wine

I Will Crush You, Ivan!

Our son has to receive Remicade infusions every four weeks to keep his Crohn’s Disease in check.  Our insurance changed this year – because why the hell not, I’m a stay at home mom and have nothing but time on my hands – and I officially had it with our new prescription service this morning.

Normally, the meds are shipped to our house, I schedule the infusion appointment with our nurse, the nurse comes to my house on the assigned day, bada bing bada boom, the thing is done and we’re good for another four weeks.

CVS Caremark apparently thinks that method is a load of horse shit.  They ferreted out my Remicade scam almost right away and called me on it.  I just got off the phone with Ivan, who is probably in the CVS Caremark bathroom right this very minute with a makeshift ice pack on his asshole.  This is how Ivan’s last 10 minutes went:

Me:  I’m just a bit confused, Brandon took my $250 copay the day before yesterday without any problem, told me I’d have the meds yesterday.  Guess what, Ivan?  I didn’t get those meds.

Ivan:  Yeah, let me check to see what’s going on here.

Me:  I know what’s going on.  I didn’t get the meds.  The meds I paid for.

Ivan:  It looks like, uhhh, you don’t have a plan in place for administering the med.  Like, what do you once you get it?

Me:  I get the med, I call the nurse, the nurse comes to my house and gives it to my son.

Ivan:  How is it administered?  

Me (MAKING myself not say “We usually put all 9 vials in a tranq gun and shoot him in the ass with it.):  Via a pump.  

Ivan:  Gravity drip?

Me (talking as I would to a very frightened, lost four year old):  A regular battery operated pump, Ivan.  No sorcery involved.

Ivan:  It looks like the reason it wasn’t shipped is because you don’t have a plan on file for administering the drug once you get it and we also don’t have what we need from your Doctor. 

*At this point, I’ve developed a tic in my right eye and I’m popping Bayer aspirin in hopes of living through my impending stroke.  Ivan’s waded into the shit pool without his floaties on and he doesn’t even know it yet.  Also, when I’m getting very angry, I repeat your name a lot.*

Me:  Brandon had all the proper forms the day before yesterday or surely he wouldn’t have taken my $250 copay, Ivan.  Brandon transferred me to the pharmacist, who informed me of all the med warnings, which I know by heart by now, Ivan.  Surely your pharmacist wouldn’t waste time for a call on a med he couldn’t fill due to a lack of Doctor’s form?  Right, Ivan?  Also, the Doctor’s nurse said she had faxed it to y’all twice.  Twice, Ivan.  This is a Doctor we have used for several years and they have never screwed us over.  You have, Ivan.  I don’t have the meds that were supposed to be here yesterday.  Ivan.    

Ivan:  Well, again, I think the problem is a lack of an administration plan.

**I have officially lost my shit.  My shit has left the building, saying “I quit this bitch!”  Also, when I’m past the point of anger but I can’t curse, I use the word “freaking” a lot.  Okay, too much.*

Me (I’m so pissed that he’s forced me to use the tranq gun line now):  This isn’t my first freaking rodeo, Ivan.  We’ve been doing this for 4 freaking years.  I don’t know your process because no one has told me.  I am not Nancy Freaking Drew, Ivan.  Please enlighten me.  Send me a nurse, send the meds to the Doctor, send it to the hospital.  Hell, let’s shoot it up his ass with a tranq gun at this point.  I.DO.NOT.FREAKING.CARE.

Ivan (clearing his throat and nervously laughs):  I mean, what are you going to do with $3,000 worth of medicine that just shows up at your door?

Me:  Seriously?  Congratulations, you got me, Ivan.  I’m freebasing Remicade.  Call me in, do what you have to do to sleep tonight but I do not have time for this SHIT.  IVAN!

Ivan:  Can I put you on hold?

Me:  Sure, Ivan.  I need to step up evasive measures against stroke at this point so it’s good timing for some smooth jazz hold music.

