PMDD Can Suck It

I have PMDD (Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder).

I have read that PMDD is PMS times a zillion.

That was a quote from a doctor, not someone who suffers from PMDD.

I quite agree with that doctor.

Actually, I think that doctor is an absolute genius.

Today my PMDD is rearing its big, fat, ugly head.

You may have heard of the funny meanings of PMS; Pass My Shotgun, Pester My Spouse, Potential Murder Suspect.

But what about PMDD?

Popping My Depression Drugs, Pardon My Detestable Demeanor, or Probable Murder; Downright Defendable seems most fitting.

It's days like this that make me totally okay with the fact that some animals eat their young and certain insects kill their mates.

A Mother's Anxiety

As you all know, W. was born with a heart defect. At only five days old, he needed to undergo a heart operation.

It was a life changing experience for me.

We spent two weeks in the Children's Hospital of Philadelphia. We searched the faces of the doctors and nurses for answers. Did our baby have a future? As we listened to machines beep, we watched our baby fight for his life.

And he did just that. He battled through it like a heavy weight champ.

We went home, only to return two weeks later. He had developed an infection in the wound. He needed to be opened back up.

When I left CHOP the first time, I did so thinking (praying?) that I would never return. Yet, there I was again.

From that point on, for a very long time, if W. so much as sniffled, I would begin to panic. What's wrong? Is he okay? Do we have to go back there?!

It was irrational thinking, I know. But with time and biannual checkups, my worries faded.

He is now almost twelve years old and we've never been back. We are truly blessed, as W. is living a healthy life.

He is so healthy that he has decided to join the track team at school. Of course, due to his medical history, the school physician needs clearance from W.'s cardiologist, Dr. A.

Dr. A. has strongly recommended that W. take some tests to permanently clear him for all sports in school. An MRI and a Nuclear Stress Test were ordered to be performed at CHOP. He'll most likely need anesthesia for the MRI. He'll most definitely need IV's for both.

I could picture the ICU in my mind. I could hear the beeps of the machines. I could smell the hand soap that I used so many times that my hands became raw.

The familiar knot returned to my chest.

As I type this, Mr. Schmitty and W. are on their way to Philadelphia. I needed to stay here to care for my other two children.

It is killing me not to be there. But I'm thinking, they are probably better off without me.

And I'll Cry If I Want To

Warning: If you didn't come here to partake in my party of pity, you may want to excuse yourself and leave. Please leave any alcohol you may have brought with you, I am going to need it and don't feel like leaving my cave home to get my own.

So, let's see, where to start....hmmmm. Well, as some of you might have noticed, I haven't blogged in over a week. I missed my Take Us Back In Time Tuesday post yesterday. The one you see there? Last week's post.

I'm not sure exactly what is wrong with me, as of late. I think I might be depressed. Again.

Yea, I've been through this before. I'm usually the anxiety type of girl. I tend to run with panic attacks more than the blues. But depression has visited me in the past, so, I am aware of my current state.

I haven't blogged much, because quite honestly, I just haven't felt like it. I haven't done much of anything in the past few weeks. I closed my business temporarily, in June. I can't come to a decision if I should reopen. I look at projects that I've wanted to do and then turn and walk away. I pick up books and magazines and then put them right back down again.

I pretty much meander around my house and then sit at the computer to stare blankly at Facebook. I don't go out much. The kids play with their friends and I hang around and watch them.

Even when I've ventured out, it's because I've MADE myself go. I plaster a smile on my face and just do it. But inside my thoughts, I want to go home, to be left alone.

I'm feeling weak. I can't stand feeling weak.

I have a great life. There are people I know going through so much worse than I right now. I should just shut the hell up and put on my big girl drawers.

But I can't seem to.

I think my sudden mood swing is a combination of burdens. The normal, day-to-day pressures that are weighing me down. The kids, money, the house, marriage, my business. You know, just LIFE.

I'm upset with myself. I so desperately want to lose weight. I saw photos of myself from this past weekend and was so utterly disgusted with what I saw.

I cried.

But as it sometimes goes, momma is the last to get attention. By the time I take care of everyone and everything else, I'm spent. I don't have the time or energy to focus on ME.

Living with PCOS and PMDD is making the journey that much harder. PCOS causes excess weight gain that is more difficult to take off. I need to eat properly and exercise more. The insulin resistance issues of the PCOS means I should eat six small meals a day. I'm lucky if I get one and then I wind up eating junk late at night when the kids go to bed. Horrible for my type of metabolism. I also can't take the Metformin medication, which can help with the weight problem, because I experience negative side effects. When on the pills, I was a zombie for six weeks.

I don't sleep well, which is caused by my PMDD. I toss and turn all night long and usually wake exhausted. Throw in an average day as a mom with three kids, a dog, a cat, a husband, and a house to wrangle, and there is NO WAY I'm going to jump on a treadmill too.

I'm feeling like....WTF!

I don't seem to know how to get all of these things under control. Instead, I'm shutting down.

False Advertising

I keep reading about the health benefits of omega-3 essential fatty acids, DHA (docosahexaenoic acid) and EPA (eicosapentaenoic acid). In other words, fish.

These omega-3's found in fish and fish oils are being said to help the developing brains of children. There are also claims that they help in behavior issues, such as; ADHD and OCD. In adults, cold-water species of fish, such as salmon, halibut and tuna can help prevent neurodegenerative diseases. It's also great for the heart!

