Erinadequate Me

Crash Story...The End

2010-01-14T08:34:00.003-06:00

We were able to bring Dad home just under a week after his accident. He was sore and slow but recovering really well considering what he had been through. Mom and I took turns staying with him the first few days but then had to leave him on his own at home while we returned to work. Dad was scared. He was afraid that the police were going to show up at his door to arrest him. His blood alcohol level made it back to us and it was high. It wasn't 'one or two beers' high...he had been on a binge. His internist had come to see him at the hospital and really ripped Dad a new one. With his liver function as poor as it was he had made a promise to his doctor that he wouldn't drink. His doctor, who has been working to save his life for over a decade now, was reasonably pissed. After looking at Dad's current state, his doctor decided that it was time to get him ready to go on the list for liver transplant, but Dad's little stunt set him back a year because they require a minimum of six months alcohol-free, with a preference for one year before they'll consider you.

We all continued to wait for the other shoe to drop. When I looked in Dad's wallet for his license so that I could pick up some medication for him, it was gone. So we knew that the police had taken it. But for what purpose? About a week later we got a letter in the mail from the City of Marfa, the town near where Dad had crashed. Inside was a blank piece of paper with his license taped to it. No information...just that. We became hopeful. With this being Dad's third offense he was a candidate for prison time, which would be a death sentence...not that he didn't deserve it for driving drunk. But we tend to want different things for our families than for all those other evil beings who commit thoughtless crimes.

After a couple weeks of Dad cringing and practically running to hide any time the mailman or a neighbor came to the door we finally got word. A ticket for an open container came in the mail. That was it. He had gotten lucky beyond measure, and he knew it. A call to the judge, a $200 fine, and it was all done. He got not a second, but a third chance at life all in a matter of weeks.

Our life has gone on the way it always was. We only occasionally mention the unpleasantness of the accident, like when Mom went to buy a new car and got a cheap Hyundai SUV instead of her beloved Lexus. She was furious, but at the time didn't know what kind of legal fees Dad would be incurring, what the cost of the debacle would be, and she wanted to play it safe. Every time we see a Lexus SUV you can hear Mom groan. She loved that car. But amazingly, like the strong woman that she is, she has gone on to care for Dad the same as before. She still cooks him every meal, washes his clothes, escorts him to countless doctor's appointments, cleans his home and does his dishes. She asks for little in return. And she goes on loving him, no matter how much pain he has caused her and how broken he is in body and soul.

They had planned to move to Nashville in the coming months, but have changed their minds in the last couple of days. Dad is fearful of changing doctors during this time. He will find out on the 25th if he is even a candidate for liver transplant. There is a difficult treatment that he has to take in order to qualify, but his seizures may increase due to that medication. His neurologist is measuring the cost vs benefit. They have put it to him that he can decide against it and live a better quality of life for the time he has left, which is the option he is leaning towards. Last night when he and Mom sat down to weigh the pros and cons of moving he told her of his fears, of finding new doctors at the end that don't know him and aren't concerned with this new patient. But the saddest thing of all is that he told Mom that he wished he would just die. He feels like a weight, like he is stopping our plans and our progress as a family, like he is a lodestone. That breaks my heart to hear, but I understand it all too well. There are countless times when I have thought that my whole family would be better off to just plan a funeral, bury me and be done. I have blogged about that thought coming up when Cade was young. As depression and exasperation at the inability to change have come over me in waves, the thought comes like a gasp for breath before the next wave pulls me under. It gives my breaking mind a place to hide, an escape from reality. But to hear my father say that, when he is already so close to going, breaks my heart. I want him to be the man that vows to live life to the fullest in the time he has left, not the guy who gives up and melts away.

Dad told me a few days ago that he relives the nightmare of the accident any time he starts to think of taking a drink. He said that it was as scared as he remembers being in his life. He goes round and round in his head thinking of the confusion and the blood and the feeling of being trapped with a long drop off the side of the car. I guess he needed the experience so as not to drink himself dead now that he sees that the end is nearing. I hope that he will choose to be with us and not take matters into his own hands. I imagine, at this point in his life, the end seems like quite a comfort.

Alone

2010-01-12T22:02:00.003-06:00

It's a Tuesday night and though the week has just begun for me, I am exhausted! Patrick is gone for the week for business so I'm going it alone again for a while. The single mothers out there will know (and probably want to punch me for whining about one week) how hard this is. The whole way through the holidays Patrick was working nonstop, so I was pretty much doing it all by myself then as well, but he was home at night and I could snuggle someone. There is a lot to be said for snuggling.

My new schedule includes at least 45 minutes of working out at night so I wake up bright and early, get myself and Cade ready, take him to school then myself to work. I'm working with numbers all day long (mentally exhausting) then pick Cade up, come home and play and cook and clean a little, do homework with him, tuck him into bed, come out to the living room and work out...and then a moment of rest. Really, I don't know how people live like this. My guess is that they have much higher energy reserves. I'm used to naps at least every other day. I can't imagine being a single mother who has to live like this.

With Patrick and I having put so much thought into divorce, it's times like this that I wonder how on earth I could function without him here. With lupus, I have to be very careful not to over-stress my body. Too much stress, too much pressure, and my body turns on itself and starts to break down in one organ or another. I have to wonder, could I actually handle something like divorce or separation?

While I would hate to be dependent on a relationship for the sake of my health, I'm grateful for times like this week to get things in perspective.

Crash Story (Part Two)

2010-01-10T22:44:00.005-06:00

(Not Dad's car, but the general idea is the same)

I waited alone for Dad to get out of surgery, occasionally fielding calls from my mother in Dallas and my brother in Nashville. Both were working out plans to get here as soon as possible. About three hours after Dad went in, the doctor came out to let me know that he was all done. The damage had been extensive and he had repaired Dad's spleen and taken out a section of his bowels that had been mangled by the seat belt. Dad had lost a lot of blood and they were transfusing him still, but he would be moved to ICU after recovery where I could be with him for a time. Again, the doctor made no promises about a recovery. He reminded me that Dad was still very unstable and while they had repaired the damage, at a ripe old 62 years old, they couldn't be sure how his body would take the trauma.

I was eventually led to ICU where my daddy lay in the bed, still asleep, intubated...the machine doing all of his breathing. As he began waking up he was confused and couldn't talk because of the tube down his throat but he tried to relay to me what he could with his eyes and squeezes of my hand. The fear in his eyes broke me down. To this point, I had stayed very strong and in charge of my emotions, but seeing him so scared and in pain absolutely broke my heart. I kept begging the nurses for morphine or something to sedate him until he could get the tube out, but they were still scrambling to maintain his blood pressure which was fluctuating dangerously. They finally told me that I had to leave and when I told Dad his eyes went wide and he began shaking his head violently back and forth. I prayed with him for peace, the only thing I knew to do. Then I walked away, leaving him alone and scared.

When I came back for the next round of visiting hours I had my mom in tow, a rather angry Mom that I kept begging for patience and kindness with Dad. At this point, we still didn't know if alcohol was involved in the accident so we were hoping for the best, but experience taught us to expect the worst. My brother was driving all the way here from Nashville, a nice 14 hour drive, because he hadn't wanted to wait until morning to catch a flight. He and Mom were going to head to the mountains to retrieve what was left of her car and the things inside. While on the road my brother was doing all the helpful stuff like contacting the insurance company and the Department of Public Safety for accident records. Because it was such a small town where Dad had his wreck my brother actually got in contact with one of the officers that worked the scene. The version of events were quite different from what my father remembered.

He had actually had his wreck at around 5pm that afternoon. He had most likely had a seizure (which he suffers from but is medicated for...when he drinks he forgets his medication) and drove off the side of the mountain. Fortunately, the car hit some boulders and then plowed straight into a tree. There were three DPS vehicles and two firetrucks working the extraction, since he was in a culvert of sorts and had to be brought up. They took him to the nearest hospital where they took his blood alcohol level because they had found one opened beer and the remainder of a six-pack. At that hospital, after a couple of hours of trying to stabilize him, they realized that he was too critical (rarely gaining consciousness) so they decided to call Careflight. Due to low clouds they had to use the plane instead of the helicopter, and it was only then that they contacted us. The parts that Dad remembered were the only times that he was awake for the whole ordeal. It's amazing how his mind worked it all out.

Over the course of the next couple days Dad was released from ICU and transferred to a room for recovery. Once Mom learned that Dad was drinking she completely checked out from taking care of him. Dad would beg me not to leave the room when she was there. He was scared to be alone with her. By this time I had slept so little that I was delirious, but my brother was simply in town to take care of business and my mother, so I was left to care for Dad. I did my best and we bonded in a way that we never have. We both realized that it may just come down to the two of us. If Mom left him, which she had every right to do, then I would be left to care for this helpless man.

The doctors came for the follow-up and had contacted all of his regular doctors from which he received medication in order to let them know that he was under their care. My dad has many illnesses...it's a miracle he's made it this far. He had a blood transfusion in a Louisiana hospital in the 80's that left him with hepatitis C, from which he now has cirrhosis. He has seizures for some unknown reason. He has type 2 diabetes and heart disease. We were aware of all of this, but his internist saw something on the x-rays of Dad's liver that he didn't like. He started looking further and realized that Dad had moved into early stage liver failure since his last check. As Dad was healing from the accident, a whole other issue was thrown on our plate.

Wow. I can see that this story is a little longer than I had intended. I'm afraid that it's not the slightest bit interesting to most of you, but it always seems to help me to get these stories down. I should probably find another venue, but if you will bear with me, I'll be on to more interesting matters in a couple days, I'm sure. As for the rest of this...I'll finish tomorrow. And then once it's out I will work on writing shorter narratives to catch you all up on where I've been! Deal?

Crash Into Me

2010-01-09T20:02:00.004-06:00

I mentioned in an earlier post that I grew up in a home with an alcoholic father. I am sure there are many of those, and I bet a lot of those homes are filled with turmoil. As I remember it, my childhood was pretty close to ideal. My father was a kind, smart, loving man. He wasn't consistent in his drinking. He was one of those alcoholics that would go years without drinking and then something would hit and he would go all out until he had created as much chaos as possible, then spend the next few days hungover and castigating himself while we as a family worked to create a sense of normalcy so that when he walked into the family room with his head hung low, ready to apologize, we could all act as though nothing had happened and no harm was done. We then spent the next years living the life of the perfect American family.

So much credit goes to my mother who went above and beyond to shield my brother and I from the intermittent craziness. Despite the misery of her situation she always put on a smiling face and took us out on adventures while Dad recovered so we wouldn't have to hear his dry heaves in the bathroom. My brother is two years older than I and he must have seen and known more than me because, to this day, his relationship with my father is very strained, to the point of being inexistent. I remember one afternoon when we came home from school and "good times Dad" was there. He was cheery and chatty and told us that he was taking us all to the circus that night. My brother and I cheered, basking in his great mood and stories of lions and trapeze artists. But then there was a muted argument between my mother and him and she took his keys. Dad got belligerent, stormed off to their bedroom and slammed the door. Mom had to follow up on his drunken promise that got us kids all excited. Like a trooper she took us to the circus that night. When we came home there was a pool of vomit in the hallway and Dad was passed out on the bathroom floor. My brother made a game out of it for me where we hopped over the puke pile until Mom could get it cleaned up. I thought my brother was as clueless as I to the turmoil but years later he told me that it was all he could think to do to make the situation less stressful for me. He was in agony for my mother and knew all along what was really happening to our family. He became the little man of the family. I was eight then and I don't remember Dad drinking again until my senior year, when I was 18.

