June 2010 was a stormy month here in Minnesota.
Looking back through the photos I have from this time, I have many pictures of my sweetie hanging out on the couch snuggling with our kitties and many pictures of beautiful flowers. There's also a few shots I snapped of the local radar on our tv - we had some pretty big storms roll through that month.
Early in the month, the two of us went to Anderson Iris gardens to look at the flowers. It's a private home north of the metro, and they grow (and sell) every color variety of Iris that you can imagine. My sweetie learned of the place from his mom - she goes out there and buys flowers from them every year, and when they arrived in the mail she'd call my sweetie over to plant them for her. In past years, she bought one or two of them for him to plant in our yard as well. This year he made a second trip out there to buy more iris's for our yard and brought me along to see them while they were still blooming. I used to think iris's only came in three colors - yellow, purple and white. Boy was I wrong. There were pink ones, orange ones, red ones. Striped iris, spotted iris, iris that smell like chocolate and root beer. I think I took at least a hundred pictures of them, and when we were done admiring the flowers my sweetie filled out an order form and bought at least a dozen different colors and varieties.
Back at home, we readied the spot in the yard where we intended to plant our new flowers.We took pictures of the robin that had built a nest on our downspout. We hung out on our back balcony and enjoyed the weather when it was nice. When the weather was bad, we hung out inside and he'd play his guitar or we'd watch tv together. My ancient computer fried, and he bought me a new one...
People we knew were always asking me how he was doing. Some were telling me not to get my hopes up to high, others asserted that hope and positive thinking could make all the difference. As for the two of us, we didn't like to talk about it. When we were home alone together, we continued to pretend that everything was ok.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Friday, April 15, 2011
How You Remind Me
2001. For many people, 2001 was a crap year because of September 11th. For me, it was a crap year starting in January.
Since my mom had quit her job at the nuclear pharmacy there was no one to shield me from the evil boss lady anymore. Evil boss lady knew this and resumed being evil. Early in the year, my sweetie and I had another blowout - I don't even remember what we were fighting about anymore, but at the time it was major enough to make me boot him out of the house...again. All I remember now is that it most certainly involved alcohol. He moved in with his aunt who lived across town.
I was missing a lot of work because of chronic recurring migraines and depression, and evil boss lady jumped on it like a football player jumping on a loose ball. Before I knew it I was back in her office again being raked over the coals. I did have it coming - I had been missing an unacceptable amount of work and my job was being jeopardized because of it. As she was harping on me about my absenteeism she suggested that maybe I should go see a doctor about my migraines. I thought she had a good point. I was having a lot of migraines - seriously debilitating ones that had me seeing auras and vomiting until it faded enough for me to fall asleep - and over the counter meds were completely ineffective. She also repeated her opinion that dudes like my sweetie never change, ever - and that I'd be much better off without him. I really felt like hell, so I took her advice and made an appointment to see a doctor.
At the doctors office I asked about something stronger than over the counter drugs to deal with my migraines. The doctor wrote a prescription for something called Migquin and warned me that it might make me groggy - best not to drive while taking it. Shit. Seriously doc? Did you miss the part where I told you I drive for a living? I must have looked upset or worried or something, because the doctor began asking me a lot of questions about my job and home life. I don't remember what set me off exactly, but I burst into tears right there in his office. The next thing I knew, I was taking a test - some quiz intended to assess my level of depression. I was unsurprised to learn I was depressed. The doctor wrote another prescription, this one was for Wellbutrin. Not only would it help my depression, but the doctor said it would also help me quit smoking.
I left and got my prescriptions filled, hoping that this might finally get the evil boss lady off my back. Back at home, I took the first of my Wellbutrin and when I went to work that night I told evil boss lady that it had been prescribed and I was taking it.
The first few days, I didn't really notice any effect on my mood. What I did notice was that the world was feeling somehow surreal. It was weird. I was still depressed and I still felt anxious, but strangely disconnected from everything. I was smoking less, but not because I didn't want a smoke - I was smoking less because they suddenly tasted nasty. Nasty wasn't enough to make me quit though - my body still wanted the nicotine and the crave was enough to override the nasty taste. I was also beginning to feel nausea and initially I thought it might have to do with the taste of the smokes.
By the end of the week, I was feeling worse than I did before I started taking the pills. I was returning to the lab from my route and all of a sudden the whole world spun on me. I was scared and for a moment I wondered if I'd just been in an accident or rolled the car. Fortunately it was neither. I regained control of myself enough to pull the car over and get the window down - then I spent 10 minutes or so vomiting on the side of the road. Not good, not good at all. The world resumed spinning again and I sat in my car with the hazard lights on, wondering how I was ever going to get back to the lab. I couldn't even see straight enough to dial the cell phone, so I just sat there and waited it out. It took about 20 minutes for it to stop. Great. I was now going to be late getting back and to compound it, I was going to have to stop at the car wash and spray off the side of the car. Ick. Somehow I got through it and was relieved to discover the evil boss lady had already left for the day so she didn't know I was late coming back. I clocked out and went home for the weekend.
Things didn't get better over the weekend, just the opposite in fact. I was feeling even sicker, and more disconnected. It felt like I was watching my own life on tv while sitting on a merry-go-round that was spinning out of control. I also began experiencing unusually vivid technicolor dreams that I could remember after I woke up. Man, I dream some weird shit. Between the nausea by day and the weird dreams at night, I was exhausted. I was still in touch with my sweetie (I kicked him out, I didn't break up with him) and one night I had a Wellbutrin induced nightmare that left me thoroughly rattled. It was really horrible. I called him on the phone because I was scared and I needed to hear his voice. I was too scared to go back to sleep so he told me to come over and I did. I curled up next to him in bed and eventually I was able to fall back asleep. When I woke up, he was sitting by the bed watching me sleep. My protector. I hung out for a little bit and then went back home.
The following Monday I felt too sick to go in to work. Uh oh, evil boss lady wouldn't like that. I could barely move around my own apartment though and I was certain that if I drove, I'd get into an accident. I called in and said I couldn't make it. Tuesday was the same as Monday, and Wednesday was the same as Tuesday. I hadn't eaten anything in days - food was even less appetizing to me than smokes were. I tried to go to work on Thursday and wound up going home after about an hour. I called in again on Friday, and that afternoon I called the doctors office. I told the doctor that I had been sick as a dog for the past week and a half, and that I wasn't so sure Wellbutrin was the drug for me. He insisted that this was normal and that the side effects would go away - just keep taking it. Ok....
By this time my sweetie was concerned. He hadn't heard from me all week and called me on the phone. I told him I was sick and filled him in on my week. The next thing I knew, he was at the door. He had gone to the store and bought jello, soup and crackers for me and walked across town in miserable weather to bring it to me. He spent the next week staying at my house taking care of me. When Monday rolled around and I was still sick, I called in again. I apologized to evil boss lady and told her what the doctor had said. In a moment of non-evilness, she said it was ok and told me to take the week off. I was relieved. My sweetie stuck around to help me out. The Wellbutrin was making me dizzy, I could hardly walk, and he made sure I was able to make it to the bathroom and back without falling down. He made me soup and the jello, and helped me back into the bathroom when it came back up on me. I was feeling seriously miserable and started to doubt the doctor - this shit wasn't getting any better and if I didn't get back to work soon, I'd lose my job. I called his office again to try and get him to prescribe something else, and the nurse there said he didn't work at that clinic anymore. What? He transferred to a different clinic, I'd have to see a different doctor. The doctor they referred me to said I should stick with it a while longer - I hadn't been on it long enough for the drug to build up in my system and the side effects wouldn't go away until then. I explained that I had missed too much work and said I was just going to stop taking them. He said if I did, I'd make myself sicker because you can't 'just quit' taking them cold turkey - I'd have to ween myself off them slowly and 'was I sure I didn't just have the flu or something?' Meanwhile, evil boss lady was out of patience. I had no time for weening - I was just going to quit cold turkey and let the chips fall where they may.
It would seem that the doctor was full of crap because I didn't get any sicker. I felt lousy on Monday, but I toughed it out. Each day I didn't take it, I felt a little better and the world slowly came back into focus for me. The dreams faded and my appetite came back. Much better. I figured that if the doctor could be wrong about the prescription, evil boss lady could be wrong about my sweetie too.
My sweetie's aunt got evicted from the house she was renting and I let him move back into my place. For a while things were going ok, he seemed to be trying to keep his drinking in check and we were getting along. A few months down the line however, I got another migraine. Migquin to the rescue! Unfortunately I had to call in to work because I was told not to drive under the influence of this drug. The supervisor on duty said 'ok' and I took the pill and went back to bed. When I woke up, I saw I had missed a call from work. I returned the call and evil boss lady answered and told me I was fired. Feeling numb I just said 'ok' and hung up. Later that day, I brought back my uniform shirts and jacket and demanded my final check. The equally evil receptionist said they'd mail it to me. I said 'Nothin' doing - I was fired this morning and you have 24 hours to give me my final check.' Equally evil receptionist went to see if that was true and promptly cut me a check. I took it, left and never looked back.