We don't eat a lot of fish. For one reason, right now, it's extremely expensive. The second? I'm not a huge lover of it and neither are my kids.

We enjoy the occasional flounder. We've even tried wild turbot. But frankly, that's about it.

But who doesn't want a smart kid? And I would definitely like a hand in the ADHD tendencies that my oldest exhibits. Also, I ain't getting any younger...so keeping the old ticker beating is really a priority for me.

Plus, I sometimes fall for the current hype or trend. Remember the fat free stage? Yea, my insulin resistance thanks me for all the extra sugar that one provided.

Anyway, while at the store the other day, I went down the vitamin aisle. I found a bottle of children's Gummy Fish packed with Omega-3's. In big, BOLD letters it announced, "NO FISHY TASTE!" and "KIDS WILL LOVE THE FRUIT FLAVORS!" I then found a similar bottle for nutritionally challenged adults.

I was excited. We'll get healthy one way or another, dammit!! And my kids will be geniuses to boot!

I sat at the dining room table with the kid's Gummy Multivitamins, that they love, and the new bottle of pure magic. I wanted them to take the fish pill first, in case they weren't as delicious as the multivitamin.

Curious, T. and R. flanked either side of me. I smiled and opened the bottle. I popped my thumb through the protective seal and......

OH MY LORD!! The smell from the bottle assaulted my sinuses as though I had been sucker punched in the nose. My head flew back with such force I thought I might need a neck brace.

I recovered as quickly as I could and smiled. "Here T., take this first and then the other!" He's like Mikey the Life Cereal kid. I knew I could use him as a guinea pig.

He popped it in his mouth and chewed. He made a bit of a face and said, "It tastes a little weird." But he seemed to shrug it off. "I'll take W.'s to him." He grabbed another and ran downstairs to his brother.

A few seconds later I heard, "EWWWWW!", feet running to the bathroom, and then, "PPPFTT!" as it was spit into the garbage can.

Shit.

I looked at R. She's not as trusting as her brothers. Or as gullible. Her eyes all but shouted, "NO WAY!"

"Here you go, honey, here is yours," I said enthusiastically.

The crocodile tears began. "NOOoOooooO!" She whined.

"Look baby, I have some too!!" I plucked up my bottled, held it away from my nose, and opened it. "Let's take ours together!"

"You first!" She countered.

I looked in the bottle, took one out and placed it in my mouth. I began to chew....HOLY MOTHER OF GOD!!! I started to chug my Diet Pepsi that was on the table. I gulped the putrid piece of nastiness down. The soda was not helping. The little sucker stuck in my throat and slowly made its way down into my stomach.

It tasted like ass. I would have rather have puked in my mouth than eat another.

I threw the bottles straight into the trash.

I looked at R. she looked quite pleased with herself. I'm thinking this chick really might not need any DHA. She's smart enough.

The Bug From Hell or How NOT to spend Valentine's Day Weekend

Saturday, Feb. 14th, 1:45 am: I just settled into bed. Mr. Schmitty and I stayed up; he playing Xbox and I reading blogs.

2 am: R. comes into my room saying her tummy hurts. She proceeds to vomit into the garbage can. (Why do they always vomit in the middle of the night?)

2 - 5 am: I, propped up on pillows, watch my daughter and fade in and out of sleep, waking periodically to hold the garbage can under her chin.

5 am: Switch places with Mr. Schmitty because I'm delirious.

5 - 10 am: R. continues to get sick off and on. She is bundled up on the couch watching a Spongebob marathon. She isn't even interested in the Valentine's Day gift she got.

10 am - Sunday, Feb. 15th, 5 am: R. has managed to hold down liquids and some cheerios. She seems like she is doing okay. It must have only been a 12 hour bug.

5:05 am: R. vomits again. WTF?!

5:05 - 5 pm: R. flip flops back and forth from being able to keep liquid down for a while and then, just when you think it's over, it starts again.

5 pm: Suddenly Mr. Schmitty doesn't feel well. He rushes to the bathroom. He begins the nightmare.

5:10 pm: Now I become nauseous.

5:30 pm: I run to the bathroom.

5:30 - 6:15 pm: Mr. Schmitty is in the upstairs bathroom. I am in the downstairs bathroom. My daughter is in the living room with a garbage can. I run back and forth between my toilet and her. The boys don't know what to do with themselves. I'm trying to keep them away but they want to help.

6:30 pm: R. falls asleep on the couch. I am lying in the hallway outside of the bathroom with my head on the step going into the laundry room. Mr. Schmitty practically crawls downstairs to me. We call the neighbor who is a member of the town first aid.

6:35 pm: He comes over, accesses and calls an ambulance.

Now, nothing the Schmitty's do is without excitement, so picture this:

When the neighbor called the ambulance, he was sent to the county dispatch instead of our town first aid. He said he had a family with flu-like symptoms. They thought maybe CO poisoning (Carbon Monoxide), so they sent police, the fire chief, a fire truck, AND an ambulance. The neighborhood was lit up like the 4th of July.

We are close to a lot of neighbors so EVERYONE was out there. R. was carried out. I was helped out by a police officer because I thought I might pass out, and Mr. Schmitty was almost forgotten in the john. My brother-in-law came to watch the boys until my sister-in-law could get here. He wouldn't come near the house so he stayed with them in the car. (wimp-ass)

Once we got to the hospital, they gave us IV fluids and meds to stop the vomiting and stomach cramping. Mr. Schmitty and I were discharged at midnight but R. needed to stay overnight for more fluids. He and I stayed, sleeping on chairs, until she was discharged at 4 pm on Monday.