Dad is a high-functioning alcoholic. He has lived a long life filled with success, provided a comfortable life for all of us. He was very involved in church because that was the addiction he turned to when he needed to get away from the alcohol. But around ten years ago when work was stressful he got his first DUI. When I got married, something Dad was not a big fan of, he drank again. The instances started getting closer together. The night before I started my new job at a prestigious accounting firm Mom got a call from a nurse in a tiny town two hours away. She and her husband had found Dad on the side of the road on his hands and knees confused and scraped up. We drove until 3am to get him and bring him home. Then almost three years ago he got his second DUI on his way back from a little road trip with an old drinking buddy and they both spent a night in jail. He was ordered to go to an alcohol awareness class that seemed to really make a difference. This last summer he was laid off after more than 30 years with the same company. Usually something like that would set him into a tailspin accompanied by a liter of Jack Daniels and a case of Coors Light. He started in that direction, Mom came home to find him drinking out of a hidden case of beer in his bedroom. I went over spent that afternoon pleading with him to stop the cycle, to walk away from the alcohol before he did damage that he couldn't undo. Mom was breaking down in her bedroom and I shifted between the two of them trying to comfort each in whatever way they needed. After telling my father that he had a chance at that point to make up to Mom for what he had put her through for decades he allowed me to take the beer and search his room for any remaining alcohol. He spent the next month and a half on his best behavior and we all thought that we had narrowly escaped what could have been the end of our happy family, since Mom was poised to leave him.

Then, the first week of October, Mom had a business trip. Leaving Dad alone is never good but we really thought that he had worked out his demons and would behave. During the course of her second day away we tried to contact Dad. I called, she called. It got to be late and we both knew what it meant. She asked me to drive by the house, then took it back because neither of us really wanted to know if he wasn't home. I told her that I would check in the morning, hoping that he would be home by then and even if he had been drunk he wouldn't be a jerk by that time. I would see "morning after Dad". He was a lot more tolerable.

But at 10:19 p.m. my phone rang, which I knew was a bad sign. It was Mom, telling me that she had found Dad. The inflight paramedics had called and he was on a Careflight on his way to the trauma ER here in town. There had been an accident on a steep mountainside a couple of hours south of here, in my Dad's old stomping ground of Ft. Davis. It's where he always heads when he drinks. He went to college around there and apparently it reminds him of better days. Mom had given them my number and they were to call me when they arrived in town. I got dressed, let my husband know, and headed to the hospital to wait. There was no information on how Dad was because Mom didn't ask. The only question she had for the paramedics was, "how is my car?". Dad was driving her new Lexus RX 330 and she was more worried about losing that than Dad, understandably so. Over the last several years he had been more hindrance than helper or mate and she had been tested to her limit.

After a long wait I finally was called back to the ER when Dad arrived but there was a flurry of activity around his room and I wasn't allowed in. Eventually the swarm of doctors and nurses called me back and let me speak with Dad, who was conscious and speaking clearly. He looked terrible. His nose was noticeably broken and there was dried blood all over his face as well as a pretty nice head injury on his forehead. He looked...broken. He was my daddy, my big invincible hero and he was laying on this gurney with tears in his eyes, scared and confused. I tried to smell for alcohol, holding out hope that he had just gone for a short day trip, no alcohol involved. I didn't smell any and he was pretty lucid. We were constantly interrupted by the beeping of machines, by the nurses trying to stabilize him. I rubbed his soft hair, trying to make him feel some sense of calm and love. We talked football, because that's what we do. My love of football came from him and we have a strong connection because of it. He kept cringing in pain and then the trauma surgeon finally came to talk to us. He had severe internal injuries and bleeding and they needed to stabilize him as soon as possible so they could get him into surgery. His blood pressure was extremely low but they continued to work to prep him for surgery. I kept asking Dad about what happened and he wasn't quite sure. As he remembered it he had been driving down the mountain when he reached down to grab something in the passenger seat. Then he woke up and saw that he was bleeding all over Mom's light leather seats and knew he was in big trouble. He said that he tried to open his door but saw that he was hanging off the side of the mountain and couldn't climb out. He kept crawling back and forth across the front seat, blood pouring down his face, trying to find a way out. Then, an off-duty firefighter just magically appeared and helped him out of the car. Dad sat on the side of the road crying and shivering in the cold until a plane pulled up on the road and flew him to me in the ER two hours away. He said that he had never seen a police officer. I asked him if he had been drinking and he said that he had hardly drank at all. Since he was pretty sober at that point I figured we were good. No one had accompanied him from Careflight and there was no information or anyone to tell us the circumstances of his accident. I kept waiting to see a police officer, someone to come and say that this was his third strike, that when he was better they were taking him to jail for good.

Dad started to go downhill, the pain was worsening and radiating through his stomach. They rushed him, with me by his side, upstairs to the OR. As they prepared him further I stood talking to the surgeon about the plan. The surgeon said that he had seen a mess inside my father on the x-rays and couldn't make any promises. They would go in and try to fix what seemed to be a ruptured spleen, among other things. He asked me where the rest of our family was and I let him know that they were all out of town, I was it. He asked if I had anyone to be there with me and I let him know that I did not. So he walked me to the waiting room, showed me around, told me to get comfortable and that he would be out to see me as soon as he was done, though he had no idea how long that would be. I gave my Dad one last hug and kiss then watched them wheel him off to surgery.

I'll tell the rest of the story, and what came today that spurred me to relay it to you all tomorrow.

Rollercoaster

2010-01-08T17:12:00.006-06:00

I went back and read my posts on this blog from the beginning and realized that the most important thing I have been missing since I stopped blogging was the chance to study myself and my motives and actions. Things have been difficult over the last six months or so, greatly in part to Illness '09. I left out a lot of that too, but what turned out to be a flare of my lupus really took me down a notch or two. It managed to put a huge strain on my marriage which was really doing well for the first time since we said "I do". Up until Patrick and I had our talk on Monday we were really back to that place where divorce was inevitable and I was just riding it out until Cade and I moved to Nashville. In my head, which I wasn't getting out of with my writing, I had villianized Patrick again. I wasn't looking internally and holding myself accountable for our problems.

Patrick and I have definitely taken some steps back since our brief encounter with a great marriage. He is working a lot, which is great because that means his photography is really flourishing, but it also means that Cade and I are left alone. When that happens we tend to turn to each other and become a team...us against Daddy. It gets to where Patrick is an intruder into our happy lives and when he is home he just messes up our rhythm. I begin to think that I could do this better by myself without his interference and when I add to that thought process the fact that there is still no intimacy in our marriage it seems like a good idea to bail on it. There are a lot of reasons why a split between us would be a good idea.

But one thing keeps coming back. I like this guy and I really like our family as a unit...when he is around. I see us travelling the world together, the three of us. Adventurers. A team. We've been playing Wii together each night and having so much fun. Patrick makes me laugh. Patrick loves his son. The misery that would be thrust upon this unit by a divorce seems so tragic when I look at how well we do as a team. This threesome is solid.

As for the two of us...that is the problem. He loves me, I know that. He is not in love with me and there is a huge difference. I love him...I like him, but I'm not in love with him. There are no kisses. There is no passion, and sex hasn't been revisited since that little go of things I made this past summer. Can I give up my sexuality for what's best for our family? Well, I have so far. Who knows?

I do know this...for now, I am leaving well enough alone. I noticed by reading these posts in sequence how obvious my bipolar disorder was. I would go from inspired to depressed over and over again over the course of the few months that I wrote. I am currently in a period of inspiration where I feel like I could take on the world and want nothing more that to make everything around me better. But when that period of depression comes back (tomorrow, next week, next month) the first thing I will want to bail on is my marriage because it is the thing I can consistently pinpoint as a discouragement. How do I protect us all from that roller coaster of emotions that my chemistry won't let me avoid?

Bring it on 2010!

2010-01-06T22:50:00.002-06:00

Hello? Hello? Is this thing on??

Kidding. Not sure if anyone looks around here anymore but I am back in the mood to write and what better place to do so than my blog?

Let's talk about 2010. This new year has been something else, and it's only six days old. Towards the end of 2009 I was really looking forward to just getting rid of the crap year that it had turned out to be and looking forward to new goals. Then 2010 came rolling in and I was stuck in a pretty deep depression. I didn't wake up for the first two days of this year. You mothers know how terrible that really is. Patrick was home and spent time with Cade, so I just slept. I didn't want to be awake and face anyone. I was worried that the new year would bring bad things, really just more of the same from '09. So I wallowed in self-pity and fear like any strong woman would. Ha!

Finally, on Monday, I started to come around. Mind you, I still hadn't showered since last year and we were on day 4, but I got outside and saw the sunshine and started to get a little more perky. And what brought this on? An amazing talk with Patrick.

See, for the last couple months it has been pretty much decided that Cade and I were moving to Nashville in June and leaving Patrick here to run his continually growing photography business. That inevitably meant divorce. While it seems like we've been heading that way for the majority of our marriage, I couldn't help but dread it. I really like this guy! And I like our family unit. Patrick is a kind man who cares about us, though he really sucks at showing it, and while I still foster concerns over whether or not we can succeed at life together, my desire is to do so. On Monday, Patrick sat down and talked with me about my plans to move. He made it clear that he truly wants to go to Nashville with us when the time is right, but that the right time is not this June. We need more time to build savings so that when we get there we are self-sufficient and don't need my parents to help us in any way. Patrick wants to show my family that we are not the worthless losers that we have appeared to be over the course of the last seven years. This was all news to me. He has been talking about 10-year plans with his partner in town here and rolling his eyes or grimacing any time I spoke of schools or houses in the Nashville area. He had made it pretty clear in the past that if I wanted to live near my family (which honestly I couldn't manage without) I would have to do it without him. Suddenly, after he had a couple days of deep reflection, he came to me with the news that he wants to move there after all. And he is willing to do what he has to with his business, whether that is leaving it behind or commuting for events. Big. Very big.

So, we sat down on Monday and set up a plan to direct funds into a savings account specifically for Nashville (moving costs, house down payment, etc.) and the plan is to move in June 2011. I certainly hope that this works out for us as I know it is the best thing for our family. While I don't know how I will survive for more than a year without my mom/best friend 1.5 miles away from me (they are putting their house on the market this month and heading that way), I will be interested to see myself grow by relying less on her. That means I have to spread my wings.

And that has been set into motion as well...the wing-spreading. More on that tomorrow. For now, I'll leave you with the knowledge that I am finally excited and looking forward to the future. You may be able to tell by my lack of writing that I have been able to gather nothing more than pure apathy towards life for quite some time, so this is big news. Now...to sustain.

Tangents

2009-10-03T22:33:00.003-05:00

I'm in a really good place right now. I mean that literally. I am tucked happily into my extraordinarily soft bed leaning on an overstuffed European pillow with my beloved new netbook on my lap piping Adele through my earbuds. My son is contentedly sleeping in his room and my husband is snoring softly beside me. There is a light rain pouring outside, a true rarity here in the desert. All is right with the world in this moment.

I have started writing towards a book. I wouldn't go as far as to say that I am writing a book. Really I am jotting down a paragraph here and there as I get a second in my ridiculously busy life. At this rate, I should have put something together by the time my son graduates college. He's six now, so that is a pretty realistic goal. Everyone around me, the non-writers, are expecting me to shoot something out in the next couple months and be on the press circuit by this time next year. I love how they all think I will write the great American novel simply because I tell a good story here and there. Writing is wicked hard!

I am terrible when it comes to details. I get bored with them. I think I get bored when I'm reading them, I do not think in minor details, and I certainly don't write them well. Colors, sounds, smells...when I start to write about them I feel like everything I say has been said. It's all too cliche. And while I'm on the cliche matter, why can't I find the stinking accent on my keyboard? It shouldn't be this difficult to correctly accent foreign words. These are the details that I get caught up on. See? Tangents.

Hello...my name is Erin

2009-09-30T19:47:00.005-05:00

I'm back baby! I could very well be returning triumphantly to an empty room, since I have neglected my blog terribly. Nonetheless, I survived a long, ill summer. My husband just purchased me a gorgeous little ASUS 1000HE netbook so I can start my writing up again. It's been too long.