My mother-in-law was working at the unemployment office at the time and told me I should apply for benefits. I did and the nuclear lab denied the application. She said to appeal and I did. I wrote in my appeal letter that the evil boss lady had told me to go to the doctor for the migraines and I did just that. I wrote that the doctor had said it was dangerous to drive while taking this medication and that the evil boss lady was informed of this - I even had a note from the doctor confirming it for her. I said I figured I was damned if I did and damned if I didn't. If I went in with a migraine, I'd be yelled at for being in a bad mood or feeling ill and if I didn't go in I was in trouble for missing work. I explained that the prescribed meds had side effects and that evil boss lady, being a pharmacist, should be aware of those side effects. I felt I couldn't win either way. I won the appeal and was on unemployment for the rest of the year.
A few weeks later, it was September 11th and the whole world went nuts. I woke up that morning just in time to see the second plane hit the towers. "What the hell is happening?" I asked. My sweetie said "The world as we know it is over" and I joined him on the couch, staring at the tv in shocked silence. Truly horrible. People made a mad rush to fill their gas tanks because they thought there would be a shortage and the American flag was suddenly everywhere. I hadn't seen so much red, white and blue since 1976.
For a week or two I didn't bother looking for a new job. I called it a 'vacation' and tried to relax a bit. There weren't many jobs available at the time anyway. Toward the end of the year, my unemployment benefits were extended because there were so few jobs. I was beginning to panic. I had applied practically everywhere but there was a lot of other people applying too. People with more experience. By New Year's I was still unemployed and completely freaked out about it. I had never had this problem before - I always found a new job quickly. Worse yet, my sweetie was falling back into his old habits. Things were looking grim.
*edit*
Looking through some old photos my mother-in-law gave me, I found one of the two of us smiling happily at the camera. We have our arms pressed together showing off our tattoos. For his birthday that year, one of the gifts his mother gave him was a gift certificate for a tattoo from an artist she saw at the Irish Heritage Festival. The tattoo he got was a knot work band around his upper arm that resembled the one I had on my forearm. The artist asked me if I was sure I wanted someone to have the same tattoo as me. I said as long as it wasn't completely identical I was ok with it. The tat she gave him was beautiful. Not identical, but similar enough in design and color that they complimented each other beautifully. We were both very pleased with it.
I remember at the time, I thought his mom was very cool and I enjoyed going to her house. She had nice things, knick knacks, lots of plants. She seemed smart, funny and confident and she got what she wanted out of life. For example, she lives in a townhouse that's managed by a property association. When she wanted to plant a small lilac bush in her yard and was told she couldn't - she ran for president of the association and won. She then changed the rule, planted her bush and resigned the post shortly after. I guess she did it a second time at some point when she wanted a new window added to her place too. I was impressed.
Since my mom had quit her job at the nuclear pharmacy there was no one to shield me from the evil boss lady anymore. Evil boss lady knew this and resumed being evil. Early in the year, my sweetie and I had another blowout - I don't even remember what we were fighting about anymore, but at the time it was major enough to make me boot him out of the house...again. All I remember now is that it most certainly involved alcohol. He moved in with his aunt who lived across town.
I was missing a lot of work because of chronic recurring migraines and depression, and evil boss lady jumped on it like a football player jumping on a loose ball. Before I knew it I was back in her office again being raked over the coals. I did have it coming - I had been missing an unacceptable amount of work and my job was being jeopardized because of it. As she was harping on me about my absenteeism she suggested that maybe I should go see a doctor about my migraines. I thought she had a good point. I was having a lot of migraines - seriously debilitating ones that had me seeing auras and vomiting until it faded enough for me to fall asleep - and over the counter meds were completely ineffective. She also repeated her opinion that dudes like my sweetie never change, ever - and that I'd be much better off without him. I really felt like hell, so I took her advice and made an appointment to see a doctor.
At the doctors office I asked about something stronger than over the counter drugs to deal with my migraines. The doctor wrote a prescription for something called Migquin and warned me that it might make me groggy - best not to drive while taking it. Shit. Seriously doc? Did you miss the part where I told you I drive for a living? I must have looked upset or worried or something, because the doctor began asking me a lot of questions about my job and home life. I don't remember what set me off exactly, but I burst into tears right there in his office. The next thing I knew, I was taking a test - some quiz intended to assess my level of depression. I was unsurprised to learn I was depressed. The doctor wrote another prescription, this one was for Wellbutrin. Not only would it help my depression, but the doctor said it would also help me quit smoking.
I left and got my prescriptions filled, hoping that this might finally get the evil boss lady off my back. Back at home, I took the first of my Wellbutrin and when I went to work that night I told evil boss lady that it had been prescribed and I was taking it.
The first few days, I didn't really notice any effect on my mood. What I did notice was that the world was feeling somehow surreal. It was weird. I was still depressed and I still felt anxious, but strangely disconnected from everything. I was smoking less, but not because I didn't want a smoke - I was smoking less because they suddenly tasted nasty. Nasty wasn't enough to make me quit though - my body still wanted the nicotine and the crave was enough to override the nasty taste. I was also beginning to feel nausea and initially I thought it might have to do with the taste of the smokes.
By the end of the week, I was feeling worse than I did before I started taking the pills. I was returning to the lab from my route and all of a sudden the whole world spun on me. I was scared and for a moment I wondered if I'd just been in an accident or rolled the car. Fortunately it was neither. I regained control of myself enough to pull the car over and get the window down - then I spent 10 minutes or so vomiting on the side of the road. Not good, not good at all. The world resumed spinning again and I sat in my car with the hazard lights on, wondering how I was ever going to get back to the lab. I couldn't even see straight enough to dial the cell phone, so I just sat there and waited it out. It took about 20 minutes for it to stop. Great. I was now going to be late getting back and to compound it, I was going to have to stop at the car wash and spray off the side of the car. Ick. Somehow I got through it and was relieved to discover the evil boss lady had already left for the day so she didn't know I was late coming back. I clocked out and went home for the weekend.
Things didn't get better over the weekend, just the opposite in fact. I was feeling even sicker, and more disconnected. It felt like I was watching my own life on tv while sitting on a merry-go-round that was spinning out of control. I also began experiencing unusually vivid technicolor dreams that I could remember after I woke up. Man, I dream some weird shit. Between the nausea by day and the weird dreams at night, I was exhausted. I was still in touch with my sweetie (I kicked him out, I didn't break up with him) and one night I had a Wellbutrin induced nightmare that left me thoroughly rattled. It was really horrible. I called him on the phone because I was scared and I needed to hear his voice. I was too scared to go back to sleep so he told me to come over and I did. I curled up next to him in bed and eventually I was able to fall back asleep. When I woke up, he was sitting by the bed watching me sleep. My protector. I hung out for a little bit and then went back home.
The following Monday I felt too sick to go in to work. Uh oh, evil boss lady wouldn't like that. I could barely move around my own apartment though and I was certain that if I drove, I'd get into an accident. I called in and said I couldn't make it. Tuesday was the same as Monday, and Wednesday was the same as Tuesday. I hadn't eaten anything in days - food was even less appetizing to me than smokes were. I tried to go to work on Thursday and wound up going home after about an hour. I called in again on Friday, and that afternoon I called the doctors office. I told the doctor that I had been sick as a dog for the past week and a half, and that I wasn't so sure Wellbutrin was the drug for me. He insisted that this was normal and that the side effects would go away - just keep taking it. Ok....
By this time my sweetie was concerned. He hadn't heard from me all week and called me on the phone. I told him I was sick and filled him in on my week. The next thing I knew, he was at the door. He had gone to the store and bought jello, soup and crackers for me and walked across town in miserable weather to bring it to me. He spent the next week staying at my house taking care of me. When Monday rolled around and I was still sick, I called in again. I apologized to evil boss lady and told her what the doctor had said. In a moment of non-evilness, she said it was ok and told me to take the week off. I was relieved. My sweetie stuck around to help me out. The Wellbutrin was making me dizzy, I could hardly walk, and he made sure I was able to make it to the bathroom and back without falling down. He made me soup and the jello, and helped me back into the bathroom when it came back up on me. I was feeling seriously miserable and started to doubt the doctor - this shit wasn't getting any better and if I didn't get back to work soon, I'd lose my job. I called his office again to try and get him to prescribe something else, and the nurse there said he didn't work at that clinic anymore. What? He transferred to a different clinic, I'd have to see a different doctor. The doctor they referred me to said I should stick with it a while longer - I hadn't been on it long enough for the drug to build up in my system and the side effects wouldn't go away until then. I explained that I had missed too much work and said I was just going to stop taking them. He said if I did, I'd make myself sicker because you can't 'just quit' taking them cold turkey - I'd have to ween myself off them slowly and 'was I sure I didn't just have the flu or something?' Meanwhile, evil boss lady was out of patience. I had no time for weening - I was just going to quit cold turkey and let the chips fall where they may.
It would seem that the doctor was full of crap because I didn't get any sicker. I felt lousy on Monday, but I toughed it out. Each day I didn't take it, I felt a little better and the world slowly came back into focus for me. The dreams faded and my appetite came back. Much better. I figured that if the doctor could be wrong about the prescription, evil boss lady could be wrong about my sweetie too.
