together, and after my family moved to Collierville, for all intents and purposes, I never saw anyone from elementary school again, and I was more than okay with that.

See, I went to a prestigious (read “snobby”) private school.  From 2nd-6th grade, my daily thought processes were consumed not primarily with learning, but rather, with an unrelenting psychological struggle for acceptance. On the one hand, I would desperately try to convince a bunch of rich little girls that I deserved acceptance, despite being of a different religion and socioeconomic background than almost all of them — and on the other, I would desperately try to convince myself that their acceptance was completely meaningless and empty.

In my ideal imaginary world, where I never ended up with MS or seizure disorder, I’d have made my mark by now as a rich and powerful entertainment attorney who also just happened to be happily married, beautiful as an adult, and energetic enough that I could still perform music on the weekends — you know, just for fun.  I could totally talk to the girls I grew up with and be like, “See. I am your people. Aren’t you glad you grew up with me now?”

…but I’m not.

I’m a disabled stay-at-home-mom who writes sporadically and doesn’t wear pink on Wednesdays. Mercifully, I’ve not only come to terms with that, but I’m actually pretty proud of it. It took years to get healthy enough to have Henry, and it takes concerted effort to carve out time to write.

Surprisingly enough, after I accepted her friend request, I found myself worrying about whether or not my life was “good enough.”  I openly questioned whether this person genuinely wanted to rekindle a long-lost friendship or if she was going to be headed to a reunion and she wanted some good gossip for everyone.

A day later, another elementary school classmate requested friendship, and I had to really consider whether or not I was going to accept.  It’s not like this request was from a former bully. This woman was the nicest (and prettiest) girl in class, and I didn’t even have an inkling of bad intention on her part — which really gave me pause.

In that moment, it hit me square in the face just how toxic and deep my shame is over the direction my life took after I was diagnosed with seizure disorder… and I had to figure out both why I was shaming myself and what I could do about it. My life is not a trainwreck people can’t help but stop to look at. It’s performance art.

Turns out that despite all of my years of growth as a person, my inner child is still classist, ableist, and misogynistic. She attended enough ballet classes, watched enough TV, and read enough magazines to know that she’s only pretty if she’s thin, important if she’s rich or in a position to help someone else social climb, and worthwhile as a person if she’s “contributing to society” through paid work, glamour, or widely-accepted art or music.

It’s a damn good thing that I’ve grown past those old ways of thinking as an adult.

So Much More Than Good Enough.

I accepted both friend requests, and I’m glad I did. It’s cool to know that my old bestie and the girl I was most impressed with while growing up actually care to know me as an adult. I’m curious to see who they’ve become too!  We’re all mommies now. That alone changes you a lot.

It’s even cooler to know that the good side of my early-life struggle finally won out. I give zero fucks about what other people think of me at this point. I would actually give negative fucks if that were possible. (Like, my fuck deficiency is so pronounced that I could really use some of yours. I might have to declare fuck bankruptcy.)  I’m also entirely certain that my father, upon reading this, will pump his fist in the air, and think, “That’s my girl.”

What matters is what I think of myself… and my record for awesomeness is pretty good. I’m well educated in interesting topics. I’m relentless in the pursuit of bettering myself as a person. I engage in community service, and I make an effort to have fun too. I’m raising a kid who’s not a little asshole, and my husband still grabs my butt after 10 years.

Altogether, I know that I am more than “good enough” for myself, even if I have to remind my insecure inner child of that. I try hard to be the kind of person I’d want to hang out with. And sometimes, that person needs to be someone who reminds you of how special you are.

I’m happy that these very old friends unintentionally gave me the opportunity to take a good hard look at the life I’m leading. I’m even happier with what I saw… because, really, how could I be anything but happy when I get to see this face all day?

hugabug1

 

And today I’m fine. (So far.)

MS is so weird. One day, I’m damn near immobilized by fatigue and seizures, and the next, I’m feeling great and am having a genuine debate as to whether it’s smarter for me to blog or fold and put away ALL. THE. THINGS. (It can’t be some of the laundry. That’s just not enough. I’m adulting so hard today!)

fold

Happiness > Folded Laundry

Of course, since you’re reading this, you know what choice I’ve made. Surely, I’ll make a dent in the mountain of clean laundry at some point today, but I felt like writing was a better use of the short time that I have while Henry naps.  Why?  Because writing is one thing that makes me genuinely happy, even if I’m writing about tough stuff… and if I don’t do simple things that make me happy, I have no one to blame but myself.