So, let me tell you a little about my summer. It was hell. I spent the entire summer sick with a myriad of different issues, in and out of doctors' offices getting no answers, being scheduled for more tests with no results. We had two vacations planned. One was with the family and we headed to Nashville to see my brother and his family. It had been planned for some time so I was loathe to cancel. By the time we left it had pretty much been determined (by WebMD and MayoClinic.com) that I was suffering from lupus. After doing some research I learned that I needed to get as much rest as possible. I was running a constant fever of 99.0-100.2. When my normal temp is 97.4 that leaves me feeling flu-like and miserable. Nonetheless, we hit the road for Nashville. My parents were flying in on the weekend for my niece's first birthday party and it was the first time in years that our whole family (all four of the originals) were together. I couldn't cancel. It was a big deal. So I went. And I napped through it entirely. Every time someone wanted to do something, I had to lay down. I was a party pooper and it made me feel miserable. By the time we drove the sixteen hours home I was more worn out and sick and had a terrible time trying to work.

Next, my mother and I had planned on going to Ohio together for her 40th high school reunion. It was big and if I didn't go, she wasn't going to. She hadn't been back but once since she was 17 and she didn't want to do it alone. So, even though I was still weak and feverish, I boarded the plane and headed out. The trip was wonderful. I love Ohio. It's truly a snapshot of American perfection. I napped a lot because I was with my Mommy and she takes good care of me without the guilt. Still, I managed to contract the flu and by the time I was supposed to head back to work I was out for another week.

No one at work was happy with me. I went in with what was probably the swine flu just to process payroll, but that was all I could do. When I went back in the following Monday I was summoned to my boss' office where he reprimanded me for travelling when I was ill and cut my hours in half. It was a huge blow to the family budget, as I am the primary earner. Patrick and I started fighting again. The stress was so high. We were missing car payments. We couldn't buy groceries. Things were tight and scary and Patrick acted as though he blamed me because of my "mystery illness".

And that, my friends, is how I spent my summer. It felt like I was fighting for my life, definitely my livelihood, against an invisible foe. Straight through September I struggled. (You like how I am talking about September as past...cause in 2-1/2 hours that crap is behind me). I am beginning to see some promise. I found a way to treat what is ailing me (unfortunately it is with tons of rest and a lot of fever reducer). I'm changing my diet and trying to reduce my stress levels. I have increased my work hours back to a liveable (paywise) 32 hours a week. I'm going to make it and I am back to writing.

So, to the great void out there (and if I'm lucky, maybe even Mae), I'm back!

Sick In The Head?

2009-07-15T22:14:00.004-05:00

I'm sick. But not the kind of sick I have been whining about. It's the kind when you stick your foot in your mouth and your stomach goes into your throat and your face turns red and you feel like a complete TOOL.

Today I was reading Twitter and one of my favorite people mentioned that she loved French. Hey, I love French too. It was my minor for crying out loud. My home is filled with the Eiffel Tower and I speak the language casually throughout my day at times. It has been a part of me since I fell in love with the language at sixteen.

But I was tired and cranky and I shot back a quick remark, in French, that I loved French but detested THE French. You see, my actual experience with Parisians was quite negative. After further studying the country's sociological tendencies, I decided that I could live without it altogether. But that is such an ignorant statement and state of mind. That is like anyone saying that Americans are fat and lazy and they have no need for us at all. It's just not true in all cases. To make it worse...she is part French. Funnily enough, so am I. My father's mother was French and my mother's father was Cajun French.

But wait, worse still...read this. Numero Uno of things that tick her off? Yeah, that would be me.

I just want to say Mae, I am terribly sorry. It was ignorant of me...and I usually am not ignorant. Looking back at the comment, regardless of whether you were French or not, it is a classless generalization that I am ashamed to have put into words. When I think of uttering the same about ANY OTHER COUNTRY it seems unfathomable! Can you imagine?

"I love Iran, but hate Iranians".
"I love China, but hate the Chinese".

Who says that???? It is unacceptable and I am eternally sorry. It's not who I am and it's not how I think, but I cannot account for how the thought came to be in my mind. I feel as worthless as the boyfriend who hits his girlfriend then says he didn't mean it. I said it. I can't undo that, but please know that I have thought a LOT about the subject since tapping it out on my iPhone and it is NOT my heart. I have always thought that I loved all people until they individually gave me reason not to. I would like to think that from this day forward I will pay closer attention to never fall into the thoughtless complacency that allows racism, sexism and other forms of intolerance to exist in our society.

I. AM. SO. SORRY.

My Anniversary Gift to Us

2009-07-15T21:21:00.018-05:00

Here is the email I just sent my husband to prepare him for our anniversary weekend that I booked tonight. Tell me what you all think...

___________________________________________________

I have taken the liberty of making plans for our anniversary weekend coming up. I'm not sure how you feel about surprises but I can't imagine this is a bad one. Allow me to paint a picture with words (and add some in case that's ineffective)...

We will leave after work on Friday, the 9th. We can pack the night before and you can scoop from work at 3pm and head out. After a long drive where I may or may not (who am I kidding, I will) talk your ear off we arrive at our room at the hotel, a Lone Star King room with the atrium view. We can grab a bite at the Riverwalk Cafe and then relax for the evening on our terrace overlooking the atrium.

The next day we sleep in, then wander around the property. There is shopping, an outdoor pool with bar and grille, a walking trail and many other resort amenities. We can get massages or just enjoy the lake. The Texas vs. Colorado game is that day and we will be enjoying it from Texan Station Sports Bar & Grill, where there are 50 flatscreens throughout and a 30' x 52' (yes, that is feet...it is called the Wall of Sports) bigscreen.

For dinner we can dress up and head to Old Hickory Steakhouse. It offers a seductive selection of artisanal cheeses and tempting tableside desserts. We'll be sure to make time and visit the warm, rich atmosphere of their Texas vineyard-inspired wine cellar, where we'll find an extensive list of wines to choose from. And of course, you will like their 1855 Premium Black Angus Beef. After a romantic dinner we can plan for a night out at the Glass Cactus, which overlooks Lake Grapevine. There is no cover for us as we are on our Unforgettable Anniversary Weekend package. Aside from the 39,000 square feet of indoor floor space and four bars, the $16 million venue also offers 13,000 square feet of outdoor deck space on two floors overlooking Lake Grapevine. What we do when we get back to our room on our king size, custom-made mattress is entirely up to you. With the plush, luxurious bedding it will be tempting to simply fall asleep.

The next morning, after sleeping in for the second consecutive day - an entirely unheard of occurrence for parents of a six year-old - we can extend our checkout to 1 o'clock and head back to the deck of the Glass Cactus for the Grillin' and Chillin' Lakeside Sunday Brunch. With breathtaking lake views and an extensive menu featuring all-you-can-eat shrimp, breakfast items, an omelet station, chilled salads, carved meats, fish tacos, items on the grill, and dessert selections, it will be the perfect ending to our romantic weekend.

Finally, we'll hit the road and head back, blissfully happy and completely relaxed. I can't wait to share this experience with you and I hope you will look as forward to it as I am. I think that this anniversary is really one to cherish. The fact that we made it seven years coupled with the fact that we are more in love and compatible now than ever is worth celebrating.

Happy Anniversary Patrick

Tales From The Crypt

2009-07-13T12:31:00.006-05:00

I am trying to commit to getting back to normal starting today. First things first, take all my medicine. I started cutting back on my Zoloft and Wellbutrin because now I know that it is causing my stomach issues. Granted, I do need to go see my doctor and get an actual plan for doing so but that's such a pain. I figure if I've been on the stuff for 12 years I should know better than anyone how to taper down. But yesterday I was a pissy mess and slept all day so I realized that I better just take all of my medication as directed until directed otherwise. In the footsteps of my grandmother, I now have a Monday-Sunday pill box to carry in my purse. I am a sexy 31 year-old lady.

I've also gained three pounds since this mess began. I haven't run in ages and I intend to get back to it starting tonight. I downloaded some songs to my iPhone and I am shamed to admit that one of my favorites is Disney's own Demi Lovato's new single "Here We Go Again". I am a total adult Disney whore. I even recorded Another Cinderella Story this weekend and am really excited about watching it. I'm digressing in age mentally and progressing physically at a rapid rate. Funny how life does that to you.

Now that I'm all caught up at work and things are starting to get back to normal I am hoping to pick up the blogging again. I need something to keep me focused. Ah, speaking of hobbies, I picked up a "Learn To Knit" kit at Wal-Mart last night. For some strange reason Cade has stated a desire to learn to knit. Patrick told him that it was for girls and I responded strongly that my little boy can try anything he likes and make his own mind up as to whether or not it is suitable for him. In a show of solidarity with my possibly gay son I went straight to the store to get the materials. I got burnt orange and white yarn so whatever we knit will be masculine and sporty to ease Patrick into it. Who wouldn't love a Longhorn sweater? But of course, more than likely Cade will realize that one has to sit still to knit and give it up in about four minutes. I, on the other hand, would like to try to knit something. You know, a baby cap or puppy scarf. We're about to take a 14 hour road-trip to Nashville next week and I have to pass the time somehow. Since my body is acting like that of a 96 year-old I figure I ought to try to join it.

Good News!!

2009-07-10T08:46:00.003-05:00

I'm aliiiiiiive! I finally got my answers yesterday and I am so grateful and happy to say that nothing is mortally wrong with me. I am quite jacked, but not mortally so.

The final tally is:

1 - Vascular liver tumor (benign) - we just keep an eye on it and check it every six months to make sure it isn't growing.

2 - Hiatal hernia (small - 2cm) - It kicks stuff up from my stomach into my esophagus which causes heartburn and nausea. If it doesn't grow then I will not need surgery. Hopefully it will self-heal.

3 - Gasteoparesis - my stomach is literally weak. The muscles are too weak to push the food out of my stomach and empty it. The food then stays in there and ferments (mmmmm) then bacteria starts to grow and I get really sick, like with food poisoning. This is caused by my ridiculously high dosages of antidepressants over a prolonged time. They broke my stomach. :)

The treatment consists of "playing with my medication" which is so much easier said than done. It seems that all antidepressants have pretty bad side effects that will affect me one way or another. So, between withdrawals from changing and new symptoms from new medication...it will NOT be fun. They are also giving me medication that will force my stomach to empty. Sounds fun, eh? Through strong stomach cramps it will push out what is remaining. It's going to be a lively weekend!

Last thing, I have to brag...kind of. When I did my endoscopy yesterday I elected to do it without sedation or pain meds. Crazy! It's not that I am brave, I am just more chicken of how I react to pain meds (horrible puking and illness) than I was of a big camera getting forced down my throat. Sooooo, they laid me on my side and I closed my eyes. They put in a bite guard then shoved the camera down my throat and into my stomach. And then I spent the next two minutes puking violently (just bile gratefully) because, in case you aren't aware, your body does not want things forced down your gullet. It was horrible. Really horrible. Everyone at the facility was in awe that I did it, and I felt really proud. However, the misery through the remainder of the day made me realize that the lesser of evils is most likely the Demerol. Next time, they will knock me OUT.

And so...there ends (for at least six months) the Erin Health Scare '09. Thanks for all of the prayers and thoughts and well-wishes. You guys are awesome!!

A Shocker

2009-07-03T10:44:00.003-05:00

Hello strangers! It's been so long and I've missed you all terribly. I am so out of touch with the blogosphere due to work. But I just got some big news yesterday that I wanted to share with you all, since you've been along my ride with me for a while now.

I was diagnosed yesterday with a vascular tumor in my liver. Two and a half weeks ago I became severely nauseated and it lasted all day and awakened me at night. It didn't go away. At first I thought it may be a pregnancy (thank God that I could have the suspicion for once). After a test came out negative I made an appointment with my GP. She first assumed that it was my gallbladder and sent me for the sonogram. It came back with a "strange mass" on my liver. Then they sent me for a CT scan with contrast and I got the results back yesterday.

