10 Things I Think About When My Husband is in the Hospital

My husband has been in the hospital for a week now. He has had two procedures, one leaving an 18 inch incision running down his chest, and several cocktails of antibiotics.

He hopes each day might be his last (in the hospital, I mean), but then something else crops up.

Today is a regular dialysis day so they took him for the treatment....but his Quinton catheter is running slow now. Are they going to have to put a new one in? That's another procedure. Sigh.

I feel so badly for Mark. He isn't getting good sleep and he's hardly eating. A plastic surgeon was supposed to come see him about that chest incision, but just didn't over the weekend.

So yeah, hospital stays pretty much suck. And every time, there are many things running through my mind.

The Whole Sordid Story

My husband was just in the hospital for five days. It was a bit of a roller coaster.

He had to have his fistula (dialysis access) reworked back in February. A vascular surgeon placed a graft and made a sort of hybrid access consisting of graft and fistula. Usually these are two different forms of dialysis access.

Although a bit odd (red flag?), it seemed to be working fine until Mark's body decided to get angry with the graft and it got infected (but wait, we didn't know this was the culprit yet). He developed typical symptoms of infection: fever, chills, muscle pain, and was started on IV antibiotics at dialysis.

Over the next several days we made two trips to the ER because the symptoms weren't going away, which one would expect after only about 24 hours on antibiotics. Mark is especially susceptible to infection (usually staph) and has even had pericarditis, an infection surrounding his heart, so we were very nervous and didn't want to take any chances.

Lingering Anger

One month from today will be one year since Mark's arrhythmia near death experience.

And I gotta say, there is still some unresolved anger regarding how everything went down.

Things should not have happened the way they did, and it's something that continues to bug us.

There have been only a couple of times over the years of dealing with Mark's health problems when we felt like he was receiving inadequate care. Like, his doctor(s) was taking a half-assed approach, not dotting all the Is or crossing all the Ts.

Unfortunately, we feel that the episode last March was one of those times.

You know how unsettling it can be when you discover that someone isn't who you thought they were? That you made an error in judgement, a mistake in trusting them? It rattles you, makes you feel unsure about YOURSELF. Makes it difficult to know who you can trust.

Mark's cardiologist did that to us. He had been Mark's doctor for over eight years prior to the arrhythmia. He had seen Mark through angiograms, stents, two heart attacks and bypass. 'Course, knowing what I know now, I wonder if he tried a little too hard to avoid bypass....

I feel like I'm being vague, so here's the thing: We are still angry at Mark's former cardiologist for seemingly writing him off. For basically refusing to call an arrhythmia specialist into Mark's hospital room to physically SEE him, pour over his chart and make a first-hand diagnosis.

He spoke with an electrophysiologist over the phone only. That guy was merely fed info from Mark's doctor.

And Mark's cardiologist gave us the distinct impression that he had no hope for Mark. He gave up.

I can understand how that could be an easy thing to do. When you list out all of Mark's problems, it is overwhelming and looks logically like he shouldn't be able to survive so much.

It honestly wasn't hard to convince Mark's entire family that he was at death's door.

But they were wrong. Not just wrong that Mark wasn't going to die yet, but wrong about his diagnosis!

If it hadn't been for Mark's plucky and steadfast kidney doctor (nephrologist), we may have never known the truth and Mark may not have received the correct treatment, which very well could have led to his death.

That is not dramatics; it is the truth. Mark's cardiologist diagnosed him with Atrial Fibrillation when it was actually Ventricular Tachycardia, which is much more serious. When we finally got Mark to an electrophysiologist, he told us that if he had treated Mark in the hospital, he would not have left without an implantable defibrillator, and his walking around without one was very dangerous.

Two weeks before meeting the specialist we had gone to see Mark's regular cardiologist for a post-hospital follow-up. I asked him point blank if Mark's problem could possibly be anything else. He gave me a definitive NO. But when Mark's shiny new electrophysiologist called the cardiologist at my tearful request (because I was hoping to get everyone on the same page), he said, "Oh yeah, I suspected V-tach all along."

WHAT?? You lying liar!

