Objects in the Mirror are Closer or Older than they Appear

     I'm watching new neighbors move into the house across the street. They are almost the same age I was when we moved into our current house. It's moments like this that remind me that time keeps ticking and my hair has more gray in it and there are more wrinkles around my eyes. Oh, listen to me - it's only Monday morning and I'm already throwing myself a pity party. 

    Besides the gray hair, so many things have changed, especially in the last year. 

    My stomach is a map now, a record of my journey in this body. I have stretch marks from three pregnancies that are faded and silver now. I have a line that runs down my midsection from my first surgery for the Crohn's. It's incredibly straight and thin, like the surgeon just painted a fine line on my skin. It curves around my belly button, where apparently I had a belly button hernia, that he said he fixed for free. I do love scoring a deal - buy one surgery get a free hernia repair. 

    I have two small scars from the laparoscopic sites. Since the first surgery was supposed to be laparoscopic and then surprise for the surgeon, it couldn't be. He had to do things the old-fashioned way. "When I was a surgeon, we actually had to touch the intestines with our fingers." 

    He had to take everything out, cut and sew, and put it back. At least that's what I imagine - my intestines carefully laid out next to me, while he cuts and then pieces me back together. I'm sure my guts mostly stayed in my body. I'm almost positive not all my guts were running loose at some point during my six hour nap.  

    I have another three inch scar where he went back in and reversed my stoma. It is a weird sensation to have part of your intestine peeking out of your body. But also, entirety interesting to watch the smooth muscle at work. I had to have the stoma while my intestines healed. Since having Crohn's can be a pain in the ass- pun intended of course - having a stoma wasn't all bad. I didn't have to run to the bathroom. Period. Is this what having a normal set of plumbing feels like? I think I forget that feeling. 

    When we moved into the house, it was... - I'm not sure how to describe it. It's all tied into relationships that weren't healthy. 

    Perhaps that's why I'm constantly trying to sell it and move. Every attempt I have made to ditch the house though, has resulted in failure - obviously, since I'm still here. But maybe part of it was because it is tied into some unhealthy relationship crap and I have found that the universe doesn't always unlock the next map until you fulfill some quest in the current map. 

    Hobbits assemble - we are going on an adventure to live long and prosper. 

    Going back in the time - three years before we bought this house, I had lost my job when my mom lost her business. We were in the process of selling our first home and buying a second one. When she suddenly closed her business we were left in limbo. 

    So we moved in with my parents as a temporary fix. 

    It was only supposed to be temporary. 

    And then husband refused to move. I'm not sure why. I think he had a lot of opinions about moving. I tried to return to work, got pregnant, and then I couldn't work. I was exhausted all the time and could not work.

    Later I would find out my iron was extremely low and it even showed up in my blood work, but the doctor didn't treat it. 

    He did not deliver the third child, by the way. I am a firm believer in firing doctors that don't read your test results properly. 

    Three years go by and I can't get Husband to move. He's perfectly comfortable living in someone else's home with very little responsibility besides going to work. Then my mom, says, "I'm kicking you out. Get a trailer, get an apartment, but you need to leave." 

    Well, shit. 

    I did what I've always done. 

    I fixed the problem.

    Since husband refuses to move if it's a trailer or apartment.

    I get a pre approval. We qualify. But I know we'll only be able to afford payments if I have a home daycare. 

    I find a house that will work for a home daycare.

    And that's the one we buy. 

    The neighbor's moving in remind me of the day I had keys and needed to clean our new house. My mother in law offers to get her nieces to come over and help with the scrub down. 

    I couldn't believe it. My relationship with her was shaky and...toxic. But I wouldn't put that together until years later. 

    The crew arrives. My mother in law, her nieces, and their children. I've always felt on the outside of this group of women. Awkward. Unsure. 

    But I couldn't believe they were here to help. And I needed help. My mom had a chronic pain condition and couldn't help. And Husband was at work. 