My sweetie's aunt got evicted from the house she was renting and I let him move back into my place. For a while things were going ok, he seemed to be trying to keep his drinking in check and we were getting along. A few months down the line however, I got another migraine. Migquin to the rescue! Unfortunately I had to call in to work because I was told not to drive under the influence of this drug. The supervisor on duty said 'ok' and I took the pill and went back to bed. When I woke up, I saw I had missed a call from work. I returned the call and evil boss lady answered and told me I was fired. Feeling numb I just said 'ok' and hung up. Later that day, I brought back my uniform shirts and jacket and demanded my final check. The equally evil receptionist said they'd mail it to me. I said 'Nothin' doing - I was fired this morning and you have 24 hours to give me my final check.' Equally evil receptionist went to see if that was true and promptly cut me a check. I took it, left and never looked back.
My mother-in-law was working at the unemployment office at the time and told me I should apply for benefits. I did and the nuclear lab denied the application. She said to appeal and I did. I wrote in my appeal letter that the evil boss lady had told me to go to the doctor for the migraines and I did just that. I wrote that the doctor had said it was dangerous to drive while taking this medication and that the evil boss lady was informed of this - I even had a note from the doctor confirming it for her. I said I figured I was damned if I did and damned if I didn't. If I went in with a migraine, I'd be yelled at for being in a bad mood or feeling ill and if I didn't go in I was in trouble for missing work. I explained that the prescribed meds had side effects and that evil boss lady, being a pharmacist, should be aware of those side effects. I felt I couldn't win either way. I won the appeal and was on unemployment for the rest of the year.
A few weeks later, it was September 11th and the whole world went nuts. I woke up that morning just in time to see the second plane hit the towers. "What the hell is happening?" I asked. My sweetie said "The world as we know it is over" and I joined him on the couch, staring at the tv in shocked silence. Truly horrible. People made a mad rush to fill their gas tanks because they thought there would be a shortage and the American flag was suddenly everywhere. I hadn't seen so much red, white and blue since 1976.
For a week or two I didn't bother looking for a new job. I called it a 'vacation' and tried to relax a bit. There weren't many jobs available at the time anyway. Toward the end of the year, my unemployment benefits were extended because there were so few jobs. I was beginning to panic. I had applied practically everywhere but there was a lot of other people applying too. People with more experience. By New Year's I was still unemployed and completely freaked out about it. I had never had this problem before - I always found a new job quickly. Worse yet, my sweetie was falling back into his old habits. Things were looking grim.
*edit*
Looking through some old photos my mother-in-law gave me, I found one of the two of us smiling happily at the camera. We have our arms pressed together showing off our tattoos. For his birthday that year, one of the gifts his mother gave him was a gift certificate for a tattoo from an artist she saw at the Irish Heritage Festival. The tattoo he got was a knot work band around his upper arm that resembled the one I had on my forearm. The artist asked me if I was sure I wanted someone to have the same tattoo as me. I said as long as it wasn't completely identical I was ok with it. The tat she gave him was beautiful. Not identical, but similar enough in design and color that they complimented each other beautifully. We were both very pleased with it.
I remember at the time, I thought his mom was very cool and I enjoyed going to her house. She had nice things, knick knacks, lots of plants. She seemed smart, funny and confident and she got what she wanted out of life. For example, she lives in a townhouse that's managed by a property association. When she wanted to plant a small lilac bush in her yard and was told she couldn't - she ran for president of the association and won. She then changed the rule, planted her bush and resigned the post shortly after. I guess she did it a second time at some point when she wanted a new window added to her place too. I was impressed.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Time
May, 2010 -
You just can't beat springtime in Minnesota - the snow is finally gone, the days are getting longer and the temperatures are mild and comfortable.
My sweetie was still feeling good from his recent chemo and radiation and he was spending a lot of time outside customizing his new motorcycle. He painted it flat black and installed his saddle bags he'd had on the Harley. He sold his Harley earlier in the spring because it was too hard for him to ride it anymore. It was a big heavy bike and the vibration from the motor caused him pain in his shoulder and chest. Although he'd regained some of the dexterity in his hand, his arm was still weak and he feared he might dump it while riding. I was against the idea of selling it - I had said to him that he'd regret it once springtime arrived and he was feeling better. And now spring was here, he was feeling better and the sound of motorcycles was in the air. He was itching to ride again.
The 'new' bike was a used Kawasaki. It was much lighter and easier for him to ride. His mother ponied up the dough for it. She bought him a lot of stuff in 2010 - more stuff than usual. T-shirts, hats, watches - if she thought he'd like it or she saw him looking at it, she'd buy it. It was as though she thought he wouldn't know she loved him if she wasn't showering him with gifts.
For my part, I was still avoiding her when and where I could. Her behavior had been completely over the top since January - really facepalm worthy stuff. One day, she gave him a ride to the cancer center because we were having car trouble. She arrived wearing a faux leather jacket with a faux leopard fur collar - and she was wearing a cancer headscarf with a wine bottle print all over it. For some reason she thought she looked like a biker - but why she was trying to look like a biker was and still is beyond me. We knew what it was as soon as we saw it, we had just spent every day for the last month or so at the cancer center and we had seen hundreds of them. She tried to say it was a bikers do-rag but it was quite obviously a cancer cap like the ones they had in the baskets at the cancer center, made by volunteers and available for free to cancer patients. It was ridiculous and embarrassing. He told her that it wasn't necessary to dress like a cancer patient to go to the cancer center, and it came off as a bit disrespectful to the actual cancer patients as well. Fortunately we never saw that hat again. I still have no idea what she was thinking.
He had a follow up scan in the middle of the month and the results were still good. It appeared that the tumors in his lung were continuing to shrink and we were ecstatic. The fear and anxiety I had been feeling was beginning to abate. The irises he planted in the yard were starting to flower and we were spending a lot of our time out in the sunshine enjoying the weather and watching the birds.
We had the occasional visit from his dad and his sister - both far more tolerable to me than his mom. His cousins dropped by too. They were all far more pragmatic and it only accentuated how extremely nutty his moms behavior had been. Deep down, I felt guilty for the vitriol I felt toward his mom - but I couldn't make myself feel sorry for her and I couldn't stop the bile from rising in my throat whenever I had to interact with her. Sure, she was losing her son, but so was his father. And his sister was losing her brother, and I was losing my spouse. The big difference though, was that she kept acting as if every breath was his last and was mourning as though he was already gone - and this was at a time when he was feeling good. The rest of us refused to begin mourning until he was actually gone. Or at least we were acting that way outwardly.
You just can't beat springtime in Minnesota - the snow is finally gone, the days are getting longer and the temperatures are mild and comfortable.
My sweetie was still feeling good from his recent chemo and radiation and he was spending a lot of time outside customizing his new motorcycle. He painted it flat black and installed his saddle bags he'd had on the Harley. He sold his Harley earlier in the spring because it was too hard for him to ride it anymore. It was a big heavy bike and the vibration from the motor caused him pain in his shoulder and chest. Although he'd regained some of the dexterity in his hand, his arm was still weak and he feared he might dump it while riding. I was against the idea of selling it - I had said to him that he'd regret it once springtime arrived and he was feeling better. And now spring was here, he was feeling better and the sound of motorcycles was in the air. He was itching to ride again.
The 'new' bike was a used Kawasaki. It was much lighter and easier for him to ride. His mother ponied up the dough for it. She bought him a lot of stuff in 2010 - more stuff than usual. T-shirts, hats, watches - if she thought he'd like it or she saw him looking at it, she'd buy it. It was as though she thought he wouldn't know she loved him if she wasn't showering him with gifts.
For my part, I was still avoiding her when and where I could. Her behavior had been completely over the top since January - really facepalm worthy stuff. One day, she gave him a ride to the cancer center because we were having car trouble. She arrived wearing a faux leather jacket with a faux leopard fur collar - and she was wearing a cancer headscarf with a wine bottle print all over it. For some reason she thought she looked like a biker - but why she was trying to look like a biker was and still is beyond me. We knew what it was as soon as we saw it, we had just spent every day for the last month or so at the cancer center and we had seen hundreds of them. She tried to say it was a bikers do-rag but it was quite obviously a cancer cap like the ones they had in the baskets at the cancer center, made by volunteers and available for free to cancer patients. It was ridiculous and embarrassing. He told her that it wasn't necessary to dress like a cancer patient to go to the cancer center, and it came off as a bit disrespectful to the actual cancer patients as well. Fortunately we never saw that hat again. I still have no idea what she was thinking.
He had a follow up scan in the middle of the month and the results were still good. It appeared that the tumors in his lung were continuing to shrink and we were ecstatic. The fear and anxiety I had been feeling was beginning to abate. The irises he planted in the yard were starting to flower and we were spending a lot of our time out in the sunshine enjoying the weather and watching the birds.
