Ninapintasantamaria's Blog

{December 31, 2008}   Spotlight.

I was told today that I was not meant to share the spotlight with anyone.  Huh.  Never heard that one before.  I mean, I know I’m loud and full of myself even on a bad day, but huh.  Strange.  This was in reference to my general demeanor and my pregnancy status.  When I got pregant the 1st time, there were 14 other people pregnant at the same time.  She told me that I just need to be pregnant all by myself.  Whatever.

{December 30, 2008}   Anencephaly

It’s a terrible thing.  Being told that your child will never live outside your womb.  I still don’t understand why it happened to me.  I just want to get pregnant and have a baby like everyone else.  I’d like to be a better mother than the teenagers that I see at the mall texting while their babies are chewing on their fists.  I’d like to be a better mother than the teenagers I see smoking in the presence of their babies.  I’d like to be a better mother than the woman on the news that sedated her baby to the point of respiratory arrest so she could go dancing.  But I don’t get to.  Have I done something I need to repent for?  Did I miss a sign somewhere?  I don’t get it.  I also don’t get why I can’t find any balm in Gilead either.  Why can’t I get pregnant again?  Anencephaly doesn’t beget infertility.  Why do I have to endure this frustration?  I got pregnant the first time with no effort at all.  And that one gets taken away from me.  Did someone think I wouldn’t value her as much as if I’d tried for years?  How do they work that one out?  Is this the punishment I get for not carrying my child to term?  I don’t know if that was the right decision or not, but it was the only one I knew to make.  I’m sorry about not wanting to add insult to injury and cause my husband more grief by putting myself at risk of an amniotic fluid embolism.  Exactly what it sounds like, except the death rate is higher.  Yeah, there’s a good reason to prolong something pointless.  Simply to prove that I could carry a baby?  I don’t think so.  Maybe that’s selfish.  Maybe that’s the problem.  I can’t go back and undo it, so I guess I have to suffer.

My husband found my glasses  last night.  Right where I thought I lost them, too.  I looked for 2 days and got nowhere.  Oh well.  Guess he’s good for something.  God, I’m tired of him being stubborn just because he likes to watch me get mad.  He thinks it’s funny!  Can you imagine!  What a bastard.  I’m so tired of trying to do the right thing and truly wanting to treat everyone equally and then being undermined and embarrassed by my own husband!  He insists on being a slob, no matter how I show him that he’s being disrespectful of my time.  He says and does things that are inappropriate and offensive, and when I tell him that, he tells me he thinks it’s funny, therefore, there’s nothing wrong with it.  Bullies think that way.  It makes me ill that he seems to have no remorse for things that hurt other’s feelings, namely mine.  I hate him right now.

{December 29, 2008}   Update

UTI still going.  Called doctor’s office this am.  Hopefully feeling better  by tonight.  Love ya dears!

{December 28, 2008}   Tit slings and UTI

Or urinary tract infection.  I thought I was getting one earlier in the week, so, of course, I started taking cranberry pills, and drinking water.  Nope, didn’t feel any better, but tolerable.  Then, yesterday, naturally since I wasn’t at work around 15 or so docs, I started the going every few minutes thing with the burned if you do, burned if you don’t pattern of behavior.  I started taking the pyrimidine(?) pills then and that helped some, and I now have technicolor pee!  The stuff makes your pee turn to the color and consistency of cough syrup!  Bright orange.  Hysterical.  But not so painful anymore.  At least not in the bladder area.  Oh, I didn’t tell you?  Yeah, now the whole left flank is hurting, and we all know what that means.  Yeah, it’s migrated.  Now I’m pretty sure I have pyelonephritis, a.k.a. kidney infection.  Greaat.  I’m so excited now I can hardly contain myself.  The good news is, I haven’t broken out in fever yet, so if I can get some antibiotics tomorrow, I should be able to kill the pain by Wednesday, and the whole infection in a week or so.