    We scrubbed and cleaned. A few times I would walk into the room and they would stop talking but I didn't think anything of it. 

    Then one of their kids caught me alone. 

    "Hey, you know why my mom's helping right?" She says, sassy and full of the gossip. Whatever she was trying to hurt me or get her mom in trouble, I would never know. But her words weren't shared with good intentions. 

    I shook my head, feeling the heaviness settled into my gut. "No, why?"

    She leans in, looking around to make sure her mom and aunts are still downstairs. "They said since you're opening a daycare, they wanted to check the place out. They weren't going to help, but they need a new daycare."

    I nodded numbly, a spray bottle in my hand. Of course, there would be a reason for their help. They had never been friendly or generous before - why would things suddenly change? 

    A little while later, they brought up if I was going to offer transportation with my daycare. I said no, I didn't have the vehicle for it. And then they tried to pressure me into reconsidering it. 

     I firmly said no again. 

    They went back to being unfriendly again. 

    I will go back to trying to solve the side quest I need to finish so I can unlock the next map. 

    

I will talk to the cat of destiny for clues. After his nap. 

    

Reaching the End of the Internet

     I'm currently healing from a second surgery. It's a long story, but it started last August with an unexpected hospital stay. Six days in a private room (only because I got lucky and no one showed up to take the second bed), a tube up the nose - because that's like a spa treatment, right? And I got to wear stylish hospital gowns that never seem to completely cover the ass. I also got an Uber to the hospital. Whoops, I mean an ambulance ride. And they are not as comfortable as you think they are. They are bumpy and bouncy and disorienting. Also, the severe bowel obstruction I was suffering from was messing with my brain - because when the paramedic claimed he also had Crohn's. I called him a liar. More than once. 

    Since I usually don't go around calling people liars (out loud)...I'm blaming the life-threatening build up of lactic acid in my bloodstream. 

    Nothing signals to the Crohn's to do something incredibly stupid like actually starting a new job - a full-time job with a signed contract. And that's what I was doing. I was in the second week of new teacher training. Since being a real estate agent hadn't worked out. (Oh, yeah. Your girl here has spent the last five years getting completely off track. Like so far off track - there is no track. I'm just trying to man that train down a grassy hill and it's not working out well. My guardians angels have taken up smoking and drinking just to deal. I can't even blame this on COVID. But wouldn't that be nice. I would love to blame it on something I had no control over. Like the schools blaming the falling test scores on COVID and then you start teaching and realize that the kids are addicted to their devices.) 

    Anyway, enough about that. Lets talk about reaching the end of the internet. I swear - there's an end. I even found it. I reached a video that told me. It said, "You have reached the end of the internet. Take off your shoes, have some tea and look at this cute cat." Well, I'm thinking they put that video at the end so you know you've ran out of internet to look at. And you know it's true, because it was a video of a cat and aren't cat videos the whole reason the internet was invented?

    But before I reached that point, I also learned so many other things like: Five signs I'm Married to a Narcissist? But also a video about Five Signs that I might be a Narcissist? What happened to taking a Buzzfeed quiz to figure your relationship out?

    Also, I know exactly what ten businesses I should invest in next year. But also what ten businesses I shouldn't invest in. Just ignore the fact that some of the businesses are on both lists. That doesn't matter, because if I'm bad ass enough - I can out-business anyone. Or is that out-gym anyone? I have learned to train with my cycle, against my cycle, and also don't lift weights at all. But also, lift weights because you don't want to fall and not be able to get up, right?

    I know I should eat just a carnivore diet. But also, if I want to live to a 100 years I should eat like those Blue people on Islands do. But they also smoke and drink. Should I pick up a vice? 

    Also, rice paper is the new cooking trend this summer. Which I did fall for and tried. And it's actually really delicious. So we'll let that one go. 