Now everything I know about a vascular liver tumor I learned from Google. They made an appointment for me with a liver specialist on Tuesday and I will learn more then. From what I have researched so far there are three types. The first, benign tumor, is almost always asymptomatic and is only found through other tests. The second, a malignant tumor, is treatable with chemo or, if it is confined to one lobe of the liver, surgical extraction. With this tumor, it is confined to the liver and has not affected any other organs. The final one, which I will not accept, is metastatic tumor. This is one that is fast-growing, spreads to other organs and causes discomfort. The prognosis for this tumor is 2-4 months.

I'm not sure what I think here. I am scared. I'm scared because my stomach is completely jacked and it shouldn't be. I am always nauseated, extremely gaseous, and have indigestion and constipation. None of those symptoms should relate to my liver. When I move too much I get short of breath. Upon reading about the third tumor I see that it spreads quickly because the liver filters blood and it spreads through the blood into the lungs, gallbladder, intestines, etc. That is when the symptoms show up and by then it is too late. Of course I am praying that there is another explanation.

It's early yet. Patrick says it's too soon to worry before we really know what we have to worry about. This comes from the man whose mother died 5 weeks after being diagnosed with cancer out of the blue. And the same man never spoke in any depth or addressed his mother's illness at all, so I am afraid I can't really lean on him for support. My parents and brother and sister-in-law are scared and constantly gauging my mood so I am trying to be upbeat about it for them. In all honesty though, I am terrified. I am terrified that my beautiful son, who relies so completely on me, will never get a chance to know me. I know that, if I were to pass, I would watch every moment of his life from wherever. But he won't have that luxury.

Anyhow, I just wanted to jot some thoughts down. It's all rather surprising and there are still a lot of unknowns. I'm just trying to figure out the best way to deal. Today I am at work, even though I am in a lot of pain (my stomach is filled with shooting pains and cramps). What else would I do? After I found out yesterday Patrick left to go take practice pictures of a baseball game and left me alone with my thoughts all night. By the end of the evening I was in tears just watching Cade play and be young and carefree. I know that I need to get out and keep my mind on other things. So, outside of writing this, I am trying to do so.

And on that note, I am going to go study some financials! What is more enthralling than that? I will keep you all updated. It's good to be back!

Our Bigfoot...Or You Know, Sex.

2009-06-05T14:32:00.004-05:00

Yes, it's that mystical idea that is constantly spoken of in just about every cultural medium, yet only fleetingly appears in my marriage. Like the yetti, Loch Ness and Bigfoot, there is much debate as to whether it really exists. I vaguely remember something about it from a past life, but now...alive and in MY bedroom...iiiiiiittttt's SSSSEEEEXXX!!

Yup, I had sex with my husband last week. Yes, just once last week and not since then, but that was the first time in well over a year with more than a year and a half before that. And you gals would be so proud of me! I am the one that hunted down the practice and forced it upon my unsuspecting captive.

See, Savannah has been getting on to me lately about not sleeping with my husband. Things are going so well with Patrick and me and there is so much goodwill that it seemed silly not to...I just didn't wanna. But she told me to suck it up and get it done because he would have a hard time staying away from the bad stuff if he got no relief. However, as a parent it is really hard to find time for sex. After Cade's bedtime I am so tired that there is no way, and so is Patrick. Sooooo, I waited until he came home for his dinner break from work and I jumped him while Cade was watching cartoons in the living room.

I lured Patrick into the bedroom, pushed him on the bed and undressed him. You know how it usually goes from there, I'm sure.

Annnnndddd...it was nice. Nice, right? Not the right word for sex. But that's what it was. It felt good, but again...no connection between us. We enjoyed the activity (although we were interrupted by Cade banging on the door demanding to be let in while I yelled to him that we were planning a surprise for him). Patrick wasn't able to finish which puts an asterisk next to the performance for me. I don't count it as successful. Granted, he only had a brief time at home, had to go back to work, worried about Cade, not to mention it just being odd that we were naked together. All of those things make it understandable that it was hard (well...difficult anyway) to get things done.

The final outcome of our adventure was a decision to do it more often. Also, I'm out $40 because I had to make up a surprise for Cade and the only thing I could think of quickly was a DS game. Part of me now wants to sit back and wait for him to instigate because it always hurts a little (no matter how many times I tell myself it is not my fault that he doesn't finish). But those games only hurt us in the past and got us to where we are today. All of this mystery and bitterness surrounding sex in our marriage has been impossible to overcome. Since we are starting with a clean slate, I think that I will just be 100% honest with him. I'm going to instigate again this weekend and see how it goes. I will wait for a more appropriate time so that there will be no interruptions. If he is still not completely satisfied, we will then have a discussion about what may be the causes. Or I could just slip one of my Viagra into his Dr. Pepper and see what I get!

Not Quite

2009-06-03T12:26:00.003-05:00

I may have spoken too soon. Just when I thought things were evening out at the office and I would have a little more time on my hands again the rug was pulled out from under our company and in a matter of two days we went from on top of the world to layoffs. It sucks. I hate to see people go when you know their financial and personal situations and nobody can really afford to be without work in this economy.

Here in West Texas we have been lucky in that the recession only recently really started hitting us on all levels. As gas went down (yea you all, boo for us) the oil & gas companies started layoffs but the rest of the market remained steady. Gas is now going back up (yea for us, boo for you all) and we are starting to ease out of the panic that hit. We are by no means safe or functioning regularly. I am in the construction industry and we were working in public construction (i.e. county, state, city). Just yesterday our bonding was pulled which means we can no longer accept those jobs. We were just awarded a small job ($525k) that we will now have to pull out of and pay them $30k for their troubles, and all other jobs we were going for (which were flush due to the stimulus bill) are now kaput. That immediately changed the trajectory of our company.

So, since I am accounting I am pouring over the numbers, budget, etc. looking for ways to cut costs and get us back on top. Good times as you can all imagine.

I am so sorry that I'm not able to really blog like I would like, but thank you guys for checking back in. I imagine I will get down to the real business of updating you on my life sometime this week. Not even mildly intriguing is it?

There Is Hope

2009-06-01T21:35:00.003-05:00

Things are calming down at work and we all seemed to realize that we simply cannot be productive a full eight hours out of the work day. I think that I will begin to go out on a ledge and maybe blog a little during my day. I have missed the blogosphere! I have missed reading up on everyone's blogs! I do have a computer at home (though the laptop is now kaput), but by the end of the day, after getting everyone fed (because yeah, I'm cooking) and getting Cade to bed, and making lunches for the next day, and getting all the clothes ironed and laid out, I am knocked out. The last thing I want to do is sit in front of the computer. I have been falling into bed exhausted.

But, just a tease...I had sex! And it was good. And I'm gonna do it again. And I'll tell you all more about it from work tomorrow. : ) I will just say that I am rejuvenated and feel like I am producing on a higher level than I have for years in my life. I am genuinely happy and genuinely in love with my husband.

Now, forgive me for not editing this post. If there are a multitude of grammatical errors blame it on severe fatigue and try to forgive me. I will not make a habit of it.

I've missed you all!

Reprimanded

2009-05-21T22:44:00.009-05:00

We have been chastised at work and told that there is a new company policy against personal use of the internet, texting while at work, and personal phone calls outside of break time. This is hilarious for a few reasons.

First, our company employs a total of 13 people. Our "HR Manager" sent us all an email, then typed up a letter and delivered it to us all in a sealed, addressed envelope. You see, he wasn't an HR guy originally, he was a friend of the owner who needed a job years ago when the company consisted of three people. His skills have not evolved, but they couldn't very well let him go, so he was deemed HR/Safety Manager. He takes his job very seriously. We lovingly refer to him as the "hall monitor".

Secondly, the average age of our company is 33, with the owner being 27. We are a young group. We are all driven, team players who get our work done, plus some. But somehow it was decided that there was excess of shenanigans on the computer and we were shut down.

Finally, apparently it really was excessive. Now that we are unable to get online for personal reasons we are all bored senseless with every last task completed. Now, I run all things financial for the company. I'm the mini-Controller/CFO. I have a LOT to do. In fact, our boss just started another company and handed that one over to me as well. And yet, I could do it all in a 25-30 hour workweek if I focused (which I don't generally do). Now I am so stinking efficient that I am going to work myself into a time decrease, and thus a pay cut. And Savannah, she is ready to poke her eyes out. She handles a LOT as well, project management and contract procurement, etc. Still, it is done and she is now stuck reading Eclipse under her desk to pass the time. All while trying to evade "HR". It sucks.

Anyhow, that boring diatribe about work politics is all to say that I am stuck posting only at night and on weekends, the same block of time that I try to spend quality time with my husband and son. Where is the humanity in that? How can an employer take away my time from my family to handle personal stuff that could easily be handled on his dime? I know, as the accountant I should be on his side...normally I will break down cost-efficiency to the penny, when it doesn't result in horrific boredom and lack of exploration of current events on my part. And by current events, I mean Evil Beet Gossip, of course.

Look Ma! An Award!

2009-05-21T21:35:00.004-05:00

Wendy in LaLaLand has honored me with an award and I am thrilled. It's like when I was nominated for prom court in my high school class of over 700. It's a great honor to be recognized out of so many great bloggers and peers. Thank you Wendy!

Some of my faves were already dubbed by Wendy in her nomination (DSS) so I won't be redundant. But you'll have to check out those that Wendy listed. All great reads!

And now, the Queenly Duties are as follows:

1. List 7 things that make me awe-summm.

2. Pass the award onto 7 bloggers that I love.

3. Tag those bloggers to let them know they are now Queens too (and link back to the Queen who tagged you).

Seven Awe-Summm Things About Me (a trial for someone whose blog contains "inadequate" in the title...

1. I am starting over after seven years in a bad marriage, and despite every reason to...I didn't give up on it. And now, I am in a great marriage!

2. I gave birth to a human being. Yeah! I know! It's incredible.

3. I am learning how to shop sales after a lifetime as a snobby shopaholic. That's right, I can now admit to shopping at Kohl's.

4. I am training to run a half-marathon in October. And I'm asthmatic...so that makes me awe-summm and stupid!

5. I often think in foreign languages. When I lay awake at night and my mind is racing, I like to translate my thoughts to French or Spanish.

6. I can say the alphabet backwards in under 5 seconds. (Something I learned to do while laying sleeplessly in bed).

7. I have gone down two sizes since January...and I am still shrinking!

And now, for the nominees for Queen of All Things Awe-Summm...

1. Voila Moi

2. Friday I'm In Love

3. You're Ill-Fitting Overcoat

4. The Philosophy of KLo

5. One Breath At A Time

6. The Novelista Barista

7. Social Climbers

Check them out. They each have a lot to offer and are really entertaining.

Metamorphosis

2009-05-18T12:58:00.004-05:00

We're nearing summer and just like a caterpillar, wrapped up all winter, I am getting the urge to burst forth from my cocoon of cellulite and emerge beautiful for warm weather. This isn't as simple as just pulling out last year's summer clothes and getting on with it. Since I am just awakening from a 4-year depressive spell, which was accompanied by the requisite weight gain, I am currently downsizing from that old body.

On Saturday I went out to get a couple things for the warmer weather and was excited to see that I am now 2 sizes smaller than I was back in January! That's great encouragement to keep going in my journey to better myself health wise. I'm still a lot bigger than I would like to be, but I have lost enough weight that people actually notice.

For the last four years I have been trying to cover myself up. I may have mentioned it before, but I was hiding behind weight, mediocre hair and baggy clothes. I didn't want to be seen by anyone because I was afraid that if someone showed interest I would do something stupid. I came so close all those years ago and it scared the crap out of me.

Now, I feel like I have awakened to a new life. I love my husband. I am in love with my husband. I have no desire to have anyone else fill the sexual or physical void in my life. I think a lot of the reason I am not interested in sex right now is because I feel disgusted by myself. I need to be sexified.