Up until then I had been trying to give him the benefit of the doubt, while Mark had already decided this guy just didn't care about him anymore. I was all, "No, that can't be. How can a doctor do that?"

Apparently they can. Not only that, but so did other doctors in that hospital last March. It was a bit insane. They saved his life the first night he was there, but then endangered it with "hospital acquired pneumonia", and continued to endanger his life by not calling in a specialist. Mark had to be intubated twice because his heart wasn't responding to treatment because they weren't treating the right problem!

Because of all of this, we had to talk about hospice and other end-of-life issues. Mark even signed a DNR at one point because he thought he didn't want to be shocked again! It was a nightmare.

All of which could have been avoided if the necessary specialist had been called to Mark's bedside to make a completely informed diagnosis. Arrhythmia is a tricky thing. Why the cardiologist thought a phone consult was good enough I will never understand.

It is any wonder Mark did survive it. I give credit to his nephrologist for stepping up to advocate for Mark when I was too bewildered to. Everyone who loves him flocked to Mark's side and buoyed him, giving him strength for the fight. And he, Mark himself, decided he wasn't done. All the doctors treating him for those 13 days really did was fuck up.

It is so disheartening to feel this way, to feel like the next time Mark has to be hospitalized I will have to be hyper vigilant in making sure the doctors are doing their best for him. It is already exhausting to deal with a hospitalization, let alone have to also question everything you're told. And to not know if you can trust these people who have your loved one's life in their hands? Awful.

I know Mark has myriad problems. I get how taking one look at his chart could overwhelm a doctor or nurse. But dammit, you don't just throw your hands up and decide he's a goner. You fight for his life until he takes his last breath. You fight for his family and children. You sure as hell don't play God, deciding you know what's best all on your own. If you're not 100% sure of a diagnosis, you seek another opinion. And not just over the phone. A person's life is worth more than an obligatory phone call.

Now I know to ask for more, to demand it if I have to. I hope anyone who reads this will remember it, and do the same for their loved one.

The Moment I Knew

When you're really young you wonder and daydream about romance and finding your true love.

How will I know he's the ONE?

"Oh, you'll just know, dear", they say.

As it turns out, it's true. At least it was for me. There was absolutely a distinct moment when I knew that Mark was it for me.

__________

The date was April 7, 1996. Easter. The place was the University of California at San Francisco Medical Center. Mark and I had been together almost two years when he went under the knife for nearly 12 hours to receive a kidney and pancreas transplant.

At first it was only the two of us at the hospital as Mark was prepped for surgery. But by the time they wheeled him away, his mother, father and step-mother had arrived. I was grateful they made the trip, as I had no clue what I was going to do with myself during the long wait ahead of me.

The surgery began in the middle of the night. Since none of us could remember the last time we had eaten, we found an all night diner. The situation was so stressed and tense; very awkward for me to be sitting there with my boyfriend's divorced parents. Mark's dad thought we should try to get some rest. His mom opted to return to the hospital and set up camp in a waiting room. I wish I had joined her, but instead I accepted the invitation to get a hotel room with Mark's dad and step-mom. I slept for about four hours, waking around 7:00 AM, very eager to get back to the hospital. It was excruciating to wait for the others to get ready.

To this day, after many hospital stays, I still do not know what it is about physically being AT the hospital that makes one feel better about what their loved one is going through. It's simply preferable to be right there in the thick of it.

Unfortunately there were 3-4 more hours of surgery remaining once I took my seat in the waiting room next to Mark's mom. We drank complimentary coffee. We made small talk. I walked on eggshells, praying my future in-laws would behave themselves.

Speaking of prayers, I cannot know how many I said from the moment Mark left my sight, to the moment I saw his surgeon standing in front of us. One an hour? One every half hour? All I know is I prayed my little heart out. I prayed for the steadiness of his surgeon's hands, that the donated organs were a good match and would kick-in right away, and that this was the best thing for him.

Some vague time after noon the surgeon appeared. She informed us that the procedure had gone well and that Mark was still asleep. He would need to stay in recovery for an hour or two and then he would be admitted to the ICU for the first couple of days. The best news of all was that as soon as she sutured in the new kidney, it began producing urine!