In other news, I was able to find some excellent tit slings which weren’t on sale, but I bought the good ones, so I should be set for another 5 years or so.  To the tune of $150.  My husband was appalled.  He actually asked me how those women sleep at night.  I had to explain the whole issue of fit to him.  I also had to explain that due to our perpetually broke state in the last few years, that I had been making do with what I could find in the cheaper variety of bras and dealing with size issues.  Now we had the money to get the correct size, but unfortunately, they only come in the expensive brand.  The cheaper bras don’t come in my correct size.  I have to play the bigger girth/smaller cup size if I want to get the cheaper ones, and then, when they get all stretched out, there is no room for adjustment, because I bought the girth bigger than I really wear already.  My mother and I have been on all day bra-shopping extravaganzas only to discover that I was going to have to pay exorbitant amounts for the rest of my life.  I explained to him that most girls are a mundane, common size, therefore, they are able to walk up, pick something off the rack and pay for it at the counter without ever trying it on.  Being a “one off” size, as my husband put it, I cannot do that.  I have to try them on, and make sure they’ll fit in a manner I can deal with.  YCU was a bit overwhelmed at this point so I just told him that I was tired of dealing with it.  I was constantly fidgeting with the cheap ones, adjusting and readjusting and there just wasn’t any comparison with bra that fits correctly.  Now, the girls are where they should be, and I feel better about the whole situation.  And I look better too.

{December 27, 2008}   I scare people.

Not on purpose.  I mean, I don’t go around and jump out at them, or anything.  Although, if you’re not expecting the volume and content that comes out of my mouth, I guess that is arguable.  Remember I told you about the security guard I scared once?  That’s a funny story.  I was working in a teeeeeeeny tiny hospital in New Mexico.  It was only 50 beds, and located on an indian reservation.  It was one 13 week assignment during which I learned that I hated travel nursing and would never leave home again.  I came from a city, you know, with cell phones, coffee houses, and basic requirements of civilization.  This place, you ask?  Not so much.  Out in east bumfuck, to put it politely, and I drove through 100 miles of no cell phone signal, no telephone poles, no farms, no people.  I was out there with elk, coyotes, and rattle snakes.  I could have been dead out there for days and no one would have known the difference.  This was unnerving to say the least.  Now, the culture out here was interesting.  No one colored their hair, no one got manicures, they didn’t cut up and joke, and in general weren’t a friendly bunch.  I found it very strange.   They just weren’t used to short, spunky, loud go-getters like me who expected some hustle out of people who worked at what was (and questionably so, at that) considered a hospital.  So one night, I got a patient in who had a history of domestic violence. Her 15 year old son had hit her!  I couldn’t believe it.  I thought I knew what would fix that problem, but as nurses we aren’t allowed to give our opinions on things like that unless asked. (A good beating with the end of a hose pipe, in case you’re wondering, but I’m not picky.  A ball bat would do.  Also snatching him up by the hair and tossing him out on his ass till he could apologize and mind his manners might get his attention, too.)   I got her all checked out and settled in for the time being, and set about setting up the security protocol so as to protect her from any future assaults, at least, in my care.  I couldn’t find the procedure book, and no one had any idea what I was talking about.  I couldn’t believe that on a reservation, where, unfortunately they deal with this a lot, no one had any idea what to do about keeping this woman safe from her family.  So.  I called the nursing supervisor, to which I received this reply: “Well I guess you could call security.”  I was aghast, by this point.  But, hoping against hope, I called anyway.  I think I woke the guy up from a nap.  I repeated my story for approximately the 4th time and gave him my request.  He says, (get this) “What do you want me to do about it?”  I saw red.  I totally lost it, and bellowed into the phone “You people better get it together before we all end up on the gott-damn news!!!!  You ever heard of Columbine?  I don’t know where these kids get these uzi’s but they do!  You find that kid and you get him out of here, now!!  Then you patrol around and try to create some semblance of protecting my patient, not to mention the rest of the employees of this hospital!”  and slammed down the phone.  Yes, all of that had been said in one breath.  I have amazing lung capacity.  Well, in a 50 bed hospital, everybody knows who everybody is.  And I was one of about 3 in the whole place that wasn’t native american, so I stood out, including the colored hair and other such markers.  This story went like wildfire.  The guy got up apparently, and did what I told him to do, bless him.  He came and found me later, and let me know that they had found the kid, and sent him to another relative’s house.  Then he shrunk away from desk and begged not to be hollered at anymore!  How funny.  I didn’t get it.  He had to know that was coming.  I don’t know, I guess he thought he had a gravy job.  However, after that, every night I worked, I saw them making rounds on the floor and outside the building.  I guess I did some good, after all.  I left that place soon after, and came directly back to Tennessee.  They didn’t have sweet tea and biscuits, so I had to come home.  I’ve been teased about that a lot, but I told you about the picky eater thing.  You know I lost 20 lbs out there cause I couldn’t find food to eat?  I gained it all back when I got home and had real food again, though.  Oh, well.  What do you do?   I’ve always wondered, since I left there, if they weren’t glad to see the back of me.  Probably.

