I have an appointment with the endocrinologist today, and I am dreading it.
They asked that I turn in my blood sugar numbers from the last two weeks. Since I currently wear a Continuous Glucose Monitor (CGM) that means what they have is every single blood sugar number my cgm has reported every five minutes for the last 14 days, and it ain’t pretty.
To be fair, I’ve spent the last two weeks in high stress mode. First, I was waiting for Tom’s surgery, and then there was the surgery, followed by days of waiting for results and caring for him. Then there’s the whole official cancer diagnosis. To top it off, I’m trying to compose an appeal letter to the insurance company because they determined that the necessary CT scan Tom had to have of his kidney is only necessary but not medically necessary (I’m still trying to wrap my head around that). And while I know things could be so much worse, and I am grateful that things have gone relatively well, it’s all been very high stress.
If you don’t have to deal with blood sugar monitoring, then you may not be aware of how stress messes with blood sugar. Even if I exercise and eat correctly, my numbers are all over the place. For example, on Saturday my numbers yo-yo’d all day. I went from 108 to 165 to 124 to 230 to 140 and so on. It was exhausting and frustrating.
I’m hoping they just give me a pass at the appointment since I’m currently going through this life experience. I’m genuinely trying to make positive changes in my health, but I’m also trying to keep myself from falling into a depression spiral. I’m just doing the best I can.
P.S. I’m running a giveaway on my Facebook page for some of my greeting cards. Check it out: In A Pinch Grab Bag Giveaway
Kids, the insomnia is bad. I even gave in and took the meds that normally help me sleep and so far…I’m wide awake. I suppose I might be just the tiniest bit stressed about Thursday.
That’s right, it’s surgery week! We are officially in the homestretch.
The more I think about it, the weirder this experience seems. Kidney cancer. The word cancer immediately brings to mind a whole list of awful components. Chemo, long hospital stays, surgeries, death. And that’s just the first few things I can think of. I’m quite grateful that it seems the cancer had been caught before it spreads. The urologist told us that Tom’s not looking at anything like chemo or radiation for now. It’s very likely that if surgery goes well that will be all that’s needed. This last few weeks has been an overwhelming whirlwind.
This week feels crazy, and it hasn’t truly begun.
I was going to write this whole post about how frustrated I am that I can’t maintain a “normal” body temperature, and constantly run on the cold end of the thermometer. However, I was boring myself as I was writing it. Which means all you lovely people would be equally bored. So, I’m gonna set that post aside for awhile. It’s kind of funny, but it’s taking too long to get to the funny.
Instead, I’m going to take a moment to assure the world at large that as of right now I am NOT pregnant, and not adopting either. Maybe someday. Apparently, a previous post from a few weeks ago was a bit misleading, since I mentioned that there were some changes ahead in my life. Said changes are more of the “I’m trying to figure out what I want ro be when I grow up” variety.
There’s this thing about being married. You have to take the other person’s needs and wants into account. This isn’t always the easiest, especially when I spent the first twenty-nine years of my life being very single, and my choices really only affected me. Having the flu and then bronchitis and now bronchitis again (it’s not officially been diagnosed this time, but this is not my first bronchitis rodeo) has provided me with a ridiculous amount of time to think. There are things that I know the boy would like of me (his top love language is Acts of Service). They aren’t difficult things, and certainly nothing that is wrong of him to expect and want. I’ve come to realize that those things are far more important to me than so many other things. I know I’m being a bit cryptic, but that’s cause things are still kind of in flux. I just know that I want to be a good wife (especially since he’s such an amazing husband). I want to have the boy want to come home at the end of the week. I want to get healthy.
And my chest is really hurting, so maybe I should go to the doctor and get this bronchitis officially diagnosed…
Okay, kids, it’s been a really rough week, and I can’t write without sounding like I’m in a super dark mental space. So, instead, I offer up snapchat videos of Gracie trying to clean out a peanut butter jar!