The hubby just HAD to take this from HIS bed. Don't I look lovely? Look at my sleeping angel.

We are all home. The boys, thankfully haven't shown any signs of coming down with it yet. R. is doing great. Mr. Schmitty and I are still feeling like we got run over, repeatedly, by a MACK truck. But we're getting there......little by little.

If He Only Knew What He Said

The kids are sick with congestion and coughs. Last night T. woke me up at midnight, he was crying that his ear hurt. Great. Why does this stuff always happen during the night?

I took him downstairs with me to sleep in the spare bedroom, as I was afraid he would wake up everyone in the house. My poor baby. I felt awful for him.

While we waited for the Motrin I gave him to kick in, I tried everything I could think of to help relieve the pain; I had him blow his nose, I sprayed saline in his nostrils to help, I then used a bulb syringe to suck out the boogers when he didn't WANT to blow anymore, I gave him more decongestant, I placed Debrox drops in to clear his ear canal (he gets horrible wax build-up), and I held a hot compress against the ear. Finally something worked and he fell back asleep....

...for about two more hours. And then he was up again. It was like that way for the entire night.

This morning I took the three of them to the Pediatrician, who after examining them, filled out three prescriptions for antibiotics. W. and R. for sinus infections and T. for a double ear infection. All the infections were just beginning, so hopefully the Amoxicillian will nip it in the bud.

When we were through, we of course stopped at the front desk, you know, for the good behavior sticker. After rifling through the entire basket, a dozen or so times, they each picked a sticker of a different breed of dog.

W. showed me his sticker on the way out of the office. It was a picture of a Burmese Sheepdog.

I said to him, "That's a beautiful dog. When I was young, I had a dog with the same color markings."

"What kind of dog was it?" My son asked.

"Well, she was a mix breed and she looked like both of her parents. Her body looked like a Collie and her head looked like a Beagle."

"So, you had a Kegel!" He enthusiastically replied.

I almost fell down the steps as I went into hysterics.

Please Say A Prayer

I found out today that a very dear friend has two tumors in her breast. She is scheduled for a mastectomy. The results of the tests that she has had so far, reveal that the cancer has NOT spread anywhere else. We so desperately hope that once the operation takes place, that this will indeed, be the case.

My friend is a tough cookie. When she broke the news to me she was her usual sarcastically funny self. I told her she didn't need to be with me.

Only then did she say, "I'm fucking scared, I really don't want to die."

God, I really don't want her to either.

Leave No Child Indoors

"American children, ages 3 to 12, spend 27 percent of their time with electronic media, 1 percent outdoors.

The average American 2-year-old spends more than four hours a day with electronic devices, and 29 percent have a television in their room.

Unstructured activities account for 30 minutes a week.

Half of all American children will be overweight by 2010.

And by the way, did you know that 80 percent of the Ritalin in the world is consumed in the United States, mostly by kids?"

All of the above statistics were quoted in an article published by a local newspaper. I received this link today from my friend and neighbor who attended the conference - "Leave No Child Indoors: Nature in the Lives of Young Children".

The speaker, Ken Finch, an environmental educator from Omaha, Nebraska, points out that children today are not left to be, just that; children.

"Childhood is not about cognitive learning, it's about play," he says. "The good news: We're starting to understand this.

"The other good news: Kids haven't changed. It's there innately, the love of nature. But it has to be activated."

The man is completely on target. I know with my own children, they some times get so caught up in video games, television, and iPods that I almost have to throw them out into the fresh air.

Do you remember when you were a kid? I know when I was young, I was out from morning until dark. I didn't go home, except for meals. We climbed trees, biked, roller skated, played tennis and baseball, and we formed teams for manhunt. We got dirty.

Look outside your window on a sunny day. You don't see that, do you? I've commented more than once that kids just don't do those things, as much, anymore. Instead they will play baseball using a controller and a television set.

Now, I like my computers and my electronic devices too. I understand the appeal of technology. What I also understand, after thinking about this article, is that I too have forgotten about getting out into the fresh air. I've gotten lazy and too dependant upon my gadgets. I need to take my children and go for a hike. Dig for earthworms. Work up a sweat. And interact with nature.

So, who's with me?

National Breast Cancer Awareness Month

October is a very important month for women. It is the month that Breast Cancer is pushed into the forefront. Everyone is talking about the disease that has affected over 2 million women in the United States.

But it's one month. What about the other eleven?

I don't know about you, but I pay attention in October. But life takes over and by the end of November I'm worrying about what size turkey to stuff and how many shopping days are left until Christmas.

I am ashamed to admit this. I haven't been to my gynecologist in over two years. Circumstances lead me to cancel past appointments. I am 41 years old and have not had my first mammogram yet.

I know.

I have been spared, thus far, of having this beast hit close to home. My family and I have dodged the bullet. That's not to say I will continue to be so lucky. It's sometimes a crap shoot.

Here I am, thinking of the pledge I made LAST October. I vowed to get in to see that doctor and to schedule my mammogram. I guess I'm not very good at keeping promises to myself. I am going to try again. On Monday, I.WILL.MAKE.THAT.APPOINTMENT! This time I am promising all of the brave survivors out there. I might not take myself seriously, but for you, I will do the responsible thing.