We had the occasional visit from his dad and his sister - both far more tolerable to me than his mom. His cousins dropped by too. They were all far more pragmatic and it only accentuated how extremely nutty his moms behavior had been. Deep down, I felt guilty for the vitriol I felt toward his mom - but I couldn't make myself feel sorry for her and I couldn't stop the bile from rising in my throat whenever I had to interact with her. Sure, she was losing her son, but so was his father. And his sister was losing her brother, and I was losing my spouse. The big difference though, was that she kept acting as if every breath was his last and was mourning as though he was already gone - and this was at a time when he was feeling good. The rest of us refused to begin mourning until he was actually gone. Or at least we were acting that way outwardly.
Saturday, March 26, 2011
Crosstown traffic
The year 2000. Somehow I hadn't been fired or quit, I was still working at the nuclear pharmacy. I'd managed to keep a low profile at work and avoided my boss as much as possible. I was making decent money at this job and couldn't afford to just split and look for a new one, I was determined to tough it out. It was getting harder and harder to do though.
I'd try to get my route together and get out on the road as quickly as I possibly could. As soon as I was on the road I was free. All I really had to do was drive the truck and listen to the radio. My first stop was in Shakopee, then on to Mankato, Austin and Albert Lea. Each stop was at least an hour from the next. At each one I'd lug my cases into the hospitals' nuclear medicine department, drop off the order, pick up the empty cases and leave. Easy Peasy. Or at least it should have been.
I ran into problems with some of the people working in the hospital labs. There were a few who were just bubbly little rays of sunshine every morning and couldn't deal with people who weren't. I'd arrive, say good morning to anyone I had to deal with, drop off the cases and try to get my empties and leave - quickly. Unfortunately my polite 'good morning' wasn't sunshiny enough for them and they'd complain to my boss. Seriously. One of my stops actually complained because I failed to say hello back to them. I remember sitting in my evil boss lady's office listening incredulously while she gave me a stern talking too about it. Are you kidding me?! I'm actually getting a verbal warning because I didn't say hello?! I explained to the boss that I simply hadn't heard them - nope, not good enough. She continued on, telling me that I was the face of the company when I was on the road and I should go out of my way to be pleasant when dealing with our clients. When she finished, I told her I'd do better and slunk out of her office feeling agitated. From then on I went out of my way to be super friendly to the sunshiny people when I encountered them. They then started to complain that I was being too cheerful. Fuck my life. I hate people.
The only client my evil boss ever went toe to toe with on my behalf was the Austin stop. For some reason the doctor there wanted to schedule her patients as early in the morning as she could, and she wanted her nuclear medicine delivered by 7am. Impossible. Nuclear medicine has a decay rate, it gets made every day specifically for the patient who will receive it based on their weight and what time their appointment is. Because of the time it took to make the doses and the distance between the lab and the hospitals, it was impossible to get it there before 7:30. If I fractured the traffic laws I could get it there by 7:15am at the very earliest - but I'm responsible for my own speeding tickets. The boss told her time and again that we could not guarantee it before 7:30 - but every time I got to her stop she was sitting there waiting impatiently and scowling at me even though I was technically on time. Guh. Whatever. If there was ever anyone on my route that I could cuss out and probably get away with it, it was her.
During this time my sweetie landed a job at a local bakery. His job was to deliver donuts to gas stations and company cafeterias, etc.. One morning we discovered purely by accident that our two routes crossed each other. I was driving south on 169 and as I was passing a delivery van I looked over and noticed it was my sweetie driving it. He stopped at a gas station for a delivery and I pulled in behind him. We were surprised to see each other. We both began looking forward to running into each other every morning even though it was just long enough to grab a cup of coffee and a quick kiss. Then it was back to the grindstone.
If I thought my route problems were bad, they were nothing compared to his. His boss apparently had more clients than he had drivers and vehicles to handle - my sweetie had to make upwards of 50 stops every day, and like me he was expected to have his stuff delivered by a certain time. Looking at his route sheet I could see that he was being expected to do the impossible. It was just an insane amount of delivery stops. To make matters worse, the donuts were almost never ready on time - this had him leaving 'late' on his route more often than not. It wasn't his fault but his boss was still unsympathetic. There was also a problem with his paychecks - the boss was constantly late with his deposits so they kept bouncing and the check cashing places wouldn't touch them. The only place that cashed them without batting an eye was the neighborhood bar up the street from the bakery.
And that caused another fight between us. I knew he was having trouble cashing his checks but I didn't like the idea of him cashing them at the bar - it was just another excuse for him to get drunk and I had been nagging him without mercy about the amount of drinking he was doing. By this time I was losing my mind over it and wound up having an embarrassing scene at that neighborhood bar. The bartender tried to claim that my sweetie only came in to cash his check and ordered coffee when he did. Yeah right. I knew my sweetie well enough to know this guy was lying through his teeth. I had an epic conniption fit right then and there. I yelled at the bartender, I yelled at my sweetie - fortunately we were the only ones in the bar at the time, but it was pretty damn embarrassing. (Sorry bartender.) I think in the back of my mind I was hoping it was embarrassing enough that my sweetie wouldn't be welcome there anymore. Not even. I'm guessing the bartender had seen much worse in his time.
The stress of the impossible route and the check cashing fiasco was too much for my sweetie and he quit the bakery gig. I was almost relieved - more stress meant more alcohol and we definitely didn't need that. Since he didn't have a job to go to, he was helping me with my caretaker job. In the summer he mowed the grass and in the winter he shoveled snow. He also started helping out with the household chores - laundry, dishes, cooking dinner. It was nice to have some help and he seemed to be buying less beer, which initially seemed like a good thing. Little did I know...
My mom needed to go back down to Oklahoma to handle some personal business and asked me if I'd come with to keep her company on the ride. I was nervous about leaving my sweetie unmonitored for a few days but I didn't want to turn my mom down, I said 'sure!' and we left. We stayed at my brothers house and after a day of sightseeing I called home to check on things. Oh dear. I could tell he was drunk again as soon as he answered the phone. The stereo was way too loud and he was sounding pretty sloppy. When I confronted him about it he became belligerent. "You didn't really think I wasn't going to drink while you were gone, did you?" Probably not, but I didn't think he was going to use it as an excuse to go on a bender - which is what he obviously did. I couldn't enjoy the rest of the trip, I was too worried about what was going on at home. On the return trip my mom let me drive for a while and drive I did. Like a bat out of hell.
When we finally got back home my mom helped me carry my stuff inside and I wished she hadn't. I could hear my stereo blasting as soon as we got in the building and when I walked into my apartment I found my sweetie passed out on the living room floor, an empty vodka bottle laying nearby. There was a few more empties on the counter and I saw another bottle in the trash. Fuuuuuuuu..... I quickly stepped over him and shut down the stereo, and then apologized to my mom and sent her on her way.
After she left I walked over and gave him a swift kick in the ass. I wasn't proud of that then and I'm not proud of it now. I wanted him up and out of my apartment. We had yet another fight, I piled him into my car and dumped him off at the house of his buddy - formerly roomie #2. Back at home I started tossing the empties in the trash and discovered his stash of booze in one of the dresser drawers. I was pissed off. He had started drinking vodka to supplement his beer drinking. This way he could drink less beer in front of me and still maintain the level of alcohol he wanted in his system with me being none the wiser. It worked too - he was actually able to fool me for a little while, but those days were now over. Now that I knew what he was doing, I'd be on a constant lookout for his hidden stashes and dump them when I found them. And dump them I did. It was an exercise in futility - as fast as I got rid of it, he'd get more.
Despite all this, I still loved him and we still had a good time together much more often than not. We really did enjoy each others company and when I'd see something of interest along my delivery route, I'd tell him about it and we'd both go check it out on the weekends. We visited roadside railroad museums and still went fishing and camping together. He knew I enjoyed taking pictures so he bought me a new camera and accompanied me on my picture taking excursions. I didn't have to ask him - he just wanted to come with.
Through all of this, I was trying and failing to get my credit cards paid off. The interest was destroying me and I couldn't make a big enough payment to knock down the principal. I tried using a financial planner and arranging payments with the credit card companies - no good. The phone was ringing off the hook daily. The creditors calling me didn't give a shit that I had made payment arrangements through the financial planner - I was past due and they wanted their money now. I gave them the planners number and told them to discuss it with them. No dice. I complained to the planner, who said I should be able to make the payments they arranged without difficulty. Except for one thing: While dividing my check among the creditors they had completely neglected to allot me any money for gas, groceries, soap, etc.. I can't keep going to work without gas in my car, food in my belly and wearing dirty clothes - my evil boss lady would never stand for it. After bringing that to their attention they finally came to the conclusion that I was in a situation I couldn't dig out of and suggested a bankruptcy lawyer. I decided they were right and I filed for bankruptcy. I felt like such a loser, but at least the phone stopped ringing.
As 2000 came to a close, my mom quit the job at the pharmacy. The office politics were driving her nuts and she was over qualified for the job anyway. She took a supervisory position at the casino. I was bummed - her presence in the lab was keeping the evil boss lady in check, and now that she was gone I had nothing to shield me. Boss lady knew it too and immediately started looking for reasons to rake me over the coals again. All I could do was grit my teeth and ride it out.