{December 26, 2008}   Post Holiday Euphoria

Santa was good to me this year.  No coal!   Not that I found anyway.  I got lots of good gift cards, and some cash.  Along with all the other goodies I told you about.  My MIL even gave me a $100 bill in my Christmas card!  I almost gave it back to her and told her there were too many zero’s!  (Almost.  I’m not that honest.)  I plan to purchase some (smaller!) clothes for work, some new bras ( I think I told you how hard I seem to be on bras.  If not, I’ll elaborate later.), and some more pretty jeans like what my husband bought me.  Oh, and Happy Birthday Jesus!  Just in case I forgot.  Ok, now back to me.  My MIL was reasonably well behaved!  I was SHOCKED!  I didn’t even want to kill her.  Not even once!  How odd.

So, about my tits.  I was a d-cup in 8th grade.  13 years old.  Yep.  Thought I was a freak cause no one else had ’em.  I am also pretty slim around resulting in great difficulty finding bras that fit and that are pretty.  I don’t like the over-the-shoulder boulder holders like my grandmothers wear, but I really have trouble getting the uplift I need from the other kind.  My best friend, L, says I look like I’m gonna fall over.  Really, girls, it’s not all it’s cracked up to be.  Grass is always  greener, I guess.  I just want clothes to fit properly, and not have to buy a bigger size to accommodate for the “offending appendages.”  Oh, well.  I went shopping 2 years ago for bras, and actually managed to find several in my size that fit and were different colors, and were pretty, AND gave me the lift I was looking for!  I bought them all.  Don’t look at me like that!  You know you’ve done it for fear they’ll discontinue it before you can get back!  If you don’t buy them all at once, you may never find another one!  Anyway, I took them up to the counter, and told the lady “I think I’ll be good for a couple of years, now.”  She said, “A couple of years?  Try 3 months, honey.”  Before I could stop myself, I said “3 months?  What are you doing in your bras?  Skydiving?  And missing the mark?”  As usual, when my personality has overwhelmed someone, she just stared in shock and awe that I could be that blunt.  Alas.  FIM (foot-in-mouth) disease strikes again. We’ll see what happens tomorrow.  I’ll probably find nothing since I have money to spend.

My scrub pants are all hanging on me and my thighs are rubbing together at the most uncomfortable region (read crotch hanging almost to my knees), so I must purchase some new.  I’ll have all my money spent before lunch.  Oh, yeah, speaking of lunch, I got several gift cards for my favorite restaurants!  Remember, I don’t cook.  Much appreciated.

