I have a long and rambling rant about the healthcare system and how it’s biting me in the backside, but I will spare you the details because 1) I am a kind and thoughtful soul, 2) nobody really wants to read that anyway, and 3) I will likely get myself all riled up again just typing about it, so I’ll give up and go do some deep breathing exercises. And consider buying lottery tickets, because I need that cash, yo.
(Suffice it to say I’m not enamored with the idea of prepaying for services yet to be rendered. There, that’s enough.)
Today marked the 1st official day of summer vacation in my eyes, because the weekends don’t count since the kids are home anyway. However, I can’t really say that today is Day Zero since the Hub is on vacation this week, throwing most of my newly-planned summer routine completely out of whack. I do give myself a little pat on the back for sitting down with Sammy to work on what we’re calling Mommy Lessons (everything goes over better with a name for a 6 year old), at the time I set and for the duration I set. I even made lesson plans, people. And Sammy didn’t run away screaming or even whine (very much), so I call that a win. Let’s see if we can keep that up tomorrow.
I also have to give the kid major credit for behaving like an angel while I dragged him through my pre-op appointment, including the previously-alluded-to billing challenges and a very long wait while 2 nurses tried to draw my blood 4 separate times, leaving my arms bruised and sore. After attempt #2, Nurse #1 got the bright idea to try a smaller gage needle (my veins had literally rolled away from the giant horse needle, probably in horror). Ya think? Nurse #2 came in to take charge of the situation and chided Nurse #1 for being “nice” with the bitty (but still stabby) needle. I didn’t see her nametag, but I’ll bet it said “Ratched.”
Sammy? Was just fascinated by the number of band aids I got to wear home.
So my boy gets the gold star, but Hub, I’m giving him a thumbs-down-sad-choice for listening to me vent for awhile and then, instead of raising his fist in husbandly solidarity with a well-timed “Those Bastards,” he decided to take their side and play devil’s advocate. No, just no. He knows he’s not going to change my mind (I’m VENTING here), and in fact has to realize he’s just fanning the fire, but still, he’s “looking at this from their perspective.” I don’t wanna look at this from their perspective; I want to whine and yammer about how stinky they are to cause trouble for me, and this is all about me, OK? I will get it out of my system eventually (verbally anyway, I am likely to continue to stew about this for a long time coming) and comfort myself with withering glances at the medical staff. But you’d think after 9 years of marriage, he’d figure out it might be beneficial to him to keep his mouth closed.
Oops. OK, so I’m in a ranty mood. I’m not good with change, and having everyone home in my space suddenly makes me a little surly. I will thank Hub for taking the kids out for a little park time so I could decompress and, you know, not actually blow a gasket. And I will thank the wine I drank as well for that.
Tomorrow is a new day. Oh boy, here we go again.
(One more thing about today: It’s my parent’s 41st anniversary. And while I really need to write a glowing, schmoopy post about how awesome that truly is, I will at least wish them a fantastic start to Year 42 and hope this is the year I finally figure out how to siphon off a little of their magic.)