My plan consists of the following:

- Highlights: my husband has been asking me to put blond in my hair for ages and I was always too pissed at the thought that he wouldn't accept me for the brunette he married to lighten my hair. The fact is, I like blond highlights (little strands) and I am looking forward to lightening things up for the summer.

- Pigmentation: I am pale. I have that lovely Irish skin that is translucent. You can see my capillaries at all times and I have that lovely reddish tint. I use a sunless tanner, but the plan is to be outside more now, between running, biking and taking Cade to the park, that way I get a nice color that is flattering. I am really tempted to go to a tanning bed because I like the all-over tan, but I'll put that off for now.

- Mani/Pedi: Since I am now a recessionista, I will probably have to do these two myself. That sucks, but I'll suck up the suckiness and make it look nice.

- Continue losing weight: I still have about 30 lbs to lose to be at my ideal weight. Mind you, I am a recovering anorexic/bulimic so my ideal is not necessarily where I should end up. I'm 5'7" and muscular, so 140lbs is about a size 4-6...and that is where I want to be. That is where I was when I was modeling a few years ago, and that's when my husband was really attracted to me. That's also where I can walk around with my head up. I have seen a lot of my shoes and the cracks in the pavement lately. It's time I face the world with who I am.

I think in the interest of full disclosure, so you can all see what will hopefully be my transformation over time, I will do before, during, and final pictures. I have been terrified of cameras for a long time, but I'm going to cave and do it. I would like to get everyone's opinions on what I could do to further blossom. I'll get my photographer husband to take some pics (he doesn't like to because I complain about every picture...again, I'll suck it up) and get back to you with those.

Do you think I could get some help from you all? I would be eternally grateful!

In Another's Words

2009-05-14T10:28:00.003-05:00

Well, as with the last few posts, looks like I will take the steps of our fair President and backtrack a bit. I have been reading up on and watching a lot of the hearings on the crash of 3407 and I am willing to back away a little from supporting the pilots in this case. It looks like there were a lot of poor choices going into this trip as well as lax industry standards that combined to cause this crash.

I ran across this editorial from a pilot on the internet and thought this person really captured the frustrations of the airline community when hearing the berating of the pilots and airlines during this investigation. I noticed that no one commented on the last post, and I know this is a touchy subject. It just happens to be the subject that I am concentrated on right now. I hope you all bear with me.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"I'm a pilot for another regional carrier (not Colgan, or any company owned by Pinnacle Holdings...the company that owns Colgan). So many people don't understand the life of a regional airline pilot, I almost feel obligated to give some insight here.

To become an airline pilot it's almost impossible to gain all the licenses and experience necessary to get hired without racking up at least $50,000+ in student loans for training, including all your books, equipment, other materials, fuel, instructor fees, renter's insurance, etc. You could easily get a bachelors and masters degree at most state schools for less.

My first year in the regional airlines I made $28,000 before taxes, and that's at the top end of the scale. And I spent about $2000 of that (7% of my paycheck, about 10% after taxes) on uniforms, luggage, and other equipment just to be able to do my job. I got lucky in that when I got hired we were in the middle of a hiring boom, and I never had to sit on reserve duty (where you only make a minimum monthly guarantee pay most of the time). Had I not been hired when I was, I would have probably made $20,000 per year or less. Most of the captains I'm flying with now made less than $15,000 their first year in the industry.

The passengers obviously provide our paychecks, just like customers in any other industry. But, the flying public wants their $69 one way tickets. In my opinion, flying should never be less than at least two or three times the cost of driving the same distance. Let's say I flew you 1000 miles (a pretty common distance, even for a regional carrier). If you drove it, at $2.20 per gallon and 25 MPG in an average car/suv, it would cost you about $90 in gas, $100 for a hotel (because the average person doesn't drive 1000 miles in one day). The trip would take you about 17 hours by car averaging 60 MPH. Double all those figures for the return trip, and you would have paid close to $400 not including food or other incidentals, and taken four days of your time. But, the flying public demands that we provide travel for that same distance for about $300 or less for a round trip. And, we can get you there in about two hours (as opposed to two days...one way). You can avoid the mileage and wear and tear on your car, fly your 1000 miles, for 25% less money, and 90% faster time. Then you could do your business, turn around and come back in time for dinner. Yet, the public goes into uproar if ticket prices go up.

So, "thank you", Mr. and Mrs. U.S. flying public, for demanding the lowest airfare in the world, and for my minimum wage paycheck. I would buy you a beer for your caring and compassion, but you can't buy that with food stamps. Oh, and while I have your entire family's life in my hands, flying through thunderstorms, ice, rain, and snow in some of the most congested and complicated airspace in the country on less than three hours of sleep, please feel free to keep sending up your complains about how hot or cold it is, the seats are uncomfortable, my bag won't fit in the overhead, why is the seat belt sign still on, there isn't enough leg room, it's too bumpy, this is taking too long, blah blah blah.

It takes a special kind of person to work in this industry. These days being a pilot is viewed by the public as being not much more than a glorified bus driver. So, until ticket prices go up, wages increase, work/rest rules are improved, and the industry regains some of its exclusivity, it will never attract the caliber of individual the public expects to see at the controls. Until that happens, the flying public has made the airline industry about the almighty dollar rather than actually serving the customer. The same is true in crew training. I can can tell you from experience that safety is always our number one concern, but not far behind in the list of priorities is completing the flight on time. We fly with substandard and/or broken equipment on a daily basis because you, as the flying public, want your free meals, hotel stays, and free travel vouchers if the flight is delayed or cancelled. The maintenance guys could delay a flight by 45 minutes to change a tire, because it's so worn that one more landing would make the thing explode. And, all we get from the passengers are arms thrown up in frustration and comments about how "ridiculous" this is. Yet, you still want to pay peanuts for your ticket.

So, yes pilot training in some places might be considered substandard compared to the ideal level of proficiency the public demands. The airline industry likes to boast about how well pilots are trained and how safe it is. What they really mean is that the pilots are trained well and safety is held at the highest standard given the available financial resources and associated costs. You can't have your cake and eat it too. If you want airfares cheaper than dirt, that lack of cash flow trickles up to all levels of the individual company, including training for pilots and maintenance personnel, as well as making the industry as a whole unattractive to the most qualified and capable people.

The pilots of Colgan 3407 might have made some bad decisions, and it cost many people their lives. I prayed for their families and hope it never happens again. But, those pilots' level of training and arguably lack of experience is a direct result of the demands of the flying public. While I go to work every day, trying to make the best decisions possible and keep my passengers as safe and comfortable as I can, I know Colgan 3407 will not be the last or the worst accident we'll have, maybe even just this year. And, what I cannot tolerate is the public's constant complaining, insistence on perfect performance and better safety, while also demanding cheaper fares. Do you go to a BMW dealership and demand quality parts, power, and German engineering for the price of a Kia? Probably not. So, which one do you want? Quality or economy?"

Colgan 3407

2009-05-12T12:48:00.006-05:00

I was listening to the news on iTunes at work today when the followup story on the Feb. 12th crash of Continental Connections played. The cause that they are investigating is one I fought so hard against back in February. Pilot error.

Here is the article in the Wall Street Journal.

That crash hit very close to home. Continental is my old company. The old guy of whom I no longer speak flew for Continental Express. I still have many friends and connections that fly Continental Express for one regional carrier or another and are based out of Newark. It's a really small family, all in all.

I've had so many dreams over the years of working a flight as it crashed. Nightmares, usually. In the same way that I would dream over and over again that I was on the 1ooth floor of the World Trade Center and had to jump, I feel the emotions so clearly. Even all these years out of the industry, I still have these dreams regularly. And so, having flown so many times, I can so clearly imagine how those flight attendants felt on their jumpseats; trying to look calm for the passengers that were looking to them for some comprehension of the situation. But they knew what was happening. They knew how close they were on their descent and they knew when the plane started to buck and roll wildly that they were going to die. It breaks my heart to think of what everyone on that flight went through.

At the time of the crash, it looked like icing was the leading factor. From the looks of how the captain handled the situation, he may have thought it was tail icing, which makes sense based on the reported conditions in the area. The big trick from God on aerodynamics is that with wing icing you do what the plane is designed for, push the stick forward and increase thrust (step on the gas). With tail icing, you pull back on the stick to decrease speed. But it is really hard to know which condition you are presented with. Every model handles differently, each plane indicates stalls differently.

But now, the death of all of those people are being blamed on this one man. That makes me so sad for his family. For those fliers reading this, you're probably thinking, "hell yeah, we blame him! It was his responsibility to fly the plane!". I think we all take for granted what that entails. We get on a plane and expect that it's routine for these people. And it gets that way. Flight crews get so used to day in/day out regular conditions that we can be complacent when something finally happens. The idea is to train us so systematically that the procedures are emblazoned in our minds so that it is completely natural to follow those procedures. I'm speaking from experience in the cabin. When I had a passenger down with a heart attack I did, robotically even, what I had been trained to do.

However, I have also been in the cockpit. I have flown a plane. I honestly couldn't handle the pressure of the fact that my mistake, in an instant, could cause my or anyone's death. There is SO MUCH going on in that cockpit. There are SO MANY things to consider when making any split-second decision. Hearing Capt. Sully retell the story of the Hudson River landing gives you an indication of that. His calm, calculated handling saved hundreds. But he had been flying for more than 20 years.

The fact is, this pilot wasn't trained extensively enough. You can bet that there will be new FAA requirements due to this accident. But we have to remember, the people flying those regional jets are there for a reason...you have to start somewhere. They are usually just building flight hours so that they can get to the majors. The hours they acquired (which are pretty minimal) in order to get hired on were likely as flight instructors on completely different equipment than what they are now flying. Flying for the regionals is like continued training. Perhaps this is a new concept to the press, but it is understood in the industry. If you took pilots with little experience out of the cockpits of regional carriers, there would be no one left to fly. When they get the hours that the public would expect from them to qualify as experienced, they jump ship and go to the bigger airlines because that is the whole point.

Don't get me wrong, there are a lot of great pilots out there in the regionals. There are those that handle pressure better than others. Perhaps this captain wasn't one of them. I just hate to see the press pick apart things like "idle chatter" below 10,000 ft. and how that is not allowed by the FAA. They point to the fact that the co-pilot was congested as if that would in any way contribute to the situation. When you are congested and fly your ears don't pressurize normally and it can cause severe pain and bursting eardrums...but she never said a word about pain once she was inflight, so why even bring that up? She did nothing wrong, yet they are trying to cast doubt on her ability to fly that day.

Yes, I know I am rambling. No, I don't guess I really have a point. I guess, with the airline industry being so close, it feels like they are picking on family. Family that is no longer here to defend themselves. I guess the greatest loss is that no one in that plane stood a chance. That finality absolutely breaks my heart.

Takebacks

2009-05-11T10:43:00.003-05:00

Wow. After I posted that whiny, bitchy blog post last night I totally beat myself up. What a spoiled brat I was being! It's not Wife's Day, it's Mother's Day. My son wrote me a card, which was cute because he spelled it Happy Muder's Day. Ahhhhh... I spent quality time with my child, the whole reason the day is celebrated.

And what did I do for my mother, you may ask? Very little! Because funds are tight I simply got her a good bottle of wine and a card. We all went and hung out with them, but I didn't really do it up the way we used to. It wasn't a day all about me. It was about her too.

And to add to my guilt, it really hit me that perhaps my husband is having a hard time with the day anyway. You guys will probably want to kick me in the shin for being such a selfish idiot when I mention this part. Four years ago this month my husband's mother was diagnosed with Stage 4 terminal cancer. Five weeks after her diagnosis she had died. He was very close to her and yet, to this day, we still do not mention her in our house. It is something he just is not able to touch. So, I would assume that on Mother's Day, he has his own issues to deal with. Yet there I was laying on the guilt trip. Bitch.

The only thing I have to be grateful about is that I can look at myself and see these flaws. I'm thankful that I am not one of those people who act this way throughout life and wonders why those around them are miserable. I have a lot of making up to do with Patrick 2.0. This new version of my husband deserves a lot more respect than what I was used to showing the old version and I have to remember that.