I'd try to get my route together and get out on the road as quickly as I possibly could. As soon as I was on the road I was free. All I really had to do was drive the truck and listen to the radio. My first stop was in Shakopee, then on to Mankato, Austin and Albert Lea. Each stop was at least an hour from the next. At each one I'd lug my cases into the hospitals' nuclear medicine department, drop off the order, pick up the empty cases and leave. Easy Peasy. Or at least it should have been.
I ran into problems with some of the people working in the hospital labs. There were a few who were just bubbly little rays of sunshine every morning and couldn't deal with people who weren't. I'd arrive, say good morning to anyone I had to deal with, drop off the cases and try to get my empties and leave - quickly. Unfortunately my polite 'good morning' wasn't sunshiny enough for them and they'd complain to my boss. Seriously. One of my stops actually complained because I failed to say hello back to them. I remember sitting in my evil boss lady's office listening incredulously while she gave me a stern talking too about it. Are you kidding me?! I'm actually getting a verbal warning because I didn't say hello?! I explained to the boss that I simply hadn't heard them - nope, not good enough. She continued on, telling me that I was the face of the company when I was on the road and I should go out of my way to be pleasant when dealing with our clients. When she finished, I told her I'd do better and slunk out of her office feeling agitated. From then on I went out of my way to be super friendly to the sunshiny people when I encountered them. They then started to complain that I was being too cheerful. Fuck my life. I hate people.
The only client my evil boss ever went toe to toe with on my behalf was the Austin stop. For some reason the doctor there wanted to schedule her patients as early in the morning as she could, and she wanted her nuclear medicine delivered by 7am. Impossible. Nuclear medicine has a decay rate, it gets made every day specifically for the patient who will receive it based on their weight and what time their appointment is. Because of the time it took to make the doses and the distance between the lab and the hospitals, it was impossible to get it there before 7:30. If I fractured the traffic laws I could get it there by 7:15am at the very earliest - but I'm responsible for my own speeding tickets. The boss told her time and again that we could not guarantee it before 7:30 - but every time I got to her stop she was sitting there waiting impatiently and scowling at me even though I was technically on time. Guh. Whatever. If there was ever anyone on my route that I could cuss out and probably get away with it, it was her.
During this time my sweetie landed a job at a local bakery. His job was to deliver donuts to gas stations and company cafeterias, etc.. One morning we discovered purely by accident that our two routes crossed each other. I was driving south on 169 and as I was passing a delivery van I looked over and noticed it was my sweetie driving it. He stopped at a gas station for a delivery and I pulled in behind him. We were surprised to see each other. We both began looking forward to running into each other every morning even though it was just long enough to grab a cup of coffee and a quick kiss. Then it was back to the grindstone.
If I thought my route problems were bad, they were nothing compared to his. His boss apparently had more clients than he had drivers and vehicles to handle - my sweetie had to make upwards of 50 stops every day, and like me he was expected to have his stuff delivered by a certain time. Looking at his route sheet I could see that he was being expected to do the impossible. It was just an insane amount of delivery stops. To make matters worse, the donuts were almost never ready on time - this had him leaving 'late' on his route more often than not. It wasn't his fault but his boss was still unsympathetic. There was also a problem with his paychecks - the boss was constantly late with his deposits so they kept bouncing and the check cashing places wouldn't touch them. The only place that cashed them without batting an eye was the neighborhood bar up the street from the bakery.
And that caused another fight between us. I knew he was having trouble cashing his checks but I didn't like the idea of him cashing them at the bar - it was just another excuse for him to get drunk and I had been nagging him without mercy about the amount of drinking he was doing. By this time I was losing my mind over it and wound up having an embarrassing scene at that neighborhood bar. The bartender tried to claim that my sweetie only came in to cash his check and ordered coffee when he did. Yeah right. I knew my sweetie well enough to know this guy was lying through his teeth. I had an epic conniption fit right then and there. I yelled at the bartender, I yelled at my sweetie - fortunately we were the only ones in the bar at the time, but it was pretty damn embarrassing. (Sorry bartender.) I think in the back of my mind I was hoping it was embarrassing enough that my sweetie wouldn't be welcome there anymore. Not even. I'm guessing the bartender had seen much worse in his time.
The stress of the impossible route and the check cashing fiasco was too much for my sweetie and he quit the bakery gig. I was almost relieved - more stress meant more alcohol and we definitely didn't need that. Since he didn't have a job to go to, he was helping me with my caretaker job. In the summer he mowed the grass and in the winter he shoveled snow. He also started helping out with the household chores - laundry, dishes, cooking dinner. It was nice to have some help and he seemed to be buying less beer, which initially seemed like a good thing. Little did I know...
My mom needed to go back down to Oklahoma to handle some personal business and asked me if I'd come with to keep her company on the ride. I was nervous about leaving my sweetie unmonitored for a few days but I didn't want to turn my mom down, I said 'sure!' and we left. We stayed at my brothers house and after a day of sightseeing I called home to check on things. Oh dear. I could tell he was drunk again as soon as he answered the phone. The stereo was way too loud and he was sounding pretty sloppy. When I confronted him about it he became belligerent. "You didn't really think I wasn't going to drink while you were gone, did you?" Probably not, but I didn't think he was going to use it as an excuse to go on a bender - which is what he obviously did. I couldn't enjoy the rest of the trip, I was too worried about what was going on at home. On the return trip my mom let me drive for a while and drive I did. Like a bat out of hell.
When we finally got back home my mom helped me carry my stuff inside and I wished she hadn't. I could hear my stereo blasting as soon as we got in the building and when I walked into my apartment I found my sweetie passed out on the living room floor, an empty vodka bottle laying nearby. There was a few more empties on the counter and I saw another bottle in the trash. Fuuuuuuuu..... I quickly stepped over him and shut down the stereo, and then apologized to my mom and sent her on her way.
After she left I walked over and gave him a swift kick in the ass. I wasn't proud of that then and I'm not proud of it now. I wanted him up and out of my apartment. We had yet another fight, I piled him into my car and dumped him off at the house of his buddy - formerly roomie #2. Back at home I started tossing the empties in the trash and discovered his stash of booze in one of the dresser drawers. I was pissed off. He had started drinking vodka to supplement his beer drinking. This way he could drink less beer in front of me and still maintain the level of alcohol he wanted in his system with me being none the wiser. It worked too - he was actually able to fool me for a little while, but those days were now over. Now that I knew what he was doing, I'd be on a constant lookout for his hidden stashes and dump them when I found them. And dump them I did. It was an exercise in futility - as fast as I got rid of it, he'd get more.
Despite all this, I still loved him and we still had a good time together much more often than not. We really did enjoy each others company and when I'd see something of interest along my delivery route, I'd tell him about it and we'd both go check it out on the weekends. We visited roadside railroad museums and still went fishing and camping together. He knew I enjoyed taking pictures so he bought me a new camera and accompanied me on my picture taking excursions. I didn't have to ask him - he just wanted to come with.
Through all of this, I was trying and failing to get my credit cards paid off. The interest was destroying me and I couldn't make a big enough payment to knock down the principal. I tried using a financial planner and arranging payments with the credit card companies - no good. The phone was ringing off the hook daily. The creditors calling me didn't give a shit that I had made payment arrangements through the financial planner - I was past due and they wanted their money now. I gave them the planners number and told them to discuss it with them. No dice. I complained to the planner, who said I should be able to make the payments they arranged without difficulty. Except for one thing: While dividing my check among the creditors they had completely neglected to allot me any money for gas, groceries, soap, etc.. I can't keep going to work without gas in my car, food in my belly and wearing dirty clothes - my evil boss lady would never stand for it. After bringing that to their attention they finally came to the conclusion that I was in a situation I couldn't dig out of and suggested a bankruptcy lawyer. I decided they were right and I filed for bankruptcy. I felt like such a loser, but at least the phone stopped ringing.
As 2000 came to a close, my mom quit the job at the pharmacy. The office politics were driving her nuts and she was over qualified for the job anyway. She took a supervisory position at the casino. I was bummed - her presence in the lab was keeping the evil boss lady in check, and now that she was gone I had nothing to shield me. Boss lady knew it too and immediately started looking for reasons to rake me over the coals again. All I could do was grit my teeth and ride it out.
Monday, March 21, 2011
I feel good
April 2010, my sweetie completed his round of chemo and radiation and he was feeling good. During the last couple of weeks of treatment he was tired a lot, and the burn from the radiation got pretty bad but his appetite was better than it had been in almost a year and his mood had improved greatly.
The nutritionist had said to keep his weight up - any calories were good at this point, and I was shoe-horning them in whenever and where ever I could. I made many middle of the night trips to the local fast food restaurants - if he wanted White Castles at 3am I'd hop in the car and drive across town to get them. I was just happy to see him eating again.
Toward the end of the month his fatigue was going away and he was feeling more energetic. He took advantage of this and made the rounds visiting his friends and family. He got a new motorcycle that was lighter and easier for him to handle, and as soon as the roads were dry enough he made sure to go for a ride at least once a day as well.