I believe I stalked the hallway in front of the ICU doors for what seemed like an eternity. Doctors, nurses, students and patient visitors going in and out as I anticipated a glimpse of Mark. When finally he was wheeled by, I could barely tell it was him for all the equipment he was attached to. Once in the ICU, we had to wait for his nurse to get him set up as her charge. The waiting was endless. The waiting is always endless in hospitals.

The time came when we were allowed to see Mark. He was in and out of consciousness. I was very anxious to see him, but I hung back and let his parents go to his bedside first. They touched him gently, spoke quietly. Each of them hoping for a sign from Mark that he knew they were there.

He would try to open his eyes every now and then. Turned his head from side to side some. Maybe also tried to lift his arm. After awhile his mother realized I was waiting and said so to the other two. She gestured for me to come and stepped out of the way.

I couldn't say much past the huge lump in my throat. I came forward and positioned myself on Mark's left side. I hesitated, took a breath and placed my left hand in his and my right hand on top of his head. I said, "Hi Mark, it's me, Jen."

Mark turned his head toward the sound of my voice, opened his eyes and squeezed my hand, hard.

My knees buckled, but I didn't move. How could I possibly? No longer able to contain my emotion,  I grinned and the tears flowed.

In that one moment, when Mark used what little energy he had to acknowledge my presence, he let me know just how much I meant to him, how much he loved me. And I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that I felt the same.

__________
I've told this story verbally many times over the years. But I was inspired to write it by a prompt from Mama Kat, and I'm sharing it with the awesome bloggers at the Yeah Write Speakeasy.

Hospital Hour

On Thursday, May 3, 2012 from 4:45-5:45 PM:

1. Sitting in the cath lab waiting room, after getting the details of the procedure from Mark's doctor, my father and I wait to be escorted to where Mark will be staying for the night.

2. As soon as he sees me, Mark reaches for my Starbucks cup because he's so thirsty. And hungry. The nurse starts pushing his bed toward the elevators and I hurry to keep up asking, "Hey, where you going with my coffee?"

3. Up on the third floor I am pleased to find that Mark gets a private room. 336. I watch as he moves from the OR bed to the room bed, wanting to help somehow, but there are already two nurses right there.

4. The nurses adjust the bed, fluff the pillows and give Mark an ice pack for the incision site. I'm leaning on the wall at the foot of his bed and when I step away, I cause a plastic body board that was also leaning on the wall to fall over. Oops.

5. Over at the large window I place my purse and Kindle on the sill and listen as the nurses buzz around doing their duties, admitting Mark to the floor. One tells him to do something and he flat out says no. I may or may not have scolded him a little to not give them a hard time.

6. A round, grey-haired nurse enters to do the intake. Or as it's more aptly described, ask you every question under the sun making you feel like you're selling your soul. Do you drink, smoke, do recreational drugs (isn't drinking and smoking recreational too?), have regular bowel movements or ever exceed the speed limit? How many surgeries have you had? Um, how much time do you have?

7. Mark is starving...TO DEATH. He really wants to call an order in for food but this woman keeps asking him questions. Finally she realizes this and tells him to go ahead, that she can ask me instead. Oh yippee! Mark scratches his head for a few more minutes trying to figure out what someone who's on a diabetic and heart healthy diet will be allowed to eat. Turns out, a French dip sandwich and fries without salt is alright. Go figure.

8. The nurses finish their tasks and food arrives promptly. I am relieved Mark is getting to eat because his blood sugar was only 74 and we already dealt with a low that day. As he eats, I flip through a brochure about the device that now resides in Mark's chest. Looking at the illustrations I can see why the shape of a love heart is what it is; real hearts do somewhat look like one. In an abstract sort of way.

9. I check the time. It's nearly 5:45, going on 6:00. Thinking about the kids, and my dad's yawning next to me, we should leave soon. But I hesitate. It's gotten easier over the years, but I will never like leaving my husband at the hospital by himself, while I get to return to the comfort of our home. It's hard in a different way now, though. Now I am traumatized by terrifying middle-of-the-night phone calls that something scary is happening to Mark.