Would you like to help out Stage IV Breast Cancer Patients? Then I ask you to take a virtual walk with me and my dear friend and fellow Jersey Girl, Liz of This Full House. Visit the Gal to Gal Walk and create a walker for yourself by donating $5.00 to their cause. Search for Team "This Full House" to walk with Liz and I. Let me know in comments if you have joined us so I can add you to my walk page.

Now, go lie down and prod those ta-tas!

The Dreaded C Word

Lately, I feel I have been surrounded by the C word. And no, not THAT C word, I'm not talking about vajayjays here.

Cancer. That *shiver* C word.

It all started when I received a friend request on Facebook. It was from the sister of a high school classmate. A classmate who had passed on October 28, 2000, after battling Melanoma. I read her story at Kate's Foundation, a website dedicated to making others aware of the dangers of the sun and this horrible disease.

One night, while on Twitter, Karen posted a message about her friend Lisa at Clusterfook. Lisa is a three-time cancer fighter. She was diagnosed in 2004 with Ovarian Cancer. What strikes me about Lisa is her strength. Her main concern is to make sure her family is taken care of. Her medical bills are draining, so if you can help, please stop by her place and make a donation. She doesn't want hers to be a sob story...it is what it is.

This past week the blogging community has been thrown into worry over Midwestern Mommy's ordeal. She was admitted to the hospital with severe stomach pain and after reviewing two CT scans, an emergency room doctor informed her that she had cancer. Lisa was told it could be Colon Cancer or Lymphoma. Tests are still being performed to find out exactly what she is up against. Please stop by her blog and send her some positive thoughts and prayers.

The Perfect Post Awards for July were announced yesterday. Lindsay at Suburban Turmoil nominated Andrea of Punk Rock Mommy. The submitted post was published after Andrea's passing from Inflammatory Breast Cancer. It was her last blog post. A true Mom until the end, her story is heartbreaking, yet inspiring. Her husband and six children are continuing their story. See how they are living through the tragedy and loss of Andrea.

Yesterday I needed to go back to my dermatologist. I had gone a few weeks ago for my annual checkup and during the appointment a dark mole was removed from my right ear. I received a call a few days ago that the mole had tested positive for abnormal cells. The doctor wanted me to come in and have just a little more taken off.

So, off I went. What's another chunk out of my ear? That's why I keep the hair long, yes?

I was sitting in the examination room, looking at the instruments on the table, trying not to envision them cutting my ear. The doctor walked in, and after a few minutes of small talk, says, "Good thing you came in for your checkup. The cells were very abnormal. If you had not come in when you did, the mole would have turned into a Melanoma."

WTF? I felt like I got kicked in the nuts, if I had 'em.

She began excising the already healing hole in my ear. She needed to remove a larger, deeper area. She will let me know what pathology reports. She would like to see me in six months.

Apparently that was all. She told me to make sure I wear a hat and sunblock and keep an eye on my moles. She said goodbye and left the room.

I sat for a few minutes, a little shell shocked. I grabbed my purse and left.

She apparently doesn't know me very well. That is NOT all where I am concerned. I am a worrier. I am a pessimist that always dwells on the worse case scenario. I FREAK THE FUCK OUT at things like this.

On the drive home, I lose my shit.

But then, I remember the stories I have read in the past weeks. I wipe my eyes. I take a deep breath and tell myself to put on my big girl panties. I tell the voices in my head to shut the hell up. I am okay. I am lucky and blessed that it was caught before it became the C word.

Katie, Lisa, Lisa, and Andrea, please accept my apology for being an insensitive jerk. I think I need to learn a bit about dignity from the four of you.

In A Very Bad Place Today

It is 8:30 pm and I am finally sitting in silence. The kids are in their rooms watching television and Mr. Schmitty is working. I am trying to write this post, but I'm having a hard time putting words together. I have too many thoughts running through my head. I can't make them stop, or at least slow down, so I can grasp one.

I've had a very rough day. I'm at the bottom of a deep, deep well and I'm trying to claw my way to the top. Just when I think I see the ledge, and a slight bit of hope begins to seep into my heart, I slip back down into the darkness. There is no one to call out to. No one to pull me up. My pride, flat-out, won't have it. I am stubbornly self-reliant, one of my greatest assets, yet, one of my greatest flaws.

I've been here before. My current state is familiar, but for some reason, today is the worst I have yet to experience. I know I'll pull through it, I always do, but each time I do, I feel like a piece of me has been crushed. I only pray I haven't crushed the souls of anyone else, specifically, my beautiful children. Whereas, I try to go through the routine of the day, normally, a smile plastered on my face, my children do seem to have a sense that something isn't quite right.

Mommy is sad and they are fully aware.

The depression today is making me a zombie. I am caught inside myself, looking out through my eyes, as though they are windows. I'm not really here. Not the real me anyway.

On my chest is a ten pound weight. It's not pressing exceedingly hard, only enough that I realize it's there. It's the same when the anxiety strikes, always that barely detectable pressure on my chest.

I know my issues are hormonal. I suffer from both PCOS (Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome) and PMDD (Premenstrual Dysphoric Disorder). The symptoms of each disorder is draining enough, but the combination of the two makes me, at times, believe I will lose complete control.