And Libe, you are absolutely right. You shouldn't force anyone to celebrate a holiday with you. Of course the ideal is that it is not forcing, it is something that they want to do. All things considered surrounding this day, I am going to make a point to celebrate my mother from now on and let the rest be.

I really hate it when my flaws are so glaringly obvious. I so wish that I would grow up already and be the composed, graceful woman that I want so badly to be.

Mother Schmother

2009-05-10T22:32:00.003-05:00

If I see one more wish for a Happy Mother's Day, I swear I will pull my hair out. Where does all this love and kindness and well-wishing for mothers everywhere come from? Every single status update on Facebook is "Happy Mother's Day to all of you mothers out there, blah, blah, blah". Honestly, I hate holidays for this very reason. Everyone else is always living it up. They have great stories of what their husbands or children have done for them. My brother, for instance...today he took his wife and children to a river park outside of Nashville with their bicycles and a picnic. They all frolicked and rode bikes during the brief breakthrough of sunshine that seemed to come through just for them. My brother makes it a point to make holidays for his wife special.

My sweet, dear husband, whom I love more than anything, was not raised in a home where holidays were anything special. His father is not a kind, loving man like my father is. His father is a selfish, self-centered, egotistical jerk who thinks of little else but himself. My husband didn't have a good role model. Even though he tries, and sometimes really comes through, he just doesn't know how to make special days special. Our anniversary and my birthday are a day apart and they usually come with little more than a card and a meal. The cards are there because I told him that he would lose his left nut if he ever forgot to get me a card again after the first Mother's Day. He fell asleep yesterday at 4 pm and didn't wake up until 4 am because he has been working ridiculous hours. But he still got up at 4 am and went to the store to get a card for me from him and my son before getting to work at 5. Sure, he put it off to the last minute, but he went out of his way to get it done and I appreciate that.

Still, nothing ever really measures up to all I hear from others and what I expect. What would I want him to do? I don't know. We went to my parents house and Patrick went outside with Cade and spent forever playing baseball with him, something he wouldn't have done only a few short months ago. Truly, this Mother's Day really has been the best because I am in love with my husband and our lives together are moving in a really great direction. I should suck it up and be grateful for that. And after writing this and really taking a look at all that has changed around me, I think I will.

But I still don't want to hear another word about this stupid day. I'm just glad it's over.

Contentment

2009-05-08T11:23:00.006-05:00

Contentment - A Foreign Concept Until Now

Wow! What an amazing week! I started full-time work this week and I haven't worked a 40 hour work week in over a year and a half. I was really worried about how my body would handle it, but my darling husband has been so great this week. He has let me take naps every evening while he cooks, does homework with Cade and generally mans the homefront. I'll tell you something, I am feeling pretty lucky right now to have such a wonderful man. It's amazing how a little time can change things.

As for Cade (who was seriously on my last nerve and about to get shipped off to boarding school for 1st graders) he was wonderful this week as well! He got into trouble at school on Monday and that night was no fun at home. But I asked Wendie for some advice and we started implementing some things around the house and WOW! On Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday nights, Cade actually asked US if he could go to bed. He proceeded to fall asleep in a matter of minutes after laying down with no fussing whatsoever. For some of you parents, that might not seem like the modern day miracle that it really is. But seriously, since the day of his birth all those years ago, he has gone to sleep without a fight maybe a handful of times. He is hyperactive, and with that comes a lack of need for sleep like most children have. He can operate fully well on six hours of sleep and has been that way for as long as I can remember. It's one of those cruel jokes that the world plays on us, considering I could sleep for 14 hours and still not feel rested. Naturally, my first concern was that he was still sick. It was completely uncharacteristic. But I've kept a close eye on him and he seems fine. He is agreeable, considerate and independent...and it's niiiiice.

For the first time that I can remember I am going into a weekend with a family of which I am really happy to be a part. This is completely new for me. I have been discontent for so long that I hadn't realized what a weight it was on me. And you know, it comes easy now to do things for my husband. I love him, I like him, and what's more...I respect him. Things are good. Do I still wig out if he doesn't listen closely enough or seem concerned about what I am saying to him at the time? Yes. But now the first thought doesn't instantly go towards leaving him. Now, I just think about how much work the next fifty years of our lives are going to be - and I am glad to be a part of it. I want to work to keep this family together.

Mind you, there still has been no sex. I am really stuck where that is concerned. I don't know when or how we are going to start attacking that aspect, but for his sake, I hope it's soon.

Let's Talk About Sex (Part Two)

2009-05-01T23:16:00.005-05:00

This is the second part of a story. Part One is here.

As I was saying, my husband and I haven't had sex in over a year. Although it hasn't always been my lack of desire that stopped us, it is now. And that is why I am trying to figure out how to make a change. Now, there are many possible reasons for my lack of interest in sex. Allow me to expound:

1. High doses of Zoloft - Zoloft is known to have sexual side affects. Many people who are treated for depression usually start at a dose of 25mg once daily. Over time your body gets used to the medication and it stops working. It does this suddenly, without warning, and usually causes a breakdown. Since I began being treated for depression at 19, twelve years ago, I am now taking 200mg a day, plus another 100mg of Wellbutrin. You would think I would be a walking zombie, but I have built up a resistance to the drug and apparently my doctor thinks increasing the dosage to a level at which the insurance company constantly needs reassurance is safe prior to filling my script is a good idea.

2. Lupus - I was diagnosed with systemic lupus at 21 and have struggled since then. When I don't get regular naps, say if I have to work a 40-hour week, my body starts to break down. Arthritis kicks in, extreme fatigue, the big splotches on my face known as the lupus mask become noticeable, and I am utterly useless. On a normal basis, when I get a daily nap of at least two hours, I am only fatigued, and I am talking about bone-aching tired. Remember the last time you stayed up for more than 24-36 hours? Remember how sick you felt? That's what a normal day without rest can feel like to me. So, needless to say, sex is not the top of my priorities.

3. Lack of Chemistry - Patrick and I have never been electric by any means. In fact, while dating the sex was good in that "it's a new person and different is good" kind of way. However, Patrick was struggling with premarital sex and his Christianity and so there was always a lot of reserve on his part. From the day we were married the sex dropped to simply mechanical. It was predictable; eyes closed, no kissing, no creativity, no good. With all of the things we have been through over the last 7 years, it has simply gone downhill from there.

My general practitioner prescribed me Viagra a year or so ago to combat the Zoloft's affects. I took one and then tried to force Patrick to have sex with me. But he was struggling with his own issues then and he turned me down. So I vowed never to try again. And I haven't. But he has made a complete and sustained 180, and now that he wants to have sex, I am not interested.

I know that it is extremely important to the survival of our marriage, the one we have both started fighting for at the same time for once, to become intimate. But even talking about it one-on-one with with our counselor yesterday, the physical reaction to the idea of having sex with Patrick is still there. I get chills, and not the good kind. The counselor told me that he would start working with us to learn intimacy all over again. At this point that seems impossible to me. But if you had told me a month ago that I would be falling in love with my husband all over again, or maybe for the first time, I wouldn't have believed that either. But I am.

So, our next step is to start at 1st base. Apparently, we are going to relearn the whole kit and caboodle. And in the meantime, I need to talk to my psychiatrist about alternative options for treatment other than slowly causing liver failure to prevent suicide. I appreciate her short-term vs. long term approach, but I'm in this life thing for the long haul, so I would like to do something to treat both.

Let's Talk About Sex (Part One)

2009-04-30T09:16:00.007-05:00

I was awakened last night with a kind of scary epiphany. I think I have become a-sexual. As in, I have an utter lack of concern with sex. I could care less. I don't want it, I am doing fine without it, and I cannot imagine a situation in which it would be desirable. That is really scary. Prior to marriage I was very comfortable with my sexuality. I enjoyed sex, a LOT. I pursued, I enjoyed being pursued. There were the occasional one-night stands, testing of the waters. I didn't have sex for the first time until I was 19 and a freshman in college. I was going to save myself for "the one" and guys that age seemed to run pretty fast when they realized they were not getting the goods, so "the one" was impossible to find.

Enter my first real boyfriend. We started as friends. Over time I noticed that I was attracted to him though he wasn't the norm for me. He was a large, dreadlocked black man which was a huge no-no in my part of Texas. But we shrugged off the cold stares and hateful comments. He was a sophomore, older and wiser. Once he admitted that he had a thing for me, we carefully began feeling our way around a relationship. I was absolutely terrified because I knew that he had had sex before. I had to take Valerian root - a natural sedative - just to spend time with him. I was nauseated any time I was with him alone because I didn't know what was coming.

One night, while we were feeling each other out, quite literally, I felt something in no-man's land. I immediately jerked to attention and told him that nothing could happen and he told me to relax, it was only his thumb. Maybe a minute or two of cringing discomfort later he said, "I guess I should carve my name in your heart".

"What?" I asked.

"We just made love," he replied ever so sweetly.

That was it. That was my first time. I didn't even know that it happened. Now, because I felt that I had to stay with him because he was now "the one", after about a month of making him keep his distance I decided to let him be my teacher. He took that on with great joy. For the next four years, on and off, he taught me everything I know about sex. He was a wonderful, spiritual teacher and I was an eager student.

From that introduction came what was very nearly an addiction to sex. I cheated on every boyfriend I had because if an opportunity came along, I was not about to turn it down. I relished each guy as an important life experience. They made my life richer or taught me that looks didn't equal capability in bed. And from 19-25, sensuality was a defining aspect of my persona. I exuded it, as I was told by so many.

Fast forward to now...

I haven't had sex in probably a year or so, and a year and a half before that, but I don't miss it. I'm no longer sensual in any way. I let myself go, gained weight, lost my self-confidence. And now I have an actual physical reaction to the thought of having sex with my husband. I literally shudder. I don't think that it has anything to do with Patrick. He is a kind man and we are getting along spectacularly. I know that I am doing a grave disservice to our marriage by not having sex with him. There are so many possibilities for why I don't. We have spent our entire marriage trying to figure out why one or the other didn't want to have sex. In the beginning, say...the first five years, I wanted it and he didn't. And now, he wants it and I don't.

Now I have to figure out why. Just the intro to this topic has gotten rather long, so I will continue later with some of my rationalizations. In the meantime, have any of you ever gone for long periods without desire? Did you have a valid reason or was it a social drought? How do you feel about sexuality as a defining feature of yourself?

Vanilla

2009-04-28T14:53:00.002-05:00

Do you guys ever feel like you simply can't write enough? There are so many things on your mind, scratching and clawing their way to the surface, begging for resolution. Well, now is not that time for me. It seems like my life is pathetically boring. Mind you, I am grateful for the lack of upheaval, but it does leave little about which to write.

Right now I am taking time to check out other blogs and I am endlessly entertained by the voyeurism that allows us to partake in their lives' events. Here are my favorites...

Wendy In LaLaLand

The Novelista Barista

as well as those listed on my blogroll. What I am noticing is that my life is incredibly tame, lame even. Everyone is out there living their dreams and experiencing life to the fullest. If I had blogged years ago when I was flying, ohhhh...the stories I could tell. Trust me, you guys would be endlessly entertained. But now...nothing. I feel like I am doing a disservice to the blogosphere by wasting space.

Nonetheless, I appreciate you all. Thank you for taking the time to read my mundane and confused musings. I am grateful to you, each and every one.

Dr. Feelbad

2009-04-27T22:15:00.004-05:00

It's been a crappy weekend filled with illness at my house. We went to a skate party (roller skates!!) on Friday and the birthday boy had stayed home that day with pinkeye. Now, I have an immune deficiency, so this wasn't wise to begin with. In fact, me going around sniveling kids is never a good idea. I catch a cold when a fly sneezes.