10. I shake the scary thoughts away. Literally shaking my head a little. Mark sounds perfectly alright with my leaving. I tell him to be good and that I love him. Love you too....bye....call if you need me....I'll have the kids call to say goodnight....one more I love you....

Inspired by "An Hour in a Day" at Stacey's Mothering Moments

Submitting this to the Yeah Write #56 Challenge Grid.

Being a Good Health Care Advocate

My husband recently spent 13 days in the hospital, in both the ICU and on the regular care floor.

He has had MANY hospital stays.

After this last one, I quite honestly don't know if he'd have been discharged when he did, or be doing as well as he is, if it weren't for myself, our family members and Mark's kidney doctor being right there to advocate for him.

I say that because there is a serious lack of proper communication in hospitals. Not only that, but probably half of doctors and nurses don't treat patients and their families with respect.

I promise, this is not me being defensive or overly sensitive or whatever else it might be. I have been Mark's significant other for nearly 18 years now. I've been around the hospital block a time or two. I really do know of where I speak.

So many medical professionals think us average schmoes don't know our asses from a hole in the ground. That, or they're just seriously lacking in bedside manner. Either way, they forget that the person in the bed is a human being who is loved.

Some are amazing. Some will listen and answer the hundreds of questions you throw at them with patience and sincerity, without dumbing everything down. Them I love. Them I want to take home with me and make a part of my family. And when they're being awesome like that, I thank them profusely. I am sure to let them know how much I appreciate how well they're doing their job.

But the ones who come into Mark's hospital room and act like my presence is a nuisance, or like they think I can't possibly understand the big words they're using because I didn't go to medical school....they can kiss my ass. And not just me, but anyone they treat that way, you too, should not stand for it.

Doctors and nurses know what they're talking about medically, and you can get a sense of just how much they know and if you can trust them with your loved one. But those of us who love someone who is sick, we know the PERSON they're trying to treat. And someone like me, who loves someone who is chronically ill, I know just as much about Mark's medical history as he does. The two of us got this. Both of us can comprehend what is going on, we can learn and adapt. Yet still, we are underestimated. And I just don't think it's OK.

Patients and their loved ones have the right to ask as many questions as they need to, and they should. No one should take what a doctor tells them without asking questions. Everyone should leave a doctor's office or hospital understanding what is going on and what is being done about it. Everyone, the doctor and patient alike, should be on the same page, with the same goals in mind.

What I said about the lack of communication in hospitals? That is like ten times more frustrating than being talked down to. The latter is annoying, but you can brush it off. When the doctors treating Mark won't TALK TO EACH OTHER, I have to get pushy. And then I look like a bitch. I really don't like looking like a bitch.

But it's not MY problem, it's theirs. During this last hospital stay Mark had his nephrologist (dialysis), a couple of cardiologists and either critical care or floor docs overseeing his care. Once he started improving and was moved out of critical care, I swear if we hadn't made a bunch of noise about getting him discharged, he might still be there.

Perhaps that's a slight exaggeration, but you get the idea. He was doing well enough to get up out of bed, use the bathroom on his own and sit in other parts of the room, even leave his room for a little walk, yet they were making no moves towards releasing him. When we asked about discharge, everyone was clueless! The nurse didn't know what the plan was, nor did the Hospitalist (floor doc). We asked them to get his doctors on the same page. It took 2 days. Mark was not happy.

And then....and then! The biggest problem was the cardiologists. Mark was in the hospital for heart problems, yet there wasn't a cardiologist in sight. Or, they would come, read his stats, make some notes in his chart and just leave without talking to us. I started referring to them as ninja doctors. When one of them finally showed himself, Mark read him the riot act. He felt like they had written him off. It was seriously ridiculous!

Here's the thing. Yes, doctors and nurses are highly trained individuals who most likely know what they're doing. But, we know what we're doing too. They know medical stuff; we know personal stuff. And then when you're like Mark and I and have been dealing with this crap for ages, you also know a lot of medical stuff.