The PMDD causes hormonal ups and downs. The symptoms are many, and I experience most of them, if not all, throughout every month. My PCOS has caused me almost a decade of infertility issues, insulin resistance, which accounted for my Gestational Diabetes times three, excessive weight gain, and other, more annoying problems.

The syndrome certainly doesn't help the disorder and vice versa.

I am caught in a constant, vicious cycle.

So, my dear friends. That is where I am right now. I take medication to assist in easing my depression/anxiety, and most days it does it's job. However, some days, not so much. Today is one of those days.

Thank you for coming to my pity party and letting me vent. Make sure to sign the guestbook on your way out.

I'm going to bed.

What's A Few More Grey Hairs?

W. began to complain of a pain in his chest. Those words being uttered from W.'s mouth, are ALL I need to hear, to get thrown into a tizzy. A full fledged freak out moment of concern is completely justified because of THIS and THIS. I went into panic Mommy Mode and proceeded to badger the crap out of ask him a million and one few questions.

"Where exactly does it hurt?"
"Does it hurt to breathe?"
"Is it hard to breathe?"
"Does it hurt anywhere else?"
"Do you feel dizzy?"
"Do you know where mommy's Xanax is?"

He pointed to the area above his stomach and with his finger made a circular motion.
It only hurts when he sits up or moves in a certain direction.
No.
He had a slight headache.
No.
He thought it was next to the empty bottle of wine.

Mr. Schmitty and I agreed that it was better to be safe than sorry. He grabbed his car keys and insurance card so he could take W. to the emergency room. I made sure he had money, as he might have to grab lunch and dinner a snack from the vending machine. More than likely he'd be sitting all freaking day a while in the waiting room.

The doctor did an EKG and a chest X-ray. He examined W. and assured Mr. Schmitty that it was not his heart or his lungs. He believed it was muscular from swimming and playing. W. just needs to take it easy for a few days and the pain should clear up.

Hallelujah!

Did you feel that? That rush of air? That was me, I finally stopped holding my breath.

Stop Calling Me Evander!

Last week W. and I went for our annual dermatology appointments. After writing this post, I was a little anxious to go. I've never had any major problems in the past, just a few benign moles removed, as a precaution. Yet, I always worry because of the frequent sunburns I had during my teen years.

W. has been seeing Dr. M. for about four or five years. He has Vitiligo and some very large moles. Nothing can be done for the Vitiligo, we've tried steroid creams, to no avail. His moles are more the issue, so she measures and photographs them. She has hinted that some may need to come off in the next few years. But we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

When he was done with his checkup he hopped off the table and started playing his new Guitar Hero for DS, that he got for his birthday. I replaced him on the table and the Dr. started examining me.

"Did you always have this mole on the back of your ear?" She asked me.

"I don't know, I can't really see the back of my ear. Why? Is it bad?" I nervously responded.

"No, just I've never seen it and it's pretty dark. I'm going to take it off."

When W. heard this, he jumped right up.

"Can I watch?" Boys, they are so gross.

The doctor numbed the area with a needle prick. Thankfully needles don't bother me much, because W. kept telling me what was coming, step by step.

Suddenly he yells, "OW MOM, that must have hurt! EWWWW! You have a hole in your ear!"

Then he asks the doctor, "Can I see the mole? COOOOOL! Can I keep it?!"

He was totally serious and TOTALLY disappointed when he was told it needed to go to the lab.

Boys, they are SO gross. But I think we already established that.

Today I finally took off the bandage for good. I've been cleaning the wound and replacing the Spiderman Bandaid every day. Yes, Spiderman, what can I say, that's all I had. It was very much a fashion statement all week.

I decided to get a good look to see how it was healing. The mole was removed on the edge of my ear, more toward the back, right in the middle. I bent my ear forward and looked in the mirror.

OH.MY.GOD.I'VE.GOT.A.HOLE.IN.MY.EAR!! It looks like a small animal took a chunk out of my ear or one of the kids got me with a hole punch. In hindsight, I'm not sure, but I may have taken my chances with that mole because OH.MY.GOD.I'VE.GOT.A.HOLE.IN.MY.EAR!!

If Mr. Schmitty calls me Evander Holyfield one more time, I swear he's going to get an uppercut to the jaw!

UPDATE: Hey EE...you wanted a picture, here it is!! Though the picture doesn't do it much justice as you can't see the depth OF.THE.HOLE.IN.MY.EAR!! *snort.

Kate's Foundation

Last night I was on my Facebook account and saw that I had a friend request. I just love friend requests!

I have never received a request from anyone I do not already know or at least recognize. Most are from the mommy blogosphere. This request, however, was different. First of all, the account was not opened with a person's real name but a sort of pseudonym. Rare Meat wanted to be my friend. Hmmmm....interesting.

I normally would have just denied the request, but I was curious. Something told me to check this one out. Maybe a little whisper in my ear? On Facebook you must accept the request to view the person's profile. I could always remove the "friend" later, if need be.

I clicked on the accept button and proceeded to Rare Meat's profile page. I clicked on View Photos of Rare. There was only one picture. The face was vaguely familiar, but I couldn't quite place the woman looking back at me. She seemed to be about my age. Yes, I know her, but from where or when?

I went back to her profile page and started scanning for other clues. I saw a website address. www.katesfoundation.com. It hit me.

Quite a few years ago I had heard, through high school friends, that a girl I had grown up with, had passed away from skin cancer. Rare Meat, I realized, was a woman named Amy, the sister of my classmate. She had graduated high school with MY sister. I went back to the picture. It had been over two decades, but it was clear to me now, this was indeed Amy.