    But that might change next week because they turned CERN off and you know. Well, if you know, you know. Right? Wink, wink. Can't wait until they turn it back on and we debate what has changed in the Mandela effect. But I do know that Fruit of the Loom had a different logo at some point, someone died in prison and then didn't die, and also all the movie quotes are incorrect apparently. 'Luke, I'm your father is or isn't correct?' Wait until they turn CERN back on and it's 'Luke, I'm your mom and you better get your ass down here.' 

    I also started watching Jeopardy during my recovery and sometimes the contestants give half names for answers. Well, when I was child, I remembered only full names could be given for an answer. So it must be the Mandela effect, because I can't be wrong. 

    I have learned that I'm not doing enough with my life without following someone with the word BOSS in their name. But I also learned that I'm not too much because I'm apparently a f*cking colorful gremlin with sparkly unicorn powers or something with dragon fire or swords. I'm not sure.  I started following an Asian woman who promised to be my Asian mom, but three videos in I realized I already disappointed her. But she never met my mom, who wasn't Asian, but was a tiny blond German woman. Doesn't sound scary but one time I got a C in music in 3rd grade and I thought the world ended. 

    I learned the secrets to training crows to attack my neighbors, how to earn six figures in two months but they swear it's not drop shipping or a pyramid scheme. I only need to pay for the $99.99 course for them to reveal the secrets. It feels a little Dave Ramsey, who also got rich by telling people to eat rice and beans. I would like to know how many beans he ate. 

    Did I tell you if you act now - they will throw in a free PDF to the secrets of earning seven figures or how to fight the world government - it just depends on what side of the internet you end up on. Just comment whatever magic word they command and the secrets of the universe will be yours. 

    I have discovered the cure for my Crohn's. Basically, I think I need to strip naked, find a mud hole, which around here would be dangerous - it might be cow muck - and do a moon ceremony while reciting the alphabet backwards. But also, apparently, it's all in my head and if I just believe enough it will go away. Or the aliens will beam me up and cure me with their magic powers. I guess those surgeries were unnecessary - if only I had discovered the internet sooner. 

    If you made it this far - well, you're also ready to delve into the internet until you get to the end. I have discovered cats waiting for you and some old man, that says it's the end of the internet and now I can sit on the porch with him. I think I'll pass on that one. 

    But anyway, good luck. I know next time you come back you will have six figures in your bank account, have an army of trained crow assassins at your command, and will have BOSS in your name. 

    In the meantime, I'm signing off the internet to go pet a real cat. It's better than touching grass. Unless you're allergic. Then go touch grass. But not too much because I saw a video about grass and....

    

    

    

Making Mistakes or you know, it's Motherhood

     In the small town next to our small town, we have a gluten free bakery. It's tucked away in a plaza that shares space with the local sanitary district, an occasional used car salesman and various other businesses that survive for six months and then blow away with the constant prairie wind. 

    Years ago I went to a church housed in one of the bigger office spaces. I don't remember much except they had made a spaghetti dinner for after the service and it didn't smell that great. Now, I have been to many a church function and some of those church ladies, they know how to make a spread. This was not one of them. But it was significantly better than the fundraiser I visited this spring inside a church and the church ladies had made boiled hot dogs. Do you know the color of a boiled hot dog? LOL - not a natural one and Baby Blueberry had to have one. 

    Now, to catch up new readers, I must say that Baby Blueberry is no longer a baby, but instead is a teenager. And if you're a reader from the start, then if you feel old, imagine how I feel? I don't feel old until I realize that my surprise baby from a pregnancy in my mid-thirties is now a teenager. This is why poets and songwriters make art about time slipping into the unknown. It is the most elusive element in science. 

    But I digress, as I often do, even in real time conversations. My best friend from when I was a teenager, we will call her SB, often joked about how we would bird walk in our conversations. When I moved half way across country, we were pen pals for a while and then it slowly died out. I missed her. Sometimes there's nothing as intense as a teenage best friend, besides maybe first love. A couple of years ago I started to get the intense urge to look her up. I would dream about her. She would pop into my head uninvited. 