I love Mark's home health nurse right now. She is one who did not walk into our situation and assume we know nothing. She came in with an open mind, listened to us and determined that we have things well in hand. She is impressed with our knowledge of Mark's meds and what he needs. I am impressed that she sees it.

It's a matter of respect. If doctors and nurses want patients and loved ones to respect them, they need to respect us too. And in the absence of that, we must be advocates.

The person in the bed is a human being who is loved.

Still Critical

First and again, thank you all so much for being such wonderful people who leave incredibly warm and heartfelt comments for me here. I assure you I am seeing every single one and they are deeply appreciated.

I need to let you all know that Mark took a turn for the worse Monday night. He had to be re-intubated and sedated, as well as put back on all the supporting meds for his heart rate and blood pressure. They've also found staph in what he was coughing up. We're currently waiting on results of a blood culture to know if the staph is in his bloodstream. His heart may be infected with staph. But I don't actually know that yet.

My husband is very, very sick. You know he is a Type 1 Diabetic on dialysis. Those are his "health problems". But now, he is just plain sick.

We don't know if Mark can recover from this. It is just wait and see right now.

I am very scared, but also holding up. My kids asked me the tough questions last night. I was as honest with them as I needed to be.

The kids and I got some good sleep together last night. I needed that, and to be with them.

I don't know what today holds. I'm simply hoping for more information and understanding, as well as grace to handle all of this.

I have a huge support system all around me. Both my and Mark's parents are either already here or on their way. I have wonderful friends, my dad and extended family, as well as this sweet online community.

I know I am not alone!

If you are so inclined, I am asking for your thoughts, prayers, vibes and energy towards what is BEST FOR MARK. Not what we want. What is simply the right things for him.

Thank you so much.

My husband is in critical care.

I'm so sorry for not having a TGIF post this weekend, but there's just no way I can write about happy things right now.

Well, except to say I'm happy my husband is alive.

Thursday morning while at dialysis he experienced a rapid heart rate. His nurse there told him she thought he needed to get checked out. When he came home we called his cardiologist's office and a nurse there said it sounded like atrial fibbrillation and yeah, he should get checked out.

So we made arrangements for the kids and headed to the ER early Thursday afternoon. Mark didn't display any symptoms the entire time in the ER. Labs showed elevated cardiac enzymes, however, so they opted to hold him overnight for obsveration.

Very glad for that because sometime between 2:00 and 3:00 AM his heart rate spiked again and his blood pressure bottomed out. It got so bad that his heart actually stopped.

They restarted it and transferred him to cardiac critical care. Mark has been intubated and sedated since then, on pressors to keep his blood pressure up and another medication for the rapid heart rate. It's Saturday morning as I'm writing this.

The plan for today is to TRY and lesson the pressor meds and give him a long, slow dialysis treatment. I'm not sure about the breathing tube or when they might try to extubate him.

Mark has congestive heart failure. His heart pump is weak and we think it's trying to compensate by going into A-Fib. I see it like his heart is confused as to what it's supposed to be doing.

There's a delicate balance the doctors need to find between dialysis and his blood pressure. Dialysis will help his heart by removing fluid and potassium, yet it can also make his blood pressure drop. This is why they will do a slow and gentle treatment.

I was up from 3:00 AM Friday morning, arriving at the hospital before 5:00. They actually told me I should come in because of how unstable he was at the time. That phone call is THE SCARIEST call you can get. It's horrific to be at home and get a call from the hospital that your husband might be dying. And this wasn't even the first time that's happened to me.

Last night I slept on the couch with the TV on low, with my glasses still on and my cell phone right next to my head. I'm a bit of a wreck. Everything is making me cry.

What I'm trying really hard to do right now is stop my brain from thinking about the thousands of variables and concerns about what this all means. Whether he recovers from this or not...if he does, will he be sicker than he already was? And if the worst happens.....

But like I said, trying so hard not to think about all of that, to focus on TODAY, each minute if I have to.

One of the hardest things about going through medical crisis is that life continues to go on around you. The kids still have school, the house still needs to be cleaned up, laundry still needs to be done and bills have to get paid. I have to worry about all of that.