He was feeling so good that he began to over do it. Every year I had a container garden on our back deck and he would help me set it up, getting the pots down from the shelves in the garage and running them up the stairs. He liked to sit out there in the morning, having coffee, watching the birds and listening to the trains. I wanted him to take it easy but as long as he was feeling good he wanted to act like nothing was wrong whatsoever. He wanted to feel normal. He wanted to do laundry, he wanted to barbecue, he wanted to dig in the dirt...so I let him. We seemed to have a mutual unspoken agreement that as long as he was feeling good, we'd live in denial for a while.
So we went shopping together at the nursery to pick out the plants for the season and get dirt for the pots. We did a lot of shopping in 2010 really...if something struck his fancy, we bought it. I saw no reason to deny him any creature comforts he wanted and he saw no reason to deny me mine. I think we both just wanted the other to feel better, price tags be damned. While we were out shopping he upgraded our deck chairs and we got a patio umbrella to give us a little more shade in the afternoons.
The doctors had changed his prescriptions - instead of taking Vicodin as needed, he was now taking Oxycontin twice a day and it seemed to be managing his pain very well. I remember sitting with him on the deck last spring and being almost convinced that it had all been a bad dream.
He couldn't be dying - he looked healthier and happier than I'd seen him in ages.
The nutritionist had said to keep his weight up - any calories were good at this point, and I was shoe-horning them in whenever and where ever I could. I made many middle of the night trips to the local fast food restaurants - if he wanted White Castles at 3am I'd hop in the car and drive across town to get them. I was just happy to see him eating again.
Toward the end of the month his fatigue was going away and he was feeling more energetic. He took advantage of this and made the rounds visiting his friends and family. He got a new motorcycle that was lighter and easier for him to handle, and as soon as the roads were dry enough he made sure to go for a ride at least once a day as well.
He was feeling so good that he began to over do it. Every year I had a container garden on our back deck and he would help me set it up, getting the pots down from the shelves in the garage and running them up the stairs. He liked to sit out there in the morning, having coffee, watching the birds and listening to the trains. I wanted him to take it easy but as long as he was feeling good he wanted to act like nothing was wrong whatsoever. He wanted to feel normal. He wanted to do laundry, he wanted to barbecue, he wanted to dig in the dirt...so I let him. We seemed to have a mutual unspoken agreement that as long as he was feeling good, we'd live in denial for a while.
So we went shopping together at the nursery to pick out the plants for the season and get dirt for the pots. We did a lot of shopping in 2010 really...if something struck his fancy, we bought it. I saw no reason to deny him any creature comforts he wanted and he saw no reason to deny me mine. I think we both just wanted the other to feel better, price tags be damned. While we were out shopping he upgraded our deck chairs and we got a patio umbrella to give us a little more shade in the afternoons.
The doctors had changed his prescriptions - instead of taking Vicodin as needed, he was now taking Oxycontin twice a day and it seemed to be managing his pain very well. I remember sitting with him on the deck last spring and being almost convinced that it had all been a bad dream.
He couldn't be dying - he looked healthier and happier than I'd seen him in ages.
Tuesday, March 8, 2011
Drive
In 1999 I quit my job as a shipping clerk. During the previous summer and early fall there had been an extreme amount of overtime - 12 hours a day, 5 days a week. Come winter it had been a different story altogether. It was a dry winter and our business was down due to the lack of snow, without it our winter inventory wasn't selling. I was down to 20 hours a week on average and had to max out all my credit cards to make ends meet. I started searching the employment ads and found a new job as a delivery driver in a nuclear medicine lab. The hours were weird (2am til 10am) but stable and it paid a lot better. This was good because I had acquired a mountain of credit card debt.
My sweetie's drinking was completely epic by this point. He had lost his job and unable to pay his rent, he was evicted from his apartment. I let him move into mine. I met his mom for the first time and was both awestruck and completely intimidated by her. I have no idea what she thought of me at the time...
Over the course of the year I discovered just how bad his alcoholism had gotten. Because his behavior was so erratic and I felt a constant need to keep track of him, I was in a perpetual state of sleep deprivation. He was like Jekyll and Hyde. Sober, he was sweet and considerate - drunk and he turned into a snarling monster, spewing vitriol at anyone unfortunate enough to get in his way. He frequently borrowed stuff and returned it broken. He would binge drink and after he passed out, he soiled the bed. I spent much of my time off washing the bedding, trying to replace broken items and doing damage control with our management company about the volume of the music/other noise coming from my apartment along with doing my duties as building caretaker.
I feel like I was as much at fault for my sweetie's drinking as he was. There were too many times over the year when I bought his beer just to avoid the fight I knew would come if he was forced to go without. Enabling I guess they call it. At the time, I just called it keeping the peace. Not that things were any more peaceful when he had his beer mind you. He could easily drink a 12 pack a day like it was nothing and I was eventually able to accurately gauge his mood by counting how many cans he'd gone through. 3-6 cans and he's happy, social and playing his guitar. 7-9 cans and he became moody and argumentative. 10-12 cans and he would bitch at me about the crap he endured as a young boy living with his mom - "Ya know what my mom had on the back of the toilet when I was a kid?! A FUCKING PENIS GUILLOTINE!!! And she thought it was FUNNY!" *sigh* Christ. What could she have possibly been thinking with that thing?! (Seriously. If you're reading this, have a son and you own one of these things, go smash it with a hammer and throw it in the trash. You'll be doing your boy and his future girlfriend(s) a solid. Do it now. I'll wait...)
Sleep deprivation plus a driving job is a recipe for disaster. I was trying to make up for it by driving like a bat out of hell to get my deliveries done early and then I would grab a nap for an hour at a rest area. I also drank ridiculous amounts of coffee. None of this was working well unfortunately. I was constantly tired, crabby and on edge. I had trouble staying awake and caught myself falling asleep at the wheel. I began having road rage. My nerves were frazzled and my sense of humor was gone completely, I began to snap at people on my route and back at the lab. This landed me in trouble at my job.
It was becoming a near weekly occurrence that my boss would call me into her office to have a word with me about my attitude. She was unsympathetic to the situation at home, and advised me to break up with my sweetie. Her viewpoint was that he would never change (people like him never do) and was beyond redemption. I was unwilling to do that. As much of an asshole as he was drunk, he was made of pure awesome when he wasn't. I just wanted him to get his drinking under control.
By failing to heed her advice I had somehow made an enemy of her and she took it out on me in various ways, finding fault with me where ever she could. Nothing I did was good enough. She suddenly decided she didn't like the concert t-shirts I was wearing and insisted I start wearing a company uniform shirt instead. There was only one other person there who was required to wear them, and they were obviously on her shit list as well. Other drivers were still wearing concert shirts, Sturgis shirts, etc. The rule only seemed to apply to me and shit list guy. She'd give my regular route to other drivers and force me to work in the lab all day and do short runs instead. She gave me shit jobs to do and would hover around waiting to see if I complained so she could write me up for it. When we had our monthly company meetings they would always order food to be delivered for them, and she would make sure I was sent out for a delivery while they were happening. This had me missing out on the free lunch and also forced me to get the info from the meeting secondhand. Just because I missed the meeting didn't mean I wasn't expected to know what new policy changes had been made...
She lightened up a bit when my mom moved back to Minnesota from Oklahoma and got a job at the lab too. It was quite obvious to me that she'd been singling me out, and I suspect she knew my mom would've spoken up if she continued. So she was nice to me when my mom was around. Mom worked the day shift and I worked nights. If I punched in on time and got my regular route, I only had to deal with the boss for 45 minutes. By the time I got back from my route, my mom was clocked in and I only had another 30 minutes or so before I was done for the day. I spent my time in the lab walking on eggshells and trying to avoid the boss.
My mom was less than thrilled with my sweetie as well, she thought I had made a horrible error in judgment. Since she had just recently been divorced for the 3rd time she didn't feel like she was in a position to judge, but she warned me that he seemed to have a terrible temper and she was worried about me. Even so she acknowledged that I was an adult, my decisions were my own and she let me make them without interference (thanks mom).
The year wasn't all bad. There was more camping at our favorite spot. He taught me how to fish and we went fishing a lot on my days off. Mostly shore fishing but every so often we'd rent a boat and go sit in the middle of the lake. I got my first computer and joined the rest of the world on the internet. It was also the year I saw the aurora borealis for the first time - it was an epiphany for me.
Somehow I managed to make it through 1999 without my head imploding, but I was slowly beginning to unravel.
My sweetie's drinking was completely epic by this point. He had lost his job and unable to pay his rent, he was evicted from his apartment. I let him move into mine. I met his mom for the first time and was both awestruck and completely intimidated by her. I have no idea what she thought of me at the time...
Over the course of the year I discovered just how bad his alcoholism had gotten. Because his behavior was so erratic and I felt a constant need to keep track of him, I was in a perpetual state of sleep deprivation. He was like Jekyll and Hyde. Sober, he was sweet and considerate - drunk and he turned into a snarling monster, spewing vitriol at anyone unfortunate enough to get in his way. He frequently borrowed stuff and returned it broken. He would binge drink and after he passed out, he soiled the bed. I spent much of my time off washing the bedding, trying to replace broken items and doing damage control with our management company about the volume of the music/other noise coming from my apartment along with doing my duties as building caretaker.