If you are a mom to a kid with health issues, stay at home or not, I just want to send you love today.  It’s not easy keeping up with all this shit, the meds, the appointments, the insurance, all the different offices, all the back and forth, all in the name of keeping your child as healthy as possible.  I hope you’re taking care of yourselves, too.  Go to Starbucks by yourself and just BE.  Take a bubble bath.  Drink some wine, eat some chocolate.  You deserve it.

Ivan does not deserve it.  Wherever you  are, Ivan, I hope that makeshift ice pack gives you frostbite on your asshole.  Bless your heart.

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Hips don’t lie. And neither does my ginormous ass.

I’ve been on a “journey” (I hate that fucking word when it comes to most anything due to its abuse by millions of women everywhere but there it is) with my weight for years.  I had lost almost 100 pounds, total, as of last summer.  I lost it after several years of amazing victories despite myself.  There were also amazing defeats, obviously, which is why it took several years but this failure takes the cake.  And Krispy Kreme doughnuts.  And pizza.  I have gained back, as of Monday, 42 pounds of that weight.  I have gained almost half of what I lost in total.

I was talking with my friend Kari on the phone yesterday for a good while and although we didn’t linger on my epic weight “journey” failure, I realized after I talked to her that I felt much better.  It was like confessional.  It’s like I’m not trying to be a closet failure anymore, I’m owning it.  Don’t misunderstand me.  If you’re friends with me on Facebook, you’ve seen my pictures.  You know I’ve put on weight since last summer.  Of course, we all try to choose the best photos to post but there’s no hiding weight gain like that eventually and even if you can, the scale will wake you up with the cold, hard, brutal numbers when you finally take that step to face reality.

As therapeutic as the conversation with Kari was, I feel the need for more confession.  I haven’t wanted to write blog posts lately.  We were on vacation in Orlando all last week but it’s more than that.  I’m angry at myself.  I hurt myself more than any enemy ever could.  I sabotaged myself in a way no one else could ever do, even if they tried.  I don’t exactly feel like coming here to make my regular four readers laugh, as much as I love you all.

Kari and I also discussed the “flavors” of different blogs.  Some are funny.  Some are serious.  Some will send you on a downward spiral into hell from which it could take days to come back from.  I don’t really “do” serious.  My teenage son is autistic, has Crohn’s, G6PD, migraines and epilepsy.  E and I have nearly lost both of our children, on more than one occasion, to medical issues that Doctors told us “almost never happen”.  I’m kind of done with serious.  I’ve had it with drama.  There is enough drama and sadness and tragedy in this world already.  I don’t want to put more sadness out there.  I don’t want anyone to walk away from my blog more depressed than they were before they came here.  I want to make you laugh.  I want to make your day better.  I don’t want to be the shit on your shit sandwich or your Debbie Downer.

But I’m human, too.  I have to unload this burden so I can move on.  And I know this isn’t the worst thing to happen to anyone.  Please don’t think I’m not sitting here feeling like a giant (literally) ass hole.  Because there are women out there at this very minute being told they have breast cancer.  Or that their child is dying.  Or that their husband has decided to leave them.  There are people burying their last parent today.  I do have some perspective on this.

I started a very intense diet (again) on Monday.  Due to the added weight and high impact exercise I should not even have attempted in the last few months, my knee is jacked up now but I will start low impact exercise today and get back in the gym.  I am happy to report that I am down 4.6 pounds so far this week and that’s a start.  If any of you write that off as “water weight”, I will come to your house and sit on you while eating a Krispy Kreme doughnut, fuckers.  I’m not even kidding.  Okay, I would only eat a rice cake but it’ll still hurt you like hell.  So just don’t do it.

Thank you for reading this.  I feel so much better, like after I get good and drunk on wine with my best friend Sylvia and then spend the next couple hours literally blubbering and ugly crying on her.  Yes, she’s a Saint and it’s only happened once (the blubbering and ugly crying, the wine thing has happened a lot.  A LOT.) but it was very purifying and this blog post has done much the same thing for me.

This is not a weight/fitness blog, obviously, but I will keep you updated on my progress every once in a while.

Love yourself, no matter what your struggle is right now.  Be kind to yourself today.  I love you all.