I meant to blog yesterday, but I was in so much pain from the paracentesis that I was in a funky mood. Or maybe it wasn't just the pain, I dono, I did a lot of thinking yesterday. I was home alone all day, and I mean like really alone, I don't have pets right now so I was the only living thing here, I was a little surprised how much of a difference that would make. In addition, I spent a lot of time pondering the fact that I am so strangely content with sitting in silence for hours. I had no urge to put on music or watch tv or anything, just stare and think, I'm not all too sure this is healthy, but it is what it is.
On the bright side as of yesterday I am 20 days sober, with no urges at all, no meds controlling that urge. While I am very proud of myself it still pisses me off that it took damn near dying twice, and put into an ongoing battle to not die. It ills me that now I am as physically weak as I always have been mentally. It seems obvious to me, my hair, eyes, complexion, varices, wrinkley fingertips, sickly skinny arms. But all strangers see is a soon to be new mom, in her 20s, glowing. I get these comments all the time, my mood and the type of person determines my reaction. I mostly contain the snarkey...borderline straight up verbal tear down that I have down to an art. I found that I am not all too good at controlling it at the hospital. When (on more than a few occasions) a tech, or sometimes even an RN, would look at me with that awww you're having a baby look that would always be followed by some comment that would just strike a nerve. First, if I were as prego as I look, I would be in the MATERNITY ward you fucking idiot. Second, at least ACT like you are trying to do your job, and read my fucking chart before coming into my room. Lets just say on more than one occasion, I was given a new nurse. "Oh, but that's so terrible of you Amanda, you're so mean" fuck that, no good deed goes unpunished. To the ones I just say think you, or don't feel like verbally beating someone in the face with a bat, and I play along, "Oh, thank you, I'm due blah blah blah" That would be the "kind" thing to do. Ya, what happens when I run into the presumptuous twat weeks later, how do you think thats gonna go? Not well, Not well at all for anyone involved.
Since I appear to be on a roll venting and stuff, something else I was thinking about. I was texting with friend of mine who is very upset by my situation and condition was asking how am I doing, basically how am I holding myself together knowing that there is a damn good chance I wont live to see my son go to middle school. I don't remember what I told her, but I'm sure it wasn't the truth. No one can really understand, I will try to explain it, but you'd have to walk a few miles in my shoes to actually understand. I've known, for a long time, that it was going to come to this. I've known I would die young since I was like 16, in many ways and on many occasions I have mourned my own death. This is why I didn't want kids, although I knew I would be a great mom, until I wasn't. I hide all this from him, although I know he suspects something, he doesn't know. It has been suggested to me a few times that I talk to Payton about what is going on with me, and the answer is NO! Somehow some people forget that I went through some similar shit with my mom. But point being, I've known to some degree or another for a damn long time. Hell, I've been working on my own funeral arrangements for years. But this does not mean I am not scared and regretful, I guess I'm just jaded. I stay strong for other people, not so much myself, when I die thats it for me, but everyone else will have that burden to bear.
Ok, thats enough depressing shit for today. In other news although I was in terrible pain, I had to go to the store to pick up the pain meds my doc FINALLY called in (in his defence, he called me from his house at 6pm to check on me) But anyway, I made dinner with the few cooking supplies left in my apartment. Of course I could only eat a little of it, Scott seemed to enjoy it.