Thankfully I have an excellent support system. I have fabulous friends and sweet family. Gosh, that is half of what makes me emotional.

Well, my kids are home, so I'll sign off now.

Climb Aboard the Hall Family Roller Coaster!

I posted this on Facebook on Monday: Climb aboard the Hall Family Roller Coaster! Sit down & buckle up. Our ride begins with a broken chest wire, we will pause for just a sec to remove it, there will be several very fun loops and things during a perfectly normal weekend and then we will end by heading back to the station (hospital) for IV antibiotics. Enjoy the ride!

I am so witty online!

For those of you who don't know, my husband Mark had heart bypass surgery a little over a year ago and they use wire similar to piano strings to hold the chest plate together for healing.  Well, Mark broke one of them, possibly by sneezing hard, it got infected and he needed to have it removed.

And now....

My husband is in the hospital with a staph infection requiring IV antibiotics after he tried to get himself treated before it got to this point.

I am angry, frustrated, bummed and completely OFF.  I just wrote last week in a post about my priorities how when something is not OK with one of the four of us, everything feels off, and here we are.

I know I remind the world all the time of Mark's health conditions, but it seems to be necessary, even to the medical professionals who care for him.  He is a Type 1 Diabetic, has been since the age of 9, with a 6 year reprieve when he had a successful kidney/pancreas transplant.  He is 43 now and since losing his transplanted organs, has been back on insulin and dialysis for nearly 10 years.

These things make him extra susceptible to infection.  Last year when heart bypass was required it was discovered that he had pericarditis, a septic staph infection SURROUNDING HIS HEART.

People?  Mark may have survived that, but this is not a man we take chances with!

So yeah, I and just about everyone we know are pretty frustrated that Mark's doctors dragged their feet on this.  That might be a bit of an understatement for me.  Because a staph infection could KILL MY HUSBAND!

I don't think this is just me being melodramatic.  Or maybe it is....buuuuuttt it happened to my uncle.  It happens all the time.  It could happen to Mark.

On the other hand, I do think PTSD from "the night from hell" is rearing its ugly head right now.  I am having to force myself to see this as a separate thing.  I am having to force myself to not think about death.

And it's really hard to do.

This infection was caught early, in spite of the initial bumbling efforts of the doctors.  This will be OK.  Mark will be OK.  EVERYTHING WILL BE OK.

This is just another hiccup, bump in the road, minor inconvenience...yada, yada.  I feel like people think I should just be used to this.  That these things happen with Mark and we just have to deal them.  Well yes, that's true, but "these things" are actually serious, and they suck.

I'm allowed to hate it, aren't I?

I'm allowed to hate taking my kids to see their dad at the hospital.  I'm allowed to hate all that Mark has to deal with.  I'm allowed to hate what I have to deal with, what our parents deal with, and our friends deal with.  That there are perfectly healthy people out there who have no flipping idea how good they've got it!  I hate it all.

When you've been traumatized the way I have it can be hard to be OK with the little hiccups.  They tend to all feel like big, scary things.

It's almost Christmas.  Mark had his first heart attack on Christmas Day of 2008.  Such lovely timing.

I'm sorry if this post is rambling and doesn't totally make sense to anyone else.  Just gotta get it off my chest.

We're hoping he will be able to come home today and we can get on with Christmas....

(This post was linked with Shell's Pour Your Heart Out at Things I Can't Say.)

* *

Update 12/27/11: Mark did come home that day, but it was difficult to "get on with Christmas".  He was really tired and bothered by the wound vac they sent him home connected to.  We were both very tense and on edge all the way up to Christmas Eve.  But Christmas Day was great!  We had fun, the kids loved their gifts, we saw extended family and had a fantastic dinner in spite of a power outage.  Yesterday, at the Wound Ostemy Clinic where Mark has his dressing changed, the nurse said his chest is healing so well and so quick he may not need the wound vac much longer.  This I believe is due to all the care and concern from both and near and far, and I am grateful.  Oh, the roller coaster!