    And so I looked her up. Her obit was the third down on the search. She had died just shortly before that of cancer. At 43. Grief is hard. Regret of not connecting again before she was gone is harder. 

    She had ended up being a fifth grade teacher. Something she had adamantly said she would never be. And now, I'm teaching fifth grade. Also, something I had said I would never do either. I wish we could joke about that. She would enjoy the irony in it. 

    But again I digress and now we go back to the bakery. This bakery is a must visit if you ever come to my area of the world. The baker has worked countless hours to make goods that taste delicious. Not it's pretty good for gluten free, but actually yummy. And so the other day I had the Husband, who does not get the moniker Hero Hottie anymore, because that relationship is in murky waters, pick up two blueberry lemon muffins. One for Baby Blueberry and one for me. 

    I did not eat it that day. I'm recovering from the second of two major abdominal surgeries - thank you Crohn's- and was not hungry yet. 

    The next day I went to get it out of the fridge and I find one muffin with the delicious and best part of the muffin - the top munched by someone else. I started crying and fuming. How could someone eat my muffin? I angrily toss it in the air fryer and ate the bottom of my muffin. 

    A little while later...Baby Blueberry is searching through the fridge, pulls out a whole muffin, not touched and munched and asks, "Where is my muffin? I was saving the bottom of it to eat later." 

    I stare at the untouched blueberry muffin and then look at her. I look back at the muffin and realized that I had grabbed her saved muffin. I sigh. 

    I tell her what happened and then offer my whole, untouched muffin in return. It does seem rather petty to demand the top of the muffin. The best part. The part she now gets to have two of, but I graciously offer my muffin to her. 

    She shared a bit of it, since she realized I didn't get a whole muffin. But man, I really missed eating my entire treat. So the mistake I mentioned in the title - you thought it would be me confessing to some mistake with my child? No, it's the mistake of grabbing the wrong treat in the fridge, believing someone had taken mine, not bothering to look further because if I had, I would have found it, and then missing out of the best part of the muffin. 

    If only I could have hidden my muffin in my secret chocolate stash in my underwear drawer. I used to hide the chocolate in the cupboard, but they - the children - found it. So it had to go where no child is going to search - their Mom's underwear drawer. 

    Anyway, that is how good those bakery treats are - that I wrote a blog about a missing muffin top. Maybe I should put that in a Google review? 

 And also, having treats and kids is the definition of a paradox. 

Unspoken Dangers

    I'm not too terribly fond of statistics. I think most are misrepresented in some shape or form. Either they are calculated by the company who obviously wants them to say something a certain way; or an important bit of information is left out.
    It's like making apple pie without listing apples on the recipe. You almost have a pie of some sort and some people might eat a brown sugar and crust pie but you're missing the main idea.

    Taking prescriptions is a lot like that. We assume they're safe because the FDA told us so and they have their 'studies' and statistics to prove it. That doctor surely would research what he's giving us before he signs his name on that prescription and obviously these drugs are suppose to cure us. Why question that?

    But if you start to research statistics on deaths and serious injuries from using prescription drugs; and I'm talking about more than just teenagers raiding their parents' medicine cabinet for a quick fix. I'm talking about taking a drug as prescribed by the doctor than you will find that your chances of dying or being seriously wounded are quite high.

   In some causes, high enough that we have to wonder why we just blindly pop these pills the doctors hand us and assume that they will make us better and not worse. Should we start to demand a little bit more research; a little bit more effort on our government's part to assure our safety?
   Yes. We should. Because some reports state that over a 100,000 people die a year from taking prescriptions or OTC medications.

   So either the numbers from the actual FDA's Adverse Event Reporting System are wrong. Or the info packets they hand out with our drugs where it says a 'very, rare and small portion of the population may die a sudden and violent death from taking our product' are wrong. Oh, wait they don't even say that do they? Umm, someone is wrong.

