February can not end fast enough, god bless the shortness of the calendar this week. A few more days on the calendar with "3's" in front of them would seriously make me homicidal -- more than the thought of tomorrow being 60 degrees, followed by the chance of snow on Monday. The weather certainly doesn't help, but it's the month I need to ditch.
I think, for the most part, I made it through well, thank you. I woke up, dabbed a little "Funeral Parlor" behind my ears, and held my head high. Flowers were purchased, flowers wilted, flowers composted. Candles were lit -- except for one night we just outright forgot. A walk in a stiff wind was had, where Mr. ABF and I contemplated weather and trees and flora. Followed by a warm, comfort lunch where it seemed completely unreal and out of body to think I had given birth two years previously, to the day.
And I just tried to keep the umbrella up during the shitstorm, but damn if it didn't keep blowing inside out.
Sometime during what I loosely call "Maddy's week" my grandmother had a stroke. And I'm not being all cryptic and private here by not revealing what day exactly, it's that -- we don't really know when it happened. It was one of those "Wow, she's really improving on this new drug regimen!" followed by "Wow, this new drug regimen is a bit tough I think," followed by "You know, I think this whole not seeing out of her left eye and confusing evening for morning should probably be followed up on." She is presently in a rehabilitation center and will then be moved into -- what terminology are the cool kids using these days? Managed care facility? Yes, one of them. Her confusion isn't wholesale, so there was some concern about a fight against this move, but she honestly seemed relieved. I'm now wondering how anxious she must have been these last few months, knowing she was responsible for her small apartment and her own well being. I've left much of this situation up to my mother and aunt, not because I don't care but because I think they need to reach consensus between the two of them before I insert myself lest I be seen as taking sides. And because it all came down during a particularly bad week for me. But there's no more escaping it.
I had a mammogram the first week of February, my first (welcome, middle age! Now fuck off!) which was, obviously, given the month, followed by the phone call "We need to redo one set of pictures." They claimed in the phone call this was because "tissue had folded over on itself," but which my brain heard as "Don't freak the fuck out, but something's wrong and we need you back in here." Because seriously, my breasts? Don't fold. They are so small, it would be like trying to fold a postage stamp into some origami swan. But I went back this morning, and lo, apparently when they smush things to the point of breaking, tissue within the breast can indeed fold over on itself. She smashed the breast flat with no folds, set out some china and crystal service to make the point, and I was cleared. But it was an interesting 10 days in between call and test where there was that ol' lingering resignation of medical tests gone horribly wrong and wondering what else my body had in store for me.
(Here is the funny interlude involving me not being remotely impressed with online medical records. Mam place said I needed another "prescription" from my OB for the follow up -- even though a) they were literally prescribing it, due to folding and all, not my OB, and b) it had nada to do with insurance. Huh. So I call up OB's office, finally get a human, who will gladly fax over slip -- but needs to know which breast is the offender. I have no idea. "Wait," OB-nurse-at-office-within-same-hospital-system says, "I WILL LOOK IT UP." Which she did. Left breast. She then lifted her ink pen, wrote a script and tore it off her pad, a tree cried, faxed it to the mam place, who pulled it off the fax, whereby another tree cried. It's not working out like it should, is all I'm sayin'.)
What else. Oh! I finally went to the dentist, on the 17th I believe. For the first time since about Maddy's first trimester. Yeah. Personal care has clearly left the building during this debacle. I must have looked ridiculously depressed, because the dentist was downright cheery explaining that we only had to fix these old fillings that have cracked! And we only need to fill these other two extremely small little problem areas! And your molars are now flat because you clench your jaw! Are you under stress? So here's two options for night guards: One is a lot of money, and the other (nicer, less ugly) one is even more money. But no root canal! No gum disease!
Did I tell you our insurance doesn't cover dental? Someone's getting a night guard for her 40th!
The global economic toilet flush finally prompted us to take a looksie into our money stash (clearly we've been saving our denial for something), and among other heavy sighing, decided a spring vacation is not in the cards this year. And I know, boo fucking hoo, because one of us is still in an employment sector that is hard to kill, and we're not losing our house, and we're eating feta and corn tortillas with our beans tonight, but . . . . I think last year really drove home the point that we need to skip town for some Vitamin D after this particular series of days. That winter combined with death does nothing for our emotional systems and escape is needed. This year, after all this, there will be no escape. Just more of the same, watching the forsythia buds looming, knowing Spring that bitch is right around the corner to mock us with the story of rebirth.
There's more in this February about my older dog suddenly losing bowl control, and spacing my brother's birthday (the 13th, poor kid) for the third year in a row, but I've whined far too much for one post and I have to save your patience for all my "Fuck me, I'm almost 40" posts in the upcoming weeks.
So I'll shut up now. Ok if I turn the calendar ahead tonight?