1 puking in the car.
1 puking at the doctor's office.
1 incident of car over-demand resulting in having to borrow grammy's car (see 'puking in car' above)
1 day of accomplishing NO work.
2 kids sleeping in our room tonight (and I use the term sleeping VERY loosely).
3-5 more days of predicted fever.
Cole fell asleep at 6:45pm in the car. After letting him sleep on the sofa for a while, I carried him up to bed, changed him into pajamas and declared it a night. Roark headed to bed around 7:30, and all was quiet by 8:00pm. This was a very good thing, because I had a lot of work stuff stacking up.
I spent about 4 hours finishing up on work tasks, feeling very proud of myself when I was finished. I turned off the light, rolled over, and that is when Cole started in.
"Daddy!" "Daddy!!" "God damnit you effing SOB, get your ass in here right now!" (ok, so I paraphrase a little, but the TONE WAS THE SAME).
I head in. First he wanted his blankets (laying right beside his bed at the time). Second trip in he didn't remember what he needed. Then he couldn't find his flashlight. Then he wanted a drink. Then his flashlight batteries had burned out. Then he wanted to tell me that "I slept and slept and slept and slept, and now I am ready to get up" to which I answered with "GO TO SLEEP YOU CREATON" (paraphrasing yet again). Then I don't even know what he wanted because I was so freaking tired I wanted to throw him out the window. I think he finally shut up around 1:30. Maybe 2.
What have I learned from this experience? NEVER EVER EVER let Cole fall asleep early. NEVER.
Right after reading that last note, a dear friend of mine told me that it was very possible that I am retarded. I am not entirely sure I disagree.
Ever since deciding that Soccer would be fun and injuring myself after only my second RECREATION GAME, I have been an orthopedic doctor's wet dream. It started with a torn quad, followed by a stress fracture, followed by an injury to something behind the kneecap. I think part of the issue here (ok, all) is that I don't allow any time to heal. I am determined to kill myself through orthopedic injuries...or so it seems.
In true ME fashion, I went running today. That doesn't sound bad until you consider that I was 1) injected INTO MY KNEE with steroids on Monday. It is still swollen and I am supposed to stay somewhat inactive for 10-14 days...after which time I am supposed to see a physical therapist. And 2) was throwing up this morning and carrying a headache that could drop an elephant. No, I don't know why I am so stubborn. I just am.
I didn't run far. I couldn't...my head hurt, my ankle hurt, my knee hurt, and the stupid ass construction crews were blowing so much dust around that it was hard to function. As I headed out the door I am quite certain my husband called me an idiot. I do not blame him. I am now sitting upstairs with ice on my knee trying to choke down ibuprofen without hurling.
Maybe tomorrow I will try something a little easier, like swimming.
Back when Brittany started seeing a psychiatrist to help with all of the stuff she was going through, medication was recommended. We took the prescriptions given to us to the pharmacy, had it filled, and she started taking the drugs. And then she got really sick. We went back to the doctor where they informed us that the prescription was written at the maintenance dose, but that she should start at a much lower dose and work up to it. Good thing to know BEFORE YOU START THE MEDS, no? I was understandably angry at the mix-up. They were apologetic. We got it sorted out and things were ok.
Now, 4 1/2 months later, we went back to the practice and saw a different doctor for a routine follow up. She has since stopped taking all medication and is doing well. The doctor, while noticeably annoyed at this, seemed to accept it for what it was. He told her that if she felt like she needed to start taking medication again to cope with things, to start at the original dosage and work her way up. She of course wanted to clarify what dose he wanted her to start at. He pulled the records, looked at the prescription (which he stated was "too high to start at") and then looked over the other doctor's notes. He told her that the amount the doctor had in his notes is where she should start - and added that we should have followed those notes instead of the prescription in the first place.
That is when the fight started.
I am not exactly proud of my behavior, however in my defense, the man was an asshole. They made a mistake last October. They admitted it. They apologized. They fixed it. Now, this guy was claiming it was our fault all along and was getting defensive…and well, I wouldn't have any part of it. I have really had enough of idiot doctors acting superior and untouchable.
It ended in him storming out of the office through one door. Me storming out through the other door, followed by Todd. And Brittany sitting in the room waiting for the nurse to give her the bill/discharge papers.