#37

Detour

We have hit a detour on the moving road.  Had planned to go to Michael's for Cami's spray glitter and then try to get dressers moved today.  But Mark needed to turn off and go to the ER for a dialysis treatment.  So the kids and I are just hanging out at the apartment.  I suppose one could argue that a break from all the craziness isn't the worst thing in the world, and that Mark's health is of utmost importance.  But, yeah.....still wish it didn't have to take an ENTIRE day!

Mark has been struggling with his fluid/sodium/phosphorus levels the past few weekends.  We're busier than usual, having a lot to do by June 15, and we're not eating well and have strayed from our normal routines.  Plus it's all a little stressful.  Totally understandable while moving.  But it's obviously taking a toll on Mark.  Maybe I need to try to help him more.  I simply HATE it when he doesn't feel as good as he can!  And then icky thoughts creep into my head..... I literally have to tell myself to STOP thinking them.  I wouldn't wish health problems on anyone.

Mark just told me he has to stay overnight.  Of course!  They always find a reason to keep him at least 1 night!  Apparently they want to make sure it's not his heart because of his shortness of breath.  I reminded him that this has been happening every weekend like clockwork lately, but he's fine the rest of the time.  I guess the cardiologist said some certain levels were slightly elevated which could indicate a teeny, tiny little heart attack.  So they want to recheck those levels first thing tomorrow morning.  But they're also gonna have to take into consideration that tomorrow is his regular dialysis day too.

OK, I'm gonna have a selfish little meltdown here for a minute..... My plans, thoughts, ideas of how things will go in our lives are constantly getting screwed up!  My Mother's Day was ruined cuz Mark had bronchitis and that was a very stressful time cuz we were also closing on the house.  We had this huge fight over plans for yesterday, that Mark had things he wanted to do wtih his friends but I had obligated him to do something with kids.  Well not only did he get to go shooting and hang out with friends yesterday, but he also hung out with John on Friday.  I was hoping to get to sneak off to see Splice with Jessica tonight, but now I can't.  Mark often thinks everything is conspiring against him and what he wants.  Well, he's gonna have to revise that idea cuz it looks to me like it's ME who's getting shafted lately!!

See now, while I feel like that on one hand, on the other, he's still the one getting screwed with isn't he?  He's the one with all the health problems and has to spend the night at the hospital, not me.  I'm just visually impaired so I can't really keep doing the things I wanted to do today cuz I can't drive, and stuck at home cuz the kids need me.  Whatever.

I'm missing my mom more than usual lately.  It's going on a year since I've physically seen her and we really should talk on the phone more often.  She mentioned possibly flying Cami down to see her in August, but I'm honestly not very happy with that idea.  What about me?  What about AJ?  Is 2 years in a row really necessary?  We don't really like going to Oregon 2 summers in a row.  I know Washington isn't my mom and Doug's destination of choice.  But I'm here.  Shouldn't that be enough?

Things with my friends aren't getting any better.  Actually I guess you could say they're worse.  I had a debate with Roxy about Serra and Jessica this week that was really frustrating.  I was very surprised by the things Roxy said to me.  She may have also been surprised by the things I said to her.  She defended Sierra and I defended Jessica.  I never in a million years would have thought that would be the way things shook out.  It's so disappointing to learn that something isn't the way you think it should be.  Regardless, I feel I'm more right than Roxy cuz she doesn't really know all of what she speaks since she hasn't actually talked to Jess about it.  And I don't think they're gonna talk about it any time soon since Roxy doesn't feel like it right now and Jess is hurt by the things Roxy is thinking.  I decided to tell Jessica about my debate with Roxy after struggling with it overnight, and then hearing from Sierra that she does plan to come out for Roxy's birthday GNO.  Once I knew that, I felt Jess should know so she wasn't ambushed the night of.  Jessica is glad I filled her in, but I feel like it did exactly what I was worried it would do, which is only hurt her more.  What's done is done I guess, and I've been told that I can't fix it.  It's not for me to fix.  I just wanna know one thing: why do some people have to be such jerks?

Guess I've also had a detour of the mind today!
"Physical ills are the taxes laid upon this wretched life; some are taxed higher, and some lower, but all pay something." ~Lord Chesterfield