I feel like I was as much at fault for my sweetie's drinking as he was. There were too many times over the year when I bought his beer just to avoid the fight I knew would come if he was forced to go without. Enabling I guess they call it. At the time, I just called it keeping the peace. Not that things were any more peaceful when he had his beer mind you. He could easily drink a 12 pack a day like it was nothing and I was eventually able to accurately gauge his mood by counting how many cans he'd gone through. 3-6 cans and he's happy, social and playing his guitar. 7-9 cans and he became moody and argumentative. 10-12 cans and he would bitch at me about the crap he endured as a young boy living with his mom - "Ya know what my mom had on the back of the toilet when I was a kid?! A FUCKING PENIS GUILLOTINE!!! And she thought it was FUNNY!" *sigh* Christ. What could she have possibly been thinking with that thing?! (Seriously. If you're reading this, have a son and you own one of these things, go smash it with a hammer and throw it in the trash. You'll be doing your boy and his future girlfriend(s) a solid. Do it now. I'll wait...)
Sleep deprivation plus a driving job is a recipe for disaster. I was trying to make up for it by driving like a bat out of hell to get my deliveries done early and then I would grab a nap for an hour at a rest area. I also drank ridiculous amounts of coffee. None of this was working well unfortunately. I was constantly tired, crabby and on edge. I had trouble staying awake and caught myself falling asleep at the wheel. I began having road rage. My nerves were frazzled and my sense of humor was gone completely, I began to snap at people on my route and back at the lab. This landed me in trouble at my job.
It was becoming a near weekly occurrence that my boss would call me into her office to have a word with me about my attitude. She was unsympathetic to the situation at home, and advised me to break up with my sweetie. Her viewpoint was that he would never change (people like him never do) and was beyond redemption. I was unwilling to do that. As much of an asshole as he was drunk, he was made of pure awesome when he wasn't. I just wanted him to get his drinking under control.
By failing to heed her advice I had somehow made an enemy of her and she took it out on me in various ways, finding fault with me where ever she could. Nothing I did was good enough. She suddenly decided she didn't like the concert t-shirts I was wearing and insisted I start wearing a company uniform shirt instead. There was only one other person there who was required to wear them, and they were obviously on her shit list as well. Other drivers were still wearing concert shirts, Sturgis shirts, etc. The rule only seemed to apply to me and shit list guy. She'd give my regular route to other drivers and force me to work in the lab all day and do short runs instead. She gave me shit jobs to do and would hover around waiting to see if I complained so she could write me up for it. When we had our monthly company meetings they would always order food to be delivered for them, and she would make sure I was sent out for a delivery while they were happening. This had me missing out on the free lunch and also forced me to get the info from the meeting secondhand. Just because I missed the meeting didn't mean I wasn't expected to know what new policy changes had been made...
She lightened up a bit when my mom moved back to Minnesota from Oklahoma and got a job at the lab too. It was quite obvious to me that she'd been singling me out, and I suspect she knew my mom would've spoken up if she continued. So she was nice to me when my mom was around. Mom worked the day shift and I worked nights. If I punched in on time and got my regular route, I only had to deal with the boss for 45 minutes. By the time I got back from my route, my mom was clocked in and I only had another 30 minutes or so before I was done for the day. I spent my time in the lab walking on eggshells and trying to avoid the boss.
My mom was less than thrilled with my sweetie as well, she thought I had made a horrible error in judgment. Since she had just recently been divorced for the 3rd time she didn't feel like she was in a position to judge, but she warned me that he seemed to have a terrible temper and she was worried about me. Even so she acknowledged that I was an adult, my decisions were my own and she let me make them without interference (thanks mom).
The year wasn't all bad. There was more camping at our favorite spot. He taught me how to fish and we went fishing a lot on my days off. Mostly shore fishing but every so often we'd rent a boat and go sit in the middle of the lake. I got my first computer and joined the rest of the world on the internet. It was also the year I saw the aurora borealis for the first time - it was an epiphany for me.
Somehow I managed to make it through 1999 without my head imploding, but I was slowly beginning to unravel.
Monday, February 28, 2011
Medicated goo
Meanwhile back in 2010...
My sweetie had begun receiving daily radiation treatments for the tumor in his lung. Pretty quick and easy...it was not unlike getting an x-ray. Every day we'd show up at 9am and wait our turn. We'd go into the back and he'd strip off his jacket and shirt and hop up on the table. I'd hang out and watch while the techs got him lined up properly and inserted the lead shield that would direct the beam of radiation, then follow them out of the room to watch on a monitor as he received his treatment. In and out. It really only took a minute.
He was scheduled to start getting his chemo at the end of the first week of radiation, but he had to meet with his new oncologist first. Enter his mom... She decided that she wanted to meet the oncologist and was going to come to that appointment, and she did. We arrived for the appointment and discovered she was already there waiting for us, notebook at the ready. We got his radiation out of the way and then went to sit in the lobby where he had some new forms to fill out while waiting. I remember my sweetie sitting there trying to fill out the paperwork while his mom kept giving me sad looks and fussing with his hair. I was giving her the silent treatment. I did not want her to be there, she was fouling the atmosphere with her negative 'this is all hopeless' attitude.
Body language speaks volumes and my sweetie was increasingly leaning away from her and toward me as he struggled through the forms while she continued stroking his hair. Finally he had enough. "Mom! I don't think I care about my hair as much as you seem too" he said, batting her hand away. She immediately stopped her fawning and asserted that she did in fact care about more than his hair - but I didn't really believe her. I hadn't had a single conversation with her since January that didn't include her mentioning his hair and how awful it would be if it fell out. For my part I'd told him before he even started getting treated that while I also thought he had the prettiest hair ever, it really wasn't the most important thing in the world to me and I'd still love him til the end of time even if he was bald.
Shortly after that, my sweetie was called back to meet the doctor and discuss his chemotherapy treatments. He, his mom and I were now sitting in a small exam room listening to the doctor talk and she was again taking copious notes. I remember having a feeling of deja vu. She was asking questions about the treatment and...possible hair loss. *sigh* The doctor told us that the chemo they wanted to try did not typically cause hair loss. My brain was doing a boogaloo. I thought 'Ha!!! In yer face woman!'. I think I may have even cracked a smile. Soon enough the meeting was over. He would receive the chemo once a week for the next 6 or 7 weeks, each session would take about 2 and a half hours.
His mom offered to drive him to his appointments and we politely refused. I spoke up and said 'I can get him to his appointments, no problem' - and he was happy to let me. Over the next month and a half she kept offering. If not her, then maybe this friend of hers that lived near us? No? She knows so many people that want to help. I took offense at that. It felt like she was implying that I was incapable of taking care of this or she thought I didn't really want to do it. Couldn't be farther from the truth, really. I had decided to become his human shield and wanted to protect him from the many well intentioned people who wanted to 'help' him. Many of his moms friends are 'spiritual' people who wanted to take this opportunity to bring him the good word and 'raise his spirit'. (For the record my sweetie maintained that he was an atheist.) Neither of us are church going people and it would have been uncomfortable for both of us.
We met with a nutritionist who gave us a lot of helpful advice about his diet and we attended a 'class', more of a meeting really, to learn about chemo and what to expect from it. He was being prescribed a mild form of chemotherapy and we were surprised to learn that most people not only didn't lose their hair from it but they actually felt good after their treatments. Really? I'd always heard chemo left you feeling weak and sick. This was big news! We left the class actually looking forward to starting the chemo.
Even so, I was pretty nervous the day of his first chemo appointment. I was sitting in the infusion room keeping one eye on him and the other on the iv bag as it slowly dripped into his arm. After about an hour, I began to relax a bit. They'd said that if he was going to have a reaction to the drugs, it'd happen right away. But there wasn't a negative reaction, in fact he looked quite relaxed...and a little stoned. We sat there watching the big tv hanging from the ceiling by his chair and every so often a nurse would come by to change one iv bag for another. Two and a half hours later and he was done. We left and he surprised me by announcing he was hungry - he wanted some McDonalds. No problem! There's one very close to our house and I swung through the drive thru on the way home.
We got home, he ate his sandwich and then an amazing thing happened - he pulled his guitar down from the wall and started playing! Holy shit man! It wasn't until that moment that I realized he hadn't played his guitar since at least January. How the hell did I not notice that? He'd slowly stopped playing because of the pain in his arm and shoulder and amid all the drama I had somehow not noticed. He enthusiastically cranked out a few tunes - Cliffs of Dover, Purple Haze, For the love of God... My heart soared! This was a very good sign indeed! For him to have stopped playing he had to have been hurting pretty damn bad and just knowing that hurt me as well.
