Well, where to start????
Things, unpacking, converting the garage, building a storage shed so that we can empty the garage in order to convert it…everything pretty much at a screeching hault.
Last week, on Tuesday, I dropped the kids off at school. Monday had been hell! At my husband's multiple requests I called my PCP and ask for an appointment to have a spot looked at on my leg and to see if I could discuss my inability to sleep.
The spot on my leg made the nurse squeeze me in that day. I tried telling them it was a tiny spot and I only wanted it looked at because it seemed to triple in size in the last couple weeks, but it is still very tiny.
Mind you I use the VA for medical care. They all seemed rather disapointed that I didn't have a tumor the size of Texas on my leg. But all were again lively when I brought up my lack of sleep. I had to explain the sorted mess of my life to the nurse, who then went to seek help from the nurse in charge, who needed me to again explain why I needed meds to sleep.
The nurse in charge decides that instead of asking my PCP to give me meds she needed to escort me to mental health and loudly wisper to one person and then another and on and on. I felt like a fool in the waiting area with all the other mental patients looking at me thinking " ohhh her husband cheated on her and she has had a mental breakdown" I so badly wanted to yell out " his therapist swears I am not crazy!!! I just need sleep that is all!!!"
Instead I get called back ahead of all the people that were there before me, like I might flip out at any minute.
So I have to tell the therapist the sorted details. She openly gasp when she ask if my husband was out of the home and I said " no! He has a disease, of course I didn't leave him!"
By the end of that conversation I was shaking, really really shaking and completely done with this whole mess. But I let her escort me to the waiting area, watched through the cracked open door as she stopped the doctor and discussed my situation then ushered me back through the door and into the doctor's office. I again repeat the unnerving details of my life over the last six months. By then I was crying and really done.
Then the doctor has the nerve to ask me questions but cut me off and not allow me to fully answer. For example, " your sister has moved in with you, is she able to help clean up and take care of the kids ?" I try to say " some of the kids are in DHS custody and she is not allowed to watch them or care for them because her disabilities prevent her from taking the training, yes she cleans but her way of doing thinks makes me crazy" the doctor just wanted yes or no…after the 3rd time she cut me off, I came unglued! I ask her why on earth she would be so rude to someone who is cleary on the verge of completely loosing it? Why ask a damn question if I am not allowed to answer?
So she attempted to tell me 4 times that she squeezed me in and does not have much time and needs one or two word answers. I made it a point to cut her off every time. I finally said " look I can be just as rude as you and considering my current stress level I am sure I can do this a lot longer than you can, so lets get on with your one word answers, if your that strapped for time move on to your questions" and so she did.
I left with a bottle of pills that I was supposed to take one any time I feel stressed out, another if needed and one at bed time.
I looked the meds up on my phone and stuck them in the cup holder and headed home. It seems that when I stopped for a drink on the way home and threw out my lunch trash I also threw out the pills. Maybe I stuck them back in the bag and not the cup holder?
So Tuesday after dropping off the kids, I stopped and purchased over the counter sleep meds. I slept all day Tuesday and felt really yucky when I did wake up.
Seems I was in day one of the stomach flu. 7 days later I barely have managed to crawl back to life and leave the bed. Everyone else managed to keep the important things going, like school, food and daily meds for the kids.
A couple days ago I managed to do a few things, then a little more yesterday and a whole lot today. It has been a complete wasted week but at least I slept!