I thought back to my school years. Kate, or Katie as I remember her, and I were not friends. That's not to say we were enemies, we just traveled in different circles. We did know each other, somewhat, as we did attend all 12 years of school together. We also attended religion classes in the same parish, in the same small town. I even believe we were cheerleaders together for Pee-Wee Football during 6th grade.

I remember hearing of her passing and thinking how sad her family must be. I thought, "What a horrible ordeal Katie must have gone through."

I clicked on Kate's Foundation link on Amy's Facebook profile. There I read the heartbreaking story of Katie's diagnosis and illness as retold by her father. I also came to know of how strong and giving she was.

Kate began her Foundation before she lost the battle to Melanoma in October of 2000. Amy and her family have carried on her memory by continuing to educate people on the dangers of this horrible disease.

I worry about skin cancer, as I am fair skinned with a lot of moles. I have not always taken care of myself in the sun. I recall many bad burns during my teen years. I never wore sunblock. For God's sake, I used baby oil and a foil covered record album to tan my face!

Thankfully I have taken better care of my children than I did myself. My son, W., has Vitiligo and he also has some pretty large moles, though only 10. I make sure to use sunblock on him and his siblings whenever they are in the sun. W. and I have also been seeing a dermatologist, annually, since he was 6 years old. She is keeping close eye on the large moles he has and has informed me that she made need to take them off in the next few years due to their size.

Now that summer is upon us, please remember to do all you can for you and your children to protect yourselves. Stop by Kate's Foundation and read up on Melanoma Facts, Prevention, and how to perform a Self-Screen (download and print a bookmark to use as a handy reference tool).

Amy, thank you for contacting me. You have opened my eyes and you have touched my heart. Good luck in your fight....in remembrance of Katie.

Lock Me Up And Throw Away The Key

Mr. Schmitty has been working the later shift all week. This leaves me alone to run the joint. The kids have been fairly cooperative, which is lucky for them.

For those of you who don't know, I have been diagnosed with PMDD (Premenstrual dysphoric disorder). PMDD is a severe form of PMS which affects about 5% of menstruating women. Not every month is as bad as others, but some months are REALLY bad.

That would be this month.

I am the most irritable, moody bitch right now. I don't want to be a mom, I don't want to be a wife, hell, I don't even want to be in the same room with myself. I just want everyone to leave me alone. Don't touch me, don't talk to me, and seriously, don't piss me off.

And pissing me off is easily done at the moment. Like, don't breathe, k?

I've been channeling Linda Blair all week. My head's all spinning and I keep spewing out curse words in foreign languages.

This I do, of course, in my own head because, well, I don't want to lose the kids to foster care. On the outside I'm all, "Sure, honey" "Of course, sweetie". On the inside, I'm ready to run screaming from the house.

I have to keep my cool. The kids aren't the problem, the dog isn't the problem, hell, Mr. Schmitty isn't even the problem! Well, at least this time he isn't.

I have absolutely no one to pawn the blame off on. I have to take full credit for my foul attitude. It's me and my screwed up hormonal system.

It sucks to be a girl.

I Just Have To Shake My Head

Yesterday W. had an appointment with his ENT. W. has always been prone to nosebleeds (remember this?) and he has been getting them very frequently in the past month. The end of last week, I believe he got one almost every night. In the middle of the night. Not good for him or for me. The lack of sleep, quite honestly, kind of makes me a bit of a grump. So, I knew it was time to see the doctor again for another round of cauterizing.

I needed to fill in some paperwork, because you know how doctor's LOVE their paperwork, and W. began coughing. It wasn't a bad cough, he said he had a tickle in his throat. I told him that I thought there was a water fountain in the hallway.

He leaves and I hear his footsteps on the other side of the wall. I hear him stop. I hear him run down the hall. I then hear him run up the stairs. Yes, actually HEAR him. I hear him above me, running down the second floor hall. I am going to pound him. I shake my head, he sounds like an elephant in a library. I continue filling out the STACK of papers. Jeez, can't they just look in his file?

I suddenly hear jumping down.each.and.every.step. I smile at the receptionist. More running, getting louder, then the clomping feet stop.

What the heck is he doing?

About three minutes goes by and finally the door opens and he reappears. The front of his shirt is wet.

"What in God's name are you doing?"

"Well, there was no water fountain on this floor." Yea, I got that.

"And there was no water fountain on the upstairs floor." Okay, I got that too.

"So I just got a drink from the fountain outside the door." Hence the soaked shirt.

"That's a wishing well fountain you knucklehead!"

It must have something to do with the Y chromosome. Is it just a boy thing or should I have him evaluated?

Hasn't He Been Through Enough?

I've been MIA for a few days. It's been very exhausting and hectic around here, to say the least. On Friday I had just returned from bringing T. to Pre-K. I walked into the house and heard the phone ringing. I looked at the caller ID and saw that it was W.'s school.

That's never a good thing.

I answered the call and was greeted by the school nurse. She told me that W. was having some chest pain. He had been outside at recess, however, because of the heat the children were not allowed to run around. Even though this was the case, his heart rate was up. I told her I would be right over to get him.