Also, I should point out that we’re in the middle of a flooring project. We don’t normally have just bare, plywood floors.
Hopefully, y’all are as amused as I am with Gracie’s antics.
When I started this blog in 2012, it was because the year before I had moved 500 miles away from home to North Dakota. It was my way of letting people back home know I was okay, and hadn’t completely lost my mind. See, if you move to North Dakota, and claim that you actually love it there, people 500 miles away who dislike the frigid north, tend to wonder about your sanity.
I did love North Dakota, which came a complete surprise to me. I was running away from home, because the last years of my life had been mostly a giant pile of dog poo. Sometimes it was literal dog poo, but I digress. North Dakota was the only safe place available to me to run away to, so I ran.
I moved home from North Dakota at the end of 2012, and tried to keep writing regularly. Over the last few years, I got married, tried being a stay at home wife, went back to work, filled the house with pets, and tried to figure out what the mystery pain in my tummy is. Over the last three years I haven’t written much. In fact, lately I’ve not written at all.
I need to start writing again. See, life has continued on, even though I’ve been less forthcoming as of late. Life has been exhausting, sometimes scary, sometimes frustrating, and mostly overwhelming.
So, for better or worse I return to here. I feel the need to try to make sense of the overwhelming and to share cute puppy pictures while I’m at it.
Say “Hi” to Gracie, my 11 year old puppy!
I officially became a homemaker at the end of January. Since January, I’ve discovered that I officially suck at being a homemaker.
Our house is a disaster. When I moved in, the boy already had the house filled with his things, and I liked his things. Big problem, though, I had boxes and boxes of my own things, and I happen to like my things too. Right now, 75% of my things are still in boxes in the room that we don’t talk about.
Oh, the room. Picture Monica’s secret closet, and just imagine it as a whole room. Okay, it’s not that bad. It’s not packed full to the ceiling. There are just stacks of boxes everywhere. We don’t talk about the room, because every time I go in there to try find something, I end up wanting to cry and then spend hours beating myself up because I have ZERO clue how to organize this house.
Both my mom and my mom-in-law have offered, many times, to come and help me make sense of the nightmare. And I know that I should accept their help. I need their help, but I’ve yet to take them up on it because I’m embarrassed. It’s humiliating to be almost 32 years old, and be incapable of making your house look like grown-ups live there.
I’ve tried. I honestly have. It always starts out well. I do the dishes. And by that, I mean, I empty the dishwasher of the dishes that have been sitting in it for two or more weeks, and then fill it up from the pile of dishes that has been growing in the sink for weeks. Then, once the dishwasher is filled and running, if I’m feeling really gung-ho, I’ll wash a bunch of dishes by hand. Once the sink is empty I’ll turn my attention to the ever-inflating mountain of laundry, and I might even get the bathroom cleaned.
So, it probably sounds like I’ve pretty much got everything under control, and there should be no problem. My house should be spotless at this point, right?
See, I’ll have a super productive day, and then the boy comes home from work, and I’ll make food. Making food leads to the sink being filled with a bunch of dirty dishes. When I look at that pile of dirty dishes, I just absolutely shut down. I’ll have been so proud of myself for getting things done throughout the day, and the new pile of dishes seems to cancel out everything else I got done and I feel like I’m back to square one. And, instead of just being an adult, I go into avoid mode…for days or sometimes weeks.
I don’t know why I go into avoid mode. I know that there are no faeries that are going to come in the middle of the night and clean my house. And yet, I apparently believe that is exactly what is going to happen. There’s just something so defeating about doing a chore and within a few hours you’re back to square one.
I have no idea how moms do it everyday. Take my sister-in-law, for example. She’s mom to the two most precious, adorable, energetic little boys on the planet (nope, I’m not biased at all). She works full time, is always helping out with things at church, and her house is gorgeous. I am just in awe of her, and I wish I could be half the amazing woman she is.
The challenge here really is just sucking it up and being a grown up. And now I’m going to go put another load of laundry in the washer because we are officially out of clean underwear.
Also, there’s only ten shopping days left ’til my birthday.
(Warning, if you are at all easily offended, please stop reading right now.)
Yesterday, the boy and I were looking at grocery ads, and the following conversation took place:
Boy: Wow, they already have Civil War fruit snacks out.
Me: (envisioning a gummy Confederate Flag) Well, that’s kind of weird .
Boy: Not really, it comes out in a few months.
Me: (realizing what he’s talking about) Oh, you mean the movie.
Boy: Yeah, what did you think I was talking about?
Me: I thought they were for the actual Civil War.
Boy: Like, here’s a Confederate soldier?
Boy: (immitating a kid) Look, I got Lincoln, he’s got a hole through his head.
Me: (stare at boy, horrified)
Boy: Too soon?
Me: (nodding head, but starting to giggle) Yeah, but hopefully Lincoln’s up in Heaven
This is what it looks like as I write this…
If you can’t tell, those white specks are the dreaded snowflakes.
As I’m watching the snow, it occurs to me that snow doesn’t bring grown-ups joy. When I was little, every kid I knew lived for snow. Playing in the snow was the greatest thing ever. Even if school didn’t get cancelled, snow meant the playground got turned into a magical wonderland. Once snow days are no longer are a part of people’s reality, suddenly snow becomes this evil, awful thing.
I get it, I really do. Most of my years as a grown-up have found me griping and bellyaching every time snow is even mentioned. “Ugh, not snow. I don’t wanna have to drive in that.” Snow is a hassle. It’s pointless. It gets dirty and makes everything look awful and bleak. People who’ve spent their whole lives around snow still haven’t figured out how to drive in it.
However, as I’m watching the big, fluffy flakes fall this morning, I’m feeling very happy and peaceful. Sure the roads will be crappy later, and I’ll probably be pretty grumpy after dealing with them, but right now that doesn’t matter. Right now it looks like the beginnings of a Christmas card outside, and that makes me happy.
It’s been a few hours since I wrote the above, here’s what it looks like now…
In exactly 3 months (89 days), I’ll become a Mrs. I’m so excited I’m having trouble talking about anything other than marriage and the upcoming wedding. When you think about it, 3 months is not a lot of time. Just enough time to let a lot of excitement build up.
I realize that I haven’t yet shared how the boy proposed. Which is a huge slip-up on my behalf, because it was pretty awesome (even if Sandra Bullock wasn’t involved). So, here is the story of how he asked.
I took off a couple of days from work for my birthday. I love my birthday, and after having worked on it several times, I came to the conclusion I’d rather celebrate it than go to work, if at all possible. In the weeks leading up to my birthday, the boy kept asking me what I wanted to do the day after my birthday, since we both had it off. Being super decisive (and by that I mean not decisive at all) I kept putting him off and telling him we’d do something. Finally, the weekend before I finally told him we were going to the zoo.
On the day we got to the zoo early, and I have him the option of where he wanted to start. He suggested the aquarium, and we headed that direction. Walking through we saw the puffins and penguins and the giant, creepy crabs.
Somehow, by the time we got to the tunnel (filled with sharks, rays, turtles, and other large ocean creatures) we had managed to get between large groups of people and we were completely alone in the tunnel.
The way the tunnel is constructed, it is shaped like an “L.” When we came around the bend, sitting on the floor of the empty tunnel was a TARDIS, light flashing and sounding like it had just landed. I looked over at the boy and he had this grin on his face.
When we reached the TARDIS, he got down on one knee, opened the TARDIS door and pulled out a small slip of paper. This small slip of paper:
After he finished, he pulled a ring box out of the TARDIS and put this on my finger :
It was a beautiful, wonderful moment. The kind of moment you only read about (or see in the movies). And now I can hardly wait for March 14th!
(I’m curious…can anyone list all the geek refrences in the boy’s proposal without the aid of Google?)