He was a huge lover of music and loved the guitar gods in particular being a guitarist himself. He turned me on to a lot of stuff that might have otherwise escaped my notice (thank you sweetie) and music was a constant in our house. Sometimes front and center, sometimes in the background - but always there. There were times when he was practicing or trying to learn something new that he drove me just a little bit insane, hearing the same brief bit over and over and over again. The seemingly endless repetition would get to me after a while and I'd beg him to take a break. Please, PLEASE!! For the love of every thing holy please play something else for an hour before I become homicidal! I always felt bad about that. We lived in a tiny one room apartment at the time but practicing is important and he had no place else where he could do it. I could have split for a while or found something to do outside...what if, what if. Listening to him play now, I had a hard time believing I'd ever found his playing annoying and I was acutely aware that one day it would be gone for good. I tried not to think about that and happily lapped up every note.
The chemo was helping and he was feeling better. We quickly fell into a routine; arrive in the morning, get zapped and leave, and plan to be there for a few hours on chemo day. While he was getting his chemo I'd jet across the skyway to the hospital cafeteria and grab him a sandwich and bottle of ice tea from their deli. (Hospitals have deli's now - who knew?) We'd eat our sandwiches and I'd draw while he watched tv or napped in the chair until it was time to go home. The chemo was having a noticeable effect, he was feeling better and it was lasting longer with each dose. We also got good news from the techs - one day after the daily zapping routine they asked us to stick around because the radiologist wanted to see my sweetie. They said it looked like the tumor was shrinking and they wanted to do another scan so they could fine tune the beam. The scan confirmed it - the tumor had shrunk significantly! The treatment was working! They made a new lead shield and we left in a celebratory mood.
I drove him downtown because he wanted to share the good news with his buddies at the guitar store. He loved that shop and thought the world of the dudes who own it - and they clearly liked him too. He promoted them shamelessly everywhere he went - stickers, word of mouth, he even had their store logo tattooed on his forearm. Like I said, he loved that shop. The fellas were glad to hear the news and my sweetie picked up some new strings for his guitar and a new t-shirt.
It was nearing the end of March and true to their word, the doctors were going to have my sweetie feeling better in time for summer. At least once a week they did a new scan and each time it showed more shrinkage. He had a large odd shaped sunburn from the radiation, but he still had all his hair and he was feeling more and more like his old self with each passing day. We started feeling like we might beat this thing.
My sweetie had begun receiving daily radiation treatments for the tumor in his lung. Pretty quick and easy...it was not unlike getting an x-ray. Every day we'd show up at 9am and wait our turn. We'd go into the back and he'd strip off his jacket and shirt and hop up on the table. I'd hang out and watch while the techs got him lined up properly and inserted the lead shield that would direct the beam of radiation, then follow them out of the room to watch on a monitor as he received his treatment. In and out. It really only took a minute.
He was scheduled to start getting his chemo at the end of the first week of radiation, but he had to meet with his new oncologist first. Enter his mom... She decided that she wanted to meet the oncologist and was going to come to that appointment, and she did. We arrived for the appointment and discovered she was already there waiting for us, notebook at the ready. We got his radiation out of the way and then went to sit in the lobby where he had some new forms to fill out while waiting. I remember my sweetie sitting there trying to fill out the paperwork while his mom kept giving me sad looks and fussing with his hair. I was giving her the silent treatment. I did not want her to be there, she was fouling the atmosphere with her negative 'this is all hopeless' attitude.
Body language speaks volumes and my sweetie was increasingly leaning away from her and toward me as he struggled through the forms while she continued stroking his hair. Finally he had enough. "Mom! I don't think I care about my hair as much as you seem too" he said, batting her hand away. She immediately stopped her fawning and asserted that she did in fact care about more than his hair - but I didn't really believe her. I hadn't had a single conversation with her since January that didn't include her mentioning his hair and how awful it would be if it fell out. For my part I'd told him before he even started getting treated that while I also thought he had the prettiest hair ever, it really wasn't the most important thing in the world to me and I'd still love him til the end of time even if he was bald.
Shortly after that, my sweetie was called back to meet the doctor and discuss his chemotherapy treatments. He, his mom and I were now sitting in a small exam room listening to the doctor talk and she was again taking copious notes. I remember having a feeling of deja vu. She was asking questions about the treatment and...possible hair loss. *sigh* The doctor told us that the chemo they wanted to try did not typically cause hair loss. My brain was doing a boogaloo. I thought 'Ha!!! In yer face woman!'. I think I may have even cracked a smile. Soon enough the meeting was over. He would receive the chemo once a week for the next 6 or 7 weeks, each session would take about 2 and a half hours.
His mom offered to drive him to his appointments and we politely refused. I spoke up and said 'I can get him to his appointments, no problem' - and he was happy to let me. Over the next month and a half she kept offering. If not her, then maybe this friend of hers that lived near us? No? She knows so many people that want to help. I took offense at that. It felt like she was implying that I was incapable of taking care of this or she thought I didn't really want to do it. Couldn't be farther from the truth, really. I had decided to become his human shield and wanted to protect him from the many well intentioned people who wanted to 'help' him. Many of his moms friends are 'spiritual' people who wanted to take this opportunity to bring him the good word and 'raise his spirit'. (For the record my sweetie maintained that he was an atheist.) Neither of us are church going people and it would have been uncomfortable for both of us.
We met with a nutritionist who gave us a lot of helpful advice about his diet and we attended a 'class', more of a meeting really, to learn about chemo and what to expect from it. He was being prescribed a mild form of chemotherapy and we were surprised to learn that most people not only didn't lose their hair from it but they actually felt good after their treatments. Really? I'd always heard chemo left you feeling weak and sick. This was big news! We left the class actually looking forward to starting the chemo.
Even so, I was pretty nervous the day of his first chemo appointment. I was sitting in the infusion room keeping one eye on him and the other on the iv bag as it slowly dripped into his arm. After about an hour, I began to relax a bit. They'd said that if he was going to have a reaction to the drugs, it'd happen right away. But there wasn't a negative reaction, in fact he looked quite relaxed...and a little stoned. We sat there watching the big tv hanging from the ceiling by his chair and every so often a nurse would come by to change one iv bag for another. Two and a half hours later and he was done. We left and he surprised me by announcing he was hungry - he wanted some McDonalds. No problem! There's one very close to our house and I swung through the drive thru on the way home.
We got home, he ate his sandwich and then an amazing thing happened - he pulled his guitar down from the wall and started playing! Holy shit man! It wasn't until that moment that I realized he hadn't played his guitar since at least January. How the hell did I not notice that? He'd slowly stopped playing because of the pain in his arm and shoulder and amid all the drama I had somehow not noticed. He enthusiastically cranked out a few tunes - Cliffs of Dover, Purple Haze, For the love of God... My heart soared! This was a very good sign indeed! For him to have stopped playing he had to have been hurting pretty damn bad and just knowing that hurt me as well.
He was a huge lover of music and loved the guitar gods in particular being a guitarist himself. He turned me on to a lot of stuff that might have otherwise escaped my notice (thank you sweetie) and music was a constant in our house. Sometimes front and center, sometimes in the background - but always there. There were times when he was practicing or trying to learn something new that he drove me just a little bit insane, hearing the same brief bit over and over and over again. The seemingly endless repetition would get to me after a while and I'd beg him to take a break. Please, PLEASE!! For the love of every thing holy please play something else for an hour before I become homicidal! I always felt bad about that. We lived in a tiny one room apartment at the time but practicing is important and he had no place else where he could do it. I could have split for a while or found something to do outside...what if, what if. Listening to him play now, I had a hard time believing I'd ever found his playing annoying and I was acutely aware that one day it would be gone for good. I tried not to think about that and happily lapped up every note.
The chemo was helping and he was feeling better. We quickly fell into a routine; arrive in the morning, get zapped and leave, and plan to be there for a few hours on chemo day. While he was getting his chemo I'd jet across the skyway to the hospital cafeteria and grab him a sandwich and bottle of ice tea from their deli. (Hospitals have deli's now - who knew?) We'd eat our sandwiches and I'd draw while he watched tv or napped in the chair until it was time to go home. The chemo was having a noticeable effect, he was feeling better and it was lasting longer with each dose. We also got good news from the techs - one day after the daily zapping routine they asked us to stick around because the radiologist wanted to see my sweetie. They said it looked like the tumor was shrinking and they wanted to do another scan so they could fine tune the beam. The scan confirmed it - the tumor had shrunk significantly! The treatment was working! They made a new lead shield and we left in a celebratory mood.
I drove him downtown because he wanted to share the good news with his buddies at the guitar store. He loved that shop and thought the world of the dudes who own it - and they clearly liked him too. He promoted them shamelessly everywhere he went - stickers, word of mouth, he even had their store logo tattooed on his forearm. Like I said, he loved that shop. The fellas were glad to hear the news and my sweetie picked up some new strings for his guitar and a new t-shirt.
It was nearing the end of March and true to their word, the doctors were going to have my sweetie feeling better in time for summer. At least once a week they did a new scan and each time it showed more shrinkage. He had a large odd shaped sunburn from the radiation, but he still had all his hair and he was feeling more and more like his old self with each passing day. We started feeling like we might beat this thing.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)