On Saturday I woke up with a grossly sore throat. I still cleaned house and did all the crap I was supposed to like a good mom. Sunday I woke up barely able to swallow. And my son, his eyes were a puffy mess. They were matted shut, we were all scratching. Mess. By Sunday night Cade was crying because his throat hurt him so badly.

So, I took my child to the doctor today. We couldn't get in to my normal GP or his pediatrician, so we went to the local PromptCare clinic. Bad idea, I know. We waited for almost two hours to see the doctor who then breezed in, looked at Cade's throat, his ears, listened to his heart, wrote a script and walked out. With insurance, it cost us $65.00. He never looked at his eyes, never gave me a diagnosis. Nothing. He wrote a prescription for antibiotics and eye drops and was done.

WTH is wrong with our health care system? Do doctors even care anymore? Do they try to find what ails us or just throw the first pill that has come to mind since the pretty pharmaceutical rep left? I have long believed that they are pretty much guessing. I have had so many tests and so many diagnosis in regards to my lupus (if THAT'S what it really is). I am so frustrated that we have to pay so much, money that is budgeted and set aside for other things, to have these people throw some crap at you as they cram in as many patients as possible to pad their bottom line. Mind you, I have seen this doctor before and he was attentive and kind. Today though, as we were paying out, another woman stormed out saying that the doctor wasn't worth a shit and she wouldn't pay. I tried to lighten the mood with the nurses by joking, but I agree with the woman 100%. I had to pay this guy to SERIOUSLY do nothing more than write a script and kick us out.

Anyhow, we are heading back to work and school tomorrow. I'm hoping that we will not be spreading illness to everyone we come in contact with (yeah, Savannah, I wouldn't come too close). The nurse asked if I was sending him to school tomorrow and I said that I guessed I would since the doctor didn't say anything about it. I still can't swallow, but I figure that is overrated anyway.

Good times. Now, to get ready for my 5k on Saturday...

The Big Question

2009-04-24T12:20:00.004-05:00

I mentioned a while back that something was bugging me. I want some outside perspective on the issue. I know that religion will always be something that no one will ever agree on, but I am so torn since deciding last year to transition from agnostic to Baptist. Allow me a little back story...

I was raised in a non-denominational Christian church. That can mean many, many things to many, many different churches. In the church in which I grew up one of the things it meant was that we believed in the manifestations of spirits. That went for the Holy Spirit (i.e., talking in tongues, being slain in the spirit, etc.) as well as demonic spirits. There was a phase in our small church where they cast out demons of everything from pornography to laziness (I was on the receiving end of that laziness one). I was told one summer at church camp that I was molested by a warlock and had his evil spirits passed on to me. I am pretty sure that the "evil spirits" of which they spoke were related to my sense of defiance based on rationality. When they would push on my forehead to slay me in the spirit I would dig in and push back. One thing they did manage to do was instill a deep fear of the dark side. I was told that opening my mind to meditation, for something like yoga, opened the doors to allow spirits to inhabit me.

Knowing that history, you might be able to see why I turned my back on religion altogether as soon as I got out of my parents' house. Religion was confining and scary and hypocritical. There was always the nagging in the back of my mind that God did exist, I was simply too pragmatic to fully buy in. To this day, I still have so many questions and concerns and realities that counteract my intentions of being a Christian.

I was talking to Savannah at work today. She is a relatively new Catholic. I asked her about some of the finer points of Catholicism. One of my questions is why there is so much weight given to Mary and the other saints. Unfortunately, she has not been a student of the religion long enough to answer those questions. She is, however, going to find resources for both of us to better understand. It's not that I think that one religion has the answers that the rest do not, I just want to know the answers of all religions so I can decide whether or not I think they are all fatally flawed.

It comes down to this; I don't know how to accept Christianity in my life. When I raise these issues to my pastor he says to focus on my relationship with God. But then I go to church and they tell me that in order to have a relationship with God I have to follow His word. Then I start reading His word and there are contradictions left and right. He is a loving God vs. He is a wrathful God. He understands your heart vs. He will spit you out of his mouth like vile water if you are lukewarm in your relationship with him. And don't even get me started on the social issues. I simply cannot accept that Jesus wanted us to use shame, isolation, and harsh words in order to show people the ways of their sin. Prop 8 anyone?

So, am I not really a Christian? If I doubt or dislike some of the fundamentals of the Christian faith (take the whole Old Testament for instance), how can I truly live for Him? I am a skeptic at best and a hypocrite at worst.

Free To A Good Home

2009-04-22T15:05:00.006-05:00

Here is a brief snippet from an email I got from Cade's teacher. It was a lengthy email that fully chronicled a day in the life of a carefree little boy. He is so carefree that he cannot be bothered with silly things like limits and rules. Keep in mind, this snippet was about paragraph five of an essay ticking off his bad behavior.

During instruction time he interrupted nearly every three minutes by talking, shaking his art box, throwing something, crawling under the tables, standing on his head with his feet on the desk, or flipping his chair over and pretending the legs were a steering wheel. I tried moving him, isolating him, talking both firm and gentle, making him move his bus...but nothing seemed to work today. I spent a majority of the seven hour school day saying the name "Cade" over and over again.

Standing on his head? Really? Yes, Cade is hyperactive. He is also very intelligent and tends to get bored towards the end of a school year (preschool in years past), but he knows better than to behave like this. And at home, his behavior is simply defiant. He could care less that his father or I am talking to him. He will not do anything that he doesn't want to without a huge fit. With both Patrick and I being non confrontational in nature, this means that Cade runs the house. We spend most of our time asking, then begging him to do things. He is naturally manipulative, a trait that I never managed and will knowingly cave to when it is used on me. He has our numbers and he is cashing in.

I entered this parenting thing with a lot of idealism, as I guess we all do. I would never spank. I would address him as a competent human being from day one. I wouldn't raise my voice or lose control of a situation, allowing him to gain what I had lost. I would be understanding and, above all, I would listen. Everyone knows that the key to good communication is listening.

Yeah, that's a bunch of crap when the person you are dealing with doesn't care one whit about you. Sure, I am a soft place to hide when things aren't going his way. Sure, he loves me because I am always there for him. But I see something new in my little boy with whom, for all these years, I have had an alliance. He sees his control slipping. Mommy and Daddy are becoming a united front. Mommy no longer second guesses Daddy to make sure that Cade is happy. And quite frankly, I don't like what I see from this child. He is wily, but more ominously, he is a master manipulator. All kids have that tendency to step their toes over the line to see just with what they can get away. But Cade, at the ripe old age of six, doesn't care if the answer is no. He will look you boldly in the eye and continue with the actions and behavior that are outraging those around him.

I think that I have created a monster and I have no idea how to wrest control away from him. I will tell you right now, his will is stronger than mine. He feels more passion in a fight than I can muster. His father is just the same as me. Patrick and I don't argue because neither of us like unpleasantries. In the past (say...last night), we have punished Austin with tickles. Rather than a timeout, which honestly has NO AFFECT whatsoever on Cade, we tickle him to distract him from the negative behavior. Better laughs than screams, right? But now we have this handsome, smart little boy that knows exactly what buttons to push with everyone in his world to get what he wants.

I know I have to get it under control now before he becomes a sociopath in his teens (okay, maybe I'm overreacting). However, in a battle of the wills, he will win every time. Maybe it's time to call in Supernanny. I am at my wit's end with this child.

I find myself asking over and over again, why in the hell do people have kids? I understand the biological need to continue our race, but other than that, I simply do not see the lure. At least 80% of the time I have spent with Cade in the last week, neigh, the last six years, have been a struggle. And these are the good times? And then he marries and leaves me for his wife and the time when I would enjoy him, I become the outsider who is intruding on his new family unit. So I spend my time doing everything for this child, worrying day and night about every last decision that I make in my life and how it pertains to him. And if my parents are any indication, I will continue into old age worrying day and night about him. Sure, I love his tiny hand holding mine. I love the smell of his head when he nestles in my lap. I love his sighs, his remarks, his wit. And oh, do I love to watch him sleep. But really, the weight of this responsibility is tearing me up. I can account for myself. I do great work. I excel. But Cade, the most important and momentous extension of myself, I cannot vouch for him. I cannot impress my moral characteristics onto him. How do parents carry that weight?

Ctrl + Alt + Del

2009-04-17T20:09:00.011-05:00

When I started telling this story the other day, I thought I could handle it. I thought it was a story that I was ready to tell. It ended with me calling my doctor to make sure I wasn't having a panic attack. My arms went numb, my head was spinning and confused. I don't know what caused that and I truly hate to think that I am neurotic enough that going back in time to that point would cause such physical anguish. Still, I can't help but think that I psyched myself out by revisiting what has been buried for a long time for good reason.

What really is important in all this is that I have only recently decided to completely let go of the past. I am letting go of Andrew, of memories of how it was and what could have been. It occurred to me that I never gave my marriage a chance because Patrick was simply not the man that I wanted him to be, and that man was Andrew. But lately, looking at him for who he is and can be, I really like the man that Patrick has become. Our counseling sessions have gone incredibly well and ever since I packed the bags to leave (and then chickened out), Patrick has been a new man. And in being so, he has shown me how unfair I have been to him since the day we met. I never gave him a chance.

Now it's time. It's time to look at the father of my son and erase all the expectations that someone else implanted in my mind and heart. Because Patrick is a good, kind man. He is becoming an exceptional father and has been a patient husband/roommate. And when I look at him now, I can see a future.

Maybe sometime down the road I will finish the story of Andrew for you all. Maybe someday soon. I think it would be cathartic to lay it out there and be done. Perhaps I will have a Xanax on standby for that day.

Almost eight years have passed and it's time that I start to appreciate what I was given and say goodbye to what never was.

Remembrances

2009-04-14T11:34:00.004-05:00

While at work I listen to NPR through my computer. Usually it's Morning Edition followed by All Things Considered from the previous day. But at the beginning of the week my favorite show is new and I anxiously await listening to This American Life. Today, I watched the page buffer wondering what gem of American life would be there for me to speed along my day. But much to my dismay, it was a repeat from not so long ago. But there was sweet relief. They have archives. I have been listening to the show since November 2001 and in my boredom over the years have listened to most of the shows in the archives. Today I figured I would go back to before then and see what was going on in the world all those years ago.

For whatever grim reason, maybe because I have only lately been able to acknowledge the existence of the day, my mouse rested on the show from September 21st, 2001. It was the first that they were able to produce with any information about the attacks on the 11th. So I decided to listen. Amazingly, I could listen with somewhat detached interest. I still got the ache in my throat while listening to discussions of the escape from and subsequent fall of the towers. But I wasn't overwhelmed.

You see, until only weeks ago I saw my life as "Before and After", ironically the name of this episode of This American Life. "Before" that Tuesday my life was on a straight trajectory to success. I loved my job as a flight attendant based out of Newark, NJ. I had the perfect boyfriend and we were planning a trip to Hawaii at the beginning of October, around my birthday, where it was simply known that he would propose. He was already wearing a ring on his left ring finger, a show of commitment for all of the vulturistic flight attendants. He was a pilot, first officer on the 737, with a bright future.

On September 9th, I had spent the night in Washington D.C. on a trip. I couldn't get a hold of Andrew that night. He was heading out on a 4-day trip to L.A. from Newark late on the 10th and was supposed to be in his hometown of Toronto that night visiting his family. I called his parent's home and they seemed surprised to hear from me. He wasn't there. His phone went straight to voicemail. My phone rang at 3 a.m. and I answered with pounding heart after having cried myself to sleep, so relieved to hear from him. But it wasn't him. It was my college boyfriend, calling a year after I left him to yell at me for being so callous as to leave him with only a note. My head was swimming from trying to drink away my concerns the night before. I apologized, tried to figure out if I had drunk dialed him and thus received this call. I hadn't. I looked at my call list after I hung up with my random caller and saw a 1 a.m. call to Andrew which was well after I had sworn not to call him again at 10 o'clock that night. I had caved, in an alcohol-induced haze of self-pity, but the short call time reminded me that he had still not answered. I could vaguely remember myself standing in a small bar bathroom, some bar in D.C. that I still don't know how or with whom I ended up, plugging one ear to hear the ringing over the pounding music, hoping to hear his voice. And I did, but it was voicemail. With my last shred of dignity, I hung up without leaving a pleading or angry message.