{December 25, 2008}   Neighbors are morons

When we first moved here, we had the nicest neighbor.  He turned out to be my dad’s high school principal.  Heh Heh!!  That was great.  I got some ammo.  Disaster struck, and he moved.  Oh. I’m so disgusted.  He’s been replaced by this complete neanderthal and his wife.  I never see his wife unless he’s not home, and have never laid eyes on his daughter.  So yesterday,  I was angry at my husband for not wanting to go to my gp’s house, remember?  Well, I didn’t mean to, but I spun the tires in the mud and got some on the guy’s driveway.  We’ve had discussions with him before about stupid shit like that, and my husband has never let me speak with him.  He seems to be afraid the guy’s gonna say something he shouldn’t to me, and then he’ll have to defend my honor.  Hasn’t he figured out, I don’t have any honor to defend?  I mean, really, I can out cuss a sailor!  I told you about my ability to scare surgeons!  Trust me, I think I can handle this guy.  He’s not nearly as smart as a surgeon.  Well.  I think I’ve figured out a way to fix him.  I’m gonna write a letter to his wife.  I’m gonna tell her that I’m concerned for her and her daughter’s wellfare and that in my opinion, her husband’s suffering from either bipolar disorder, or dementia.  If the first, he could get violent, if he hasn’t already, and needs medication.  If the second, well he could also get violent and could be involuntarily committed until we get his meds sorted out.  I plan to document all the stupid things he’s hollered at my husband about, and tell her I’m keeping a copy of this letter, in case she needs to get out of there in a hurry.  I’m gonna offer her to come over to my house to escape.  Please let me know if I can be of any assistance, etc.  The way I see it, he’ll either never speak to us again for fear of giving more evidence, or we’ll turn out to be best friends.  No normal person would ever come back over and bother us after that.    Hah.  He just came to the door.  I answered.  He wanted to see my husband.  I told him in no uncertain terms that it was Christmas, and we were headed to his mother’s for breakfast, and that I didn’t think so.  Could I help him?  He backed right down.  “Well he probably talked to you, and someone did it again last night.”  I told him that we’d told our friends repeatedly not to do that, and we would tell them that they couldn’t come back over if they couldn’t mind their manners.  No problem.  If he comes back over yelling at my husband, I’ll write his wife.  We’ll never hear from him again.  I told my husband that if the guy was ugly to me, which he wouldn’t be, but that if he was, I could get in his face with the best of ’em.  If he tried to call the cops on me, quite frankly, I think they would laugh at him.  I’ve outlined my dimensions before.  This guy’s like, 6’3″?  Maybe 250 lbs?  Yeah.  It would make the news.  Hysterical.  I told my husband “Don’t worry, honey, I’ve got this covered.”  Heh.  Take a page out of Geohde’s book.  Yes I did.

{December 24, 2008}   Grandparents

I really love my grandparents.  I still have all 4 of them, but my mother’s parents are the ones I spent summers with and got to play games with and cook and bake and stuff.  I actually enjoy spending time with them and talking to them.  I was taught that you don’t go to gp’s house to watch tv and read books.  You go there to visit.  So, I learned to visit everywhere I go.  My husband, however did not.  He complains each and every time he has to go there.  I get so irritated at him, because they’re not going to be alive forever, and they’re starting to deteriorate already.  Just because they’re older doesn’t mean their opinions are worthless.  My grandpa should have been a doctor.  He’s brilliant, he just grew up in the country with no money for college.  My grandmother graduated high school and went to business school to learn to type.  Then they got married and had Mom and E.  They’ve lived long full lives and have lots of stories and have lived through so much.  I think it’s really cool to talk to them and spend time with them and learn from them.  I think older people in general are great, but I guess that’s a side-effect of my job.  I give up.  I’m not going to make my husband go anywhere anymore, because he just embarrasses me and sits in the corner and stares at everyone.  I can’t change him, and I can’t make him social, so it’s just better that I say he’s working, I guess.  He’s just a man.  I gotta stand by him, I reckon.  You know the woman who sang that song is dead?  Liver cancer, I think.  Shows you how old fashioned that line of thinking is.  Oh, well.

Baking now.  Cooling on the rack, tempting me.  No!  Must leave some for family gathering later.  If anyone wants to know, use the recipe out of Better Homes and Gardens Cookbook (red and white checkered)  and add 1 cup of Butterscotch chips in the mix.  Bake @ 375 and Enjoy!  Baking sausage balls at Grandma’s later.  Best when fresh!  Shitters are definitely full!!!  Meeeeeerrrrry Christmas!!!  Aaaand I took call thinking that there was another team working so I wouldn’t have to, and voila!  My plan worked perfectly.  Hee hee heee!  (Wild cackle )  Yeah, I’m in it now.  Ch. sp.  Not saying it for fear it’ll go away!  Love y’all!  Happy Holidays!

et cetera