In case some of you don't know, W. was born with a heart defect. The main arteries to his heart were switched. He also had a hole in his heart. When he was 5 days old he went through open heart surgery and it was repaired. He is now a healthy boy and does not take any medications for it. The only restrictions he has is no contact sports, which has nothing to do with his heart but is not allowed because his ribs were wired closed after this surgery. He sees his cardiologist twice a year for check-ups and there have never been any problems out of the ordinary for this type of surgery.

But to hear that he was having chest pains sent me into a complete panic. Mr. Schmitty called the cardiologist while I was gone. I asked W. what was wrong and he said that it hurt to drink, eat, and lie down. He had a pain right in the middle of his chest, which was making him wince. Mr. Schmitty told me upon my arrival home that the cardiologist said that from the symptoms he had, it couldn't be his heart. He suggested we take him to the pediatrician. I wanted to know why he was making a diagnosis over the phone! I was pissed! The pediatrician, of course, didn't want to touch him in case it WAS the heart. They suggested we take him to the cardiologist. Don't you just love it?!

Mr. Schmitty took him to the emergency room instead. And to make a long, long story short, he has Spontaneous Pneumothorax, which is:

"Spontaneous pneumothorax is a sudden collection of air or gas in the chest that causes the lung to collapse in the absence of a traumatic injury to the chest or lung. Spontaneous pneumothorax occurs in individuals with no known lung disease. It affects close to 9,000 persons in the United States each year- most often among tall, thin men between 20 and 40 years old. The cause of this type of pneumothorax is the rupture of a bleb or cyst in the lung.

Symptoms include:

Chest pain on affected side
Dyspnea (shortness of breath)
Cough
Abnormal breathing movement
Rapid respiratory rate
Spontaneous pneumothorax is diagnosed by chest radiographs.

The way the condition is treated is dependant on its size and course. The objective of treatment is to remove the air from the pleural space, allowing the lung to reexpand. A small pneumothorax will resolve on its own in 1 to 2 weeks. Larger pneumothoraxes require either needle aspiration or a chest tube. Hospitalization is required for chest tube management as the reexpansion of the lung may take several days with the chest tube left in place. Surgery may be performed for a repeated episode to prevent recurrence."

Yea, scary, huh? A few key points. His lung didn't collapse, but COULD HAVE. Many people think the pain is a pulled muscle. If we thought that, his lung could have collapsed. Only 9,000 in the US get it and usually it's men 20-40, he's 9. The poor child has been through so much in that time. His heart surgery, another surgery to open up the incision when it got infected, he had sleep apnea and had his tonsils and adnoids out at 4, he has vitiligo, he gets wicked nosebleeds, and now this.

The hospital gave W. oxygen which helped the air bubble get smaller. They kept him in the PICU overnight for observation. The took another x-ray yesterday morning and the bubble did get smaller, though, it's not completely gone. We just have to keep him from any physical activity this week. UM? Have they actually observed W.? He's a a tornado, so wish me luck with that, k?

It seems to me from what I have read, that this can occur again. So, I guess I can add this to my worry-wart-list. What's one more thing, right?

My head hurts, I think I'm going to go take a pill. Night y'all.

I'm 40, I Can't Call It Baby Fat

I found this post by Justice Fergie (boy, I've been talking a lot about YOU this week! LOL) at Mama Law. I'm a few days behind, but it's never too late to start getting healthy.

Tales From The Scales is hosting a May Day Weight Loss Challenge. I know I'm tired of looking the way I do. I am more tired of not being able to keep up with my kids. I'm 40, which isn't that the new 30? So why do I feel 60? Is anyone else feeling my pain? If so why don't you join me? We can lean on each other and what do we have to lose, but weight?

So, here goes, my story.

I was always thin, my whole life. As a typical teenaged girl, I thought I was fat. I think I weighed a whole whopping 108 pounds at 5'4". I hated my body. I thought my boobs were too big, I was a size C cup, which Mr. Schmitty tells me was a guy's dream and a girl's envy. I thought my butt was huge, too much junk in my trunk. I now look at pictures and say I would have flaunted both body parts if I knew what I do now, never mind hiding them under loose, long t-shirts. Hey, if J. Lo's behind is so great, I should have thought mine was da bomb!

I got married to Mr. Schmitty when I was 25. I weighed 118 pounds on my wedding day. We tried having babies right away. I wanted to be a young mom. It wasn't going to happen. We began to see fertility doctors. After 5 years of being poked and prodded and taking a ton of fertility drugs I finally got pregnant with W. at age 30. I was ecstatic and also a LOT heavier. The 5 years of hormones had packed on the weight, that, and all of the extra eating I was doing because of the stress of the endless roller coaster ride. That's what I do, I eat for comfort.

Half way through my pregnancy I was told I had gestational diabetes. I needed to go on a strict diabetic diet and I also needed to give myself insulin injections. I was feeling like quite the pincushion. I only gained 18 pounds during the pregnancy because while I was gaining baby weight the diet was making me lose my own weight. I was thinner after having W. than before I got pregnant!

W. was born with a heart defect. We had no idea until the day after he was born. We were rushed to a Children's Hospital that day. He had open heart surgery when he was only 5 days old. I was a complete and total wreck. After all I went through to conceive him, I was petrified of losing him. It took me a long time to bond with him in the beginning, I was afraid. I needed comfort, I turned back to the food.