I think that’s one of the hardest things about being a SAHP (Stay-At-Home Parent, for the uninitiated). It’s way too easy to spend the entire day focusing on your child’s needs and housekeeping and to completely neglect yourself.

If you can sing every jingle from every Daniel Tiger episode, but you haven’t listened to a new release from one of your favorite artists that was released almost a year ago (like this one for me), you just might have your priorities slightly out of whack. (And that’s ok.  Friends help each other. Yes, they do. It’s true!)

If you don’t carve out time for things that make you smile, you can become overwhelmed and sad so easily. Heck, when I first started this gig, I had to set alarms to remind myself to eat (Ok, I’ll be honest. I still use those alarms.) and take showers. (More than 1 a week! It’s important!)

After going back to therapy, this time for postpartum depression, I realized something: I’m doing a fantastic job of challenging automatic negative thoughts… but I’m doing a crap job of giving myself credit for the things I do and an even worse job of having fun.

A thought really struck me hard the other day — Henry is learning how to be a person from watching me.  If I don’t do things that make me happy, I’m teaching him (by example) how to be miserable. We can’t have that. I refuse.

domorehappy

So, I’m gonna keep doing my best to show him that you rest when you feel bad, and you do whatever you can when you’re feeling well.

On that note, I’ll be busting out the guitar this week…finally bringing it out of retirement. It’s been almost a year and a half now since I played. (Baby belly bumps get in the way!)  I’m not expecting that it’ll sound particularly good — but something is so much better than nothing. I’ve been thinking about it for weeks now, and I think he’s finally at an age where I could play it and he wouldn’t automatically try to wrestle it away from me.

Truth be told, I miss parts of my identity from before I became a mommy… from before MS made my life wonky… from before I stopped thinking that I could be and do anything I wanted to do be and do. It’s time for that thinking to end. My mindset is in my control. Self-empowerment is about owning your bullshit and choosing to powerfully move past it.  You can’t be proud of yourself and be mired in self-pity at the same time.

How do you kick self-pity’s ass?  Gratitude and credit.

The Sticker List

Y’all have heard me talk about how important Gratitude Rampages are, and how you can rewire your brain to be more positive by writing down 3 great things that happened yesterday, every day.  Well, we can add another exercise — one that I made up myself that is helping me out loads.  The Sticker List.

What’s “The Sticker List?”  It’s a simple list of everything that you believe you deserve a sticker for.  See, we give kids stickers (or other little treats) when they behave well, in an effort to give them positive feedback and attention so that they will develop good habits. Some kids gets stickers for using the potty. Others get them for brushing their teeth or doing basic chores.

Today, I believe I deserve a sticker because I’ve chosen to write… and I think I probably also deserve a sticker for:

  • changing 3 poopy diapers before noon
  • remembering to take all of my morning meds
  • eating within an hour of waking up
  • not being ashamed of sharing this. 🙂

It’s like a to-do list in reverse… a “Done” list, if you will.

poopsticker

This would be the sticker I would give myself for changing diapers. Have you ever seen such a happy crap?

And, now that I’ve shared this, I actually want to go fold clothes. (Who am I becoming?!?)

Hope you’re all having a wonderful day. ❤

 

Too many thoughts not to blog.

It’s been a couple of months since I last wrote. Being a mommy makes finding time to sit down at the computer tough. If FB and text wasn’t available on cell phones, I probably wouldn’t communicate with anyone other than Adam and my mom.

I just put Henry down for his nap, and even though I know I should go lie down too, I feel the need to write – so that’s what I’m doing.

There are sick people in this world. I’m one of them.

Truth be told, I’m feeling pretty rough today. My stomach is hurting really badly… like I swallowed something that’s eating me away from the inside. I’ve been having a hard time making myself eat or drink for the last 2-3 days, but I’ve been forcing myself.  Today, my stomach is hurting all the time, whether I’ve eaten or not. I’m debating making another appointment with my gastro team.