On the morning of the 10th, I got up, threw up, hopped in the shower and climbed into yesterday's uniform. I met up with my crew and headed to the plane where the saviour of a captain fed me oxygen to get me up and going again. We flew out of Reagan Intl. and I completed my day, still never having heard from Andrew. When I ended my trip at Newark International I decided to stay at his place instead of mine. I was hoping I would catch him before he left on his trip to L.A. But I fell asleep that night, in his apartment on the Hudson in Bayonne, New Jersey, with no idea of where he was. His bags were packed, his uniforms were gone, but he never had called.

Here Comes The Sun...doo doo doo doo

2009-04-08T11:45:00.005-05:00

Perhaps most of you have heard that one of the fascinating faults of those with bipolar disorder is their inability to take their medication as prescribed. For many it is because they don't like the way it makes them feel or they enjoy the feeling of mania. For others it is because they start feeling better and begin to believe that maybe they don't need it. I am different, and even more confounding to myself and others. My meds don't make me feel funny. I know that I need them in order to function normally, and I hate the way I act and feel in a manic state. I don't take my medication regularly just...because. I forget. I am too tired to get up and get it. It's not convenient at the time I remember. And I've tried it all. I've set the medication and water by my toothbrush, set an alarm, etc. For some reason I continue to take my meds rather sporadically. When I start getting dizzy spells and feeling lethargic and nauseated I know that I have gone at least three days without.

Another indication...my writing. As you may have noticed there has been very little positivity in my writing. I have been in a dim place. It's not dark, just tinged a dingy gray. This last week I was so exhausted that I didn't run, at all. Running rejuvenates me, but I couldn't pull myself up and get going. Patrick was doing everything around me, including working 12 hour days with inventory, cooking, laundry, picking up Cade. I was fading back into my hole.

But today...the sun is out! I feel positivity! I want to run. I want to clean. I even cooked dinner last night. How's that for a change? Patrick was even sweet enough to leave only one bite on his plate, that it was probably because he could no longer stomach it is irrelevant. He ate it. He thanked me for cooking and then put Cade to bed. What a man!

And you know what else? He worked until 11:30 p.m. on Monday night, then woke up at 4:30 a.m. yesterday to get to work so that he could get off early to take Cade to the dentist. And he never. complained. I can't tell you guys what a huge 180 that is for him. He used to complain about reaching for the remote. He is now going above and beyond the call of duty on a daily basis. And I really like him. I'm enjoying our time together. Things are good. I'm even thinking about (gasp)...sleeping with him. I know, I know. Drastic. But maybe I'll give it another try.

Things feel mostly good right now. I do have one looming issue that is bothering me which I will write about soon. But for now I want to see if I can get back on the track to self-improvement. The self-loathing is just so tiresome.

Nothing...

2009-04-07T21:32:00.000-05:00

I'm tired...that's all I've got...

Hometown Happenings

2009-04-03T23:13:00.004-05:00

This is the ironically named "Tall City". It is so named because the huge 13-story buildings tower over the incredibly flat landscape.

I'm up late listening to my hometown hockey team on the radio. No, I'm not that fanatical, but it's the playoffs and it's going into overtime for the third game in a row on the series. Good stuff. The thing I hate about hockey is that there is so much time between periods. I want to sleep, but I hate to leave now. Every time they drop the puck a fight breaks out, guys are getting ejected left and right. I only wish I could be there to see it. As you can tell, I'm a sports fan.

So, on my plate for this weekend, some great stuff. In the morning (which is sneaking up on me really quickly) is trash pickup. Cade and I will be joining the city-wide Keep Midland Beautiful campaign tomorrow with all the people from my office and their families. I'm anxious to get Cade christened with his first community service project. It's really a joke because Keep Midland Beautiful is a sad misnomer. The combined metroplex of Midland/Odessa has 200,000 people and about one oilwell for each person. The landscape is desert, mesquite and tumbleweeds. We have miles and miles of flat, dry grass lined with barbed wire fences. Those fences proudly display a wide array of plastic bags that flap wildly in the strong west Texas winds. All of that to say, there is nothing now nor has there ever been anything beautiful about this city. There is no keeping it beautiful, there is just minimizing the eye sore. So, Cade and I will be Minimizing the Eyesore of Midland tomorrow. More good times.

After that I will be joining my parents and some friends to make some sandwiches and take them to the local park where the homeless hang out. I can't decide whether I want to take Cade yet because he is still at that age where he asks embarrassing and inappropriate questions. I don't want him to hurt anyone's feelings. Plus, I am quite inclined to sit and talk with these people for ages. They have the most interesting stories. Their lives are little different in their starts from my own or anyone else's. It's usually a tale of mental illness gone awry (which I understand all too well). There are Vietnam veterans, wonderful men with incredible dogs and ingenious setups of grocery carts. It's something I am really looking forward to. The only thing is that my heart breaks and I want to do so much more than hand out one meal. I want to bring them all home. I want to spend every day just listening to the stories. I want to fix their situations and I hate the helpless feeling that I am left with. But I know that my helplessness holds no candle to what they live with daily.

Finally, I plan on a weekend of running. I skipped a lot this week because I have been so worn out. I have to get back on the horse. Everything I have read mentions that the killer of marathon training is loss of motivation. Initially my motivation was my new running shoes. There is nothing more fun than breaking in a new pair of shoes. I wish I could get a pair a week. Ooh, and new running clothes! I think that shallow tendency defeats the self-improvement aspect I am going for with the running, so I'll have to find something else.

Well, my melatonin has clouded my mind and my team just won in sudden death, double overtime tying the series and heading to game five. Good night to all and I hope you have wonderfully productive and exciting weekends!

The Desolate Landscape of My Mind

2009-04-02T10:26:00.008-05:00

I'm not feeling a lot of turmoil these days, and lack of turmoil usually means lack of inspiration for writing. It's sad how that is. I am sure there are all manner of happy things to write about, but I just don't feel it. Yesterday, on this blog post, I replied about how medication makes me apathetic. I don't feel any emotion very intensely, which I assume is the medication because I used to feel everything like it was touching on raw nerves, electrifyingly painful. It's like I just don't have the energy to give a crap about what is going on in my life. I might be incensed on a logic level, but emotionally I simply don't process chaos any longer. I think this is why I have been through so much in my marriage and just kept going. I am able to stay numb enough to exist in a nice, little bubble. I'm not happy, but I'm not angry or hurt.

The things that I do feel are sadness and loneliness, which is apparently pretty common. Not that I want to be around people, because I do tend towards hermitude, but I don't like not having people to be with were I to decide that's what I wanted. How fickle? My desire to do nothing more than climb in bed and sleep is an indication that perhaps the meds aren't working at full tilt. But then again, maybe it is normal to be depressed in my circumstance. I could chase my tail on this one all afternoon.

One of the things I hate most about being diagnosed with a mental illness is that I no longer know what is me, what is the medication, and what is the illness. Am I depressed because of my situation or is my situation as it is because of my manic/depression? Could my husband be a good man who is doing his best with a loony bird who doesn't cook, clean or have sex with him and occasionally looses her mind altogether for a good week or so? Lately we have really gotten along well and he has been quite fun to be around. He is chipping in with Cade and has become quite the great father. He has to cook every night else we all eat PB&J because I would rather scrub a toilet bare-handed than cook a meal. He does dishes daily and I...ummm, I... Well, I take Cade to school every day and do homework with him for the most part. I work and make almost twice what he does, so the provider aspect is covered. But really, what do I give to this relationship other than instability? Perhaps our counselor was right when he said no man in his right mind would sign on with me. What do I have to offer?

I'm starting to feel a real sense fault for the possible demise of our marriage. I have never been fair to Patrick. I have kept feelings for another man all these years, the infamous soul mate. I have always complained about him to friends and family. It has always been me and him, never us. I have been selling him short. It's no surprise he has done the same. But which came first, the chicken or the egg?

Sorry for the pity party. I think when I don't write it might be for the best, because when I start to think I pick myself apart. I've gotta work on that.

The Great Mind Molder

2009-03-30T17:51:00.005-05:00

I survived the weekend! Yippee! I slept quite a bit more than is probably acceptable, but I got some stuff done too. I ran on Saturday while Patrick ran around the park with Cade, then we took him to see Monsters vs. Aliens because he had worn us out too much to fathom a crowded hockey game with a hyperactive five year-old. It seems like he whined the majority of the weekend and I was just so short-tempered. Mind you, I am normally so even-tempered that Cade gets away with murder, so I think it might have done him good. At one point though, I told him that he was annoying, went into my bedroom and closed the door. I am never that dismissive with the little guy and I don't know why I was not tolerant this weekend. I don't like to show cracks in my carefully crafted countenance.

And now, another week looms. Have you guys ever been in a place where you feel there is nothing to look forward to? I think I get by in life by constantly having something to await. It can be anything; a weekend trip to Austin, a particular football game, a holiday. As long as I can see something coming up on my schedule, I get through each day knowing that I am that much closer to a break from the monotony that is my life. But now, there is nothing. The next thing I can anticipate is the marathon in October. Months spread out in front of me with little hope of pleasure. My son's birthday is April 15th, my little tax baby, and I am only looking to that with a sense of dread. In years past I have always made a big to-do about his birthday, throwing parties to outdo all the others we attend. But this year our finances are tight due to Patrick having been laid off for a time and now working a job that just gets us by. I am wondering how little we can do without scarring Cade for life. Can we rent a hotel room at the local "fun" hotel and invite just one friend to stay? Last year I rented a plane and took Cade flying. He sat in the captain's seat, I sat in the back. He was airplane obsessed and it seemed appropriate. His party was at the air museum, he dressed as a fighter pilot. All the kids got dog tags and Top Secret cases with binoculars and wings and jets, etc. Cade made out like a bandit.

This year, I am working, I am broke, and I am running on empty. So, what can I get by with? What can I do that will minimally scar my son? He has come to expect so much and it is probably time that we start reeling him in, back to reality. I am always so worried, as a mother with bipolar disorder, that I will drop too many balls and leave my son with a broken childhood. I overcompensate in so many areas, hedging my bets that by excelling most of the time, he will not be too traumatized when/if I do break for a period. Can I make it his whole lifetime without wigging out to a noticeable degree? Thankfully he has been blessedly oblivious during my prior times of crisis. How do I parent so that I am not the topic of endless future hours on the therapist's couch? Or are we all doomed to some level of failure? The pressures of shaping a human mind are far more weighty than anyone would have you believe prior to conception, let me be the first to tell ya!

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

2009-03-27T23:32:00.007-05:00

It's Friday night. Cade is asleep in my bed, Patrick is at work doing inventory overnight. I'm alone and melancholy. I had a good day today. I really love my job and the people I work with. I enjoy going to work every day and I feel at home in my office, doing monotonous numbers work where 1 + 1 always equals 2 and all is right with the world. I came home and ran and enjoyed it more than I ever thought I could. But then the house quiets and I am alone with my thoughts. And my thoughts are apathetic and detached. I have such verve for life when I am out in the world, but something about coming home just drains me.

Lately, Cade has been a whiny little brat. That's pure honesty. Yes, he is still my world, and before having a child I could not understand how you could totally love someone with everything in your being and still not really like them at the same time. Well, here it is. I look at his big brown eyes and his perfect face and I can't help but to grab and kiss him. But then I hear the long whine of mooooommmmyyy and I just want to run and hide. Sometimes it is so hard to keep myself going that it is just exhausting to have someone else around that relies so wholly on me. I'm sure that it's a lifesaver for me; without him I wouldn't have a reason to fight for my sanity. Oh, but the burden.

It occurred to me tonight that I am