Once I was sure W. was okay, we tried for baby #2. We had our scare, but he was great and we wanted to have another baby right away. We learned how precious life was and we wanted to fill our lives with more children. Again, I had problems conceiving. Actually, things seemed harder the second time and I needed to see a fertility doctor that specialized in Invitro Fertilization. This meant stronger drugs, more drugs, and more weight gain. After the first cycle, I became pregnant with T. I had gone through 4 1/2 more years of the roller coaster ride. I was told once again that I had gestational diabetes, only 5 baby pounds were added. Once T. was born I discovered I was 20 pounds lighter than before I was pregnant! Whoo-Hoo!

About 2 1/2 months after T. was born my clothes started feeling tighter. I was really behaving with my eating habits, how could this be happening? I just had a strange feeling, intuition, I guess. No way, it couldn't be. Four EPT's later it finally sank in, I WAS PREGNANT! Surprise, surprise, surprise. And it was my girl!! The diabetes came back and I gained 16 pounds.

I was thinner but this time I didn't feel good about anything. I went through major post-partum. The doctor said it was probably due to the back-to-back pregnancies. I went on prozac, more weight gain. I was beginning to see a pattern with my body's reaction to medications. I stayed on the meds until I realized that the weight gain was definitely defeating the purpose. I was getting more depressed because I was gaining weight and fast. The doctor showed no sympathy. He told me to, "Just eat right and exercise and you'll be fine." Okay, so easy, wanna babysit while I go for a salad and a jog? Needless to say, I have a new doctor. I weaned myself off of the prozac and my weight stayed where it was.

Last summer, by my gynecologist, I was diagnosed with PCOS, which made sense with my history of infertility, gestational diabetes, and weight problems that began in my twenties. My old fertility doctor put me on Metformin which is suppose to help with the weight issues, it made me practically a vegetable. I didn't want to do ANYTHING. I practically laid on the couch for 6 weeks, not good with 3 kids. The doctor kept telling me that I was having bad side effects and that I should eventually feel better. I didn't, I stopped the meds. I would live with the weight.

In December I began having stomach and anxiety problems. The stomach problems have made me change my eating habits. I stopped eating at night after dinner, a big downfall of mine, and I started drinking more water. I can't eat as much during a meal, because honestly, if I do, I will be in serious pain. What a great weight-loss program I have discovered! 14 pounds lighter, I am!

The stomach is okay most days. I have found that it acts up about a week prior to my period. The doctor says that hormones, ah, yes, those damn hormones, add to my discomfort. So now, I have gotten on the right track, I want to keep going.

I hope you all didn't fall asleep during this post. I usually don't make them this long. I did however, just find typing this today, very therapeutic. Sorry if I sounded, all woe-is-me. I didn't mean to, I just couldn't control my fingers on the keyboard.

I have just weighed myself. I know where I'm starting. Let's see how well I do!

Okay, who sent the gag gift?

Thank you all for the wonderful birthday wishes. I do have a bone to pick with someone though. Who sent me the gag gift? I was all set to go away for a relaxing birthday/mom weekend with my best friend and then I got it. The world's worse 40th birthday present.

I'm sick as a dog. A dog with fleas. A dog with rabies. And to top it off Mr. Schmitty is sick, as are T. and R. And we are not suffering from your run of the mill colds, our symptoms range from a horrific sore throat (me) to puking (Mr. Schmitty) to very high fevers (T. and R.). Plus the colds. R. and I have practically lost our voices and I ache from head to toe. Last night I had to get in a lukewarm tub with R. to cool her down. Her temperature was at 104.4. Very scary for me. Motrin helped and she thought it was so fun to take a bath with me, she was great. Needless to say she slept with me in my bed, kicking all night.

I can't believe W. is okay and hasn't come down with anything. I've been watching him like a hawk and trying to keep the kids away from each other. Not an easy feat. I hope he doesn't fall ill during the week and miss school.

So, anyway, thanks to the practical joker, this was not the way I wanted to spend the beginning of my fourth decade on the planet!

The Irony

Yesterday I had my endoscopy done. Man, I want me some of that "conscious sedation" anesthesia! It was the best sleep I've had in months, beats the heck out of Ambien and Lunesta. And I only slept for about 20 minutes! I felt like I was out for hours.

Anyway, the doc said that I have Gastritis, that my stomach lining is a little inflamed. A little? All this pain I've been having and only a little? Not that I was hoping for any serious illness, but now I feel like I'm a big whus. He told me that it would heal. Ok, whatever.

The doctors are more concerned with other tests that have come back with questionable results. My B12 levels are borderline low. My family doctor wants me to have more blood work to check for Pernicious Anemia. I of course, looked it up on the internet, why do I do that to myself? It's not a good thing if left untreated. This Anemia can go hand in hand with Gastritis. It's most common in Scandinavians and Irish, which I am both.

Also, my liver enzymes are elevated so they want to check that. I have an ultrasound tomorrow. I have had blood tests to rule out any type of hepatitis. It may be a "fatty liver" which means I store extra fat there. Why wouldn't I have extra fat there? I've got extra fat EVERYWHERE else, why not there too. They may eventually have to biopsy. The doctor said, it doesn't happen often, but it can become "non-alcoholic cirrhosis".

On the way home from the procedure I said to Mr. Schmitty,

"Yea, wouldn't that be a kick in the f'ing teeth?"

"What?"

"He (my dad) had hepatitis in his 20's and was told never to drink because of the liver damage. He drinks like a fish for the next 40+ years and I'll get the f'ing cirrhosis!"

Story of my life.