There’s definitely something amiss, and I’m becoming increasingly confident that it’s more than fatty liver. Last time I saw them, they ordered extra tests for immunology, and it turns out that I’m so deficient in immunoglobulin that they want me to see an immunologist.  That news was delivered to me a couple of weeks ago… and I’ve been waiting for their letter to arrive in the mail with their referral. That’s right, I haven’t made an appointment yet. I keep thinking this stupid thought: “Well, my MS is not progressing on MRI, so it’s probably a good thing that my immune system isn’t working right.”

Stupid. Ignoring health matters never makes them improve.

Today, my left foot is all tingles, the tops of my legs and my lower back feel like they’re on fire, most of my left chest is numb, and I am achy all over (on top of the tummy ache and headache).  Because it’s my special lady time, I’m inclined to just suck it up and bet that this is a pseudoexacerbation – but if it doesn’t go away in 2 days, I’ll call my neurologist and request steroids. I can’t not request steroids when I start having time travel (complex) seizures for more than 2 days.

Who needs The Doctor?

Yesterday, I “traveled” again… and the results were simultaneously eye-opening to me about myself and how badly I still need to work on self-compassion and how totally bizarre our world is at the moment.

See, yesterday, I woke up thinking it was 2009 and that I was supposed to take the bar exam in a couple of weeks.  The first thing I did, (Again, stupidly. There’s a theme here.) is check Facebook and try to get my bearings, since I was aware that I was dealing with post-ictal confusion.

This lead to me reading about the latest Supreme Court move that guts the 4th Amendment (Seriously, the damage to our civil rights that have happened in the last 30 years is staggering.), followed by a ton of people debating the 2nd amendment (Who honestly cares about the right to bear arms when our military is so big we could never hope to use force to overcome martial law at home? Or when cops can stop you for no reason at all just to check your status?  “Papers, please?” anyone?), followed by a ton of Donald Trump/Hitler comparison memes.

This was going on while my kid was alternating between eating crackers and throwing them at the dog. That was much less of a shitshow than the discourse I saw on Facebook.

And you wanna know what upset me? That I very clearly wasn’t an attorney. That I wasn’t doing more to fix things that are out of my control. (Our country is basically a fascist oligarchy at this point. I can’t undo that by myself, much as I wish I could.)

And then, I got angry that I’m not doing enough to fix things that are in my control. My house is too messy, and I was not ok with that… or the fact that I have no one that I can call to help me with the baby when this shit happens. Or that my husband works so far from home that even if he were able to leave work at the drop of a hat, it would be at least an hour before he’s here.

Essentially, yesterday, I realized that the world is on fire, and I am walking a tight-rope without a safety net. And I got very angry with myself for that… but anger doesn’t help anything.

I deserve to be able to call someone to be with me and Henry when I am having complex seizures.  And if that means that I need to interview strangers and hire a damn babysitter, even if Adam doesn’t think anyone can handle my seizures but him, that’s what I’m going to have to do. Henry and I deserve at least some measure of security.

Grateful.

Of course, all this emotional upset is pointless. Yesterday, we were safe. Henry spent a little more time in the pack and play than he would have liked, but he had toys and TV, and he enjoyed a lot of roughhousing with Daddy when he got home. I listened to my postictal playlist and “came back” pretty quickly — in less than a half hour, which is pretty great. I didn’t have any more complex seizures the rest of the day. Calling someone to come over would have been completely pointless.

So, who the fuck knows what the right thing is to do? I’m just grateful this doesn’t happen all the time.  Heck, last week, I was doing so well that I was able to take Henry to Gymboree every day. This week… not so much. But that’s life. You just gotta roll with it.

If you’re feeling well today, I strongly urge you to find something you can do, using your body and your good health, that will make you feel proud of yourself. Be active, and enjoy it. Exercise. Clean. Volunteer. Have awesome sex. Eat spicy foods. Go to a dance club filled with strobe lights. Watch a visually-intense movie at a theater. Drive wherever the wind takes you. Swim in the deep end. Nobody knows how long their good health will hold out, and those of us who deal with the crazy ups and downs of having multiple chronic illnesses hate to see anybody not enjoying that gift.

Carpe the shit out of this diem, people. It only happens once.

yolopug