   But let me explain where my doubts of our medicine system really started....
    First it was the doctor insisting that I could take the Remicade even though it would up my risk of cancer. I started to have doubts then. Why trade one disease for another?

   Then when my surgeon took me off the narcotics and prescribed me Ultram.
   And that's when my life nose dived downhill. I was slowly starting to get better before that point. The wound was healing, the pain was marginally better and the Crohn's was slowly fading back into it's remission state.
   And then I took the Ultram. Now, usually I avoid most drugs. They upset my Crohn's and a temporary ache or pain or cold is much more tolerable to deal with than the stomach pains the Crohn's can cause.
   But with the Ultram I had nothing. No upset stomach, no cramping, no unsightly bowel movements. So I figured it must have been okay.

   It helped with the pain enough. It wasn't quite as good as the narcotic but it was sufficient. But then over the next few weeks my health weakened. The fistula wound was trying to get more infected again. Another lump of something painful formed under the other bottom cheek. And I was losing weight, despite eating.
   The girls were quickly losing their Mommy and Bean took to raiding the cupboards whenever she wanted. Not because I wasn't feeding them. I would still drag myself from the bed, get their meals, give Abu her shots and collapse onto the couch. It was pitiful. I felt horrible.
   The wound in my bottom forced me to wear pajama bottoms all the time. Jeans would rub against it. So I felt horribly undressed. I would clean up for the day; but nothing more. There was no pride in myself.
   I was depressed and dark and wounded. Later I would find out that Ultram messes with your emotions; causing changes in your mood. Would have been nice to know sooner.

   The girls did what they wanted. We didn't have structure or routine. I interfered when they would fight but if they weren't destroying something or hurting themselves; than I allowed them to do pretty much whatever. The house was always a mess; toys ran from one room to the next in huge piles. Their room was cluttered.
    I managed to do the dishes sometimes; my Mom would do the rest. Hero Hottie took care of the trash, and the shopping, and cleaning my wound in the evening, and errands, and working two jobs. The chasm was never wider and I wonder now, why he didn't just walk out? And then I'm extremely grateful that he didn't.

    The surgeon on one of my check ups looked at me quite seriously and said that because of my Crohn's there was a chance; a slightly large chance; that the fistula might never, ever heal completely. Translation: You will have to stick cotton gauze into an open wound in your bottom cheek forever. It means days lived with massive pain, possible infection, no sex and pretty much living in hell.

    Dark days after that. How is one supposed to process a statement like that? I would sit in the tub of warm water, staring blankly at the walls until the temperature of the water was as cold and numbing as the inside of me. I had little girls that I could barely take care of; a husband that was near his own point of collapse and a life I didn't know how to fix.

   The walls unfortunately held no answers for me.

   I continued to lose weight. And the lump in my bottom grew. Summer waned into autumn. A wasted summer where we at least tried to make it out back to play, even if I just sat there and watched them. But we didn't hardly leave the house.
   The doctor's office and the surgery place started sending me letters asking why I wasn't paying them that much money. Because I didn't have it. I didn't have insurance.
    Even with Hero Hottie working two jobs; the bills grew. I started pulling cash off our credit cards to pay for utilities and food and medicine.
    Somehow; we managed to pay our mortgage even though we didn't have enough money. I still try to figure that one out and the numbers still don't make sense. There wasn't enough money to pay it. Yet, we managed. Faith; is all I have to say about that one.

    The GI doctor's only answer was Remicade and he was unwilling to put me on any other of the regular drugs I usually went on when the Crohn's flared up. But hey, if I joined the Remicade club I would get this really cool fuzzy blanket to use while the IV drug that might cause cancer, pumped into my system.
    Wow, a blanket. How thoughtful, while you're charging me thousands of dollars per treatment. That is generous. And who pays for the side effects if I happen to be one of those people that develops problems?

   I was at a lost. I felt like I was slowly starving inside a body that was being fed. I was drowning in dark, depressed moods and my faith was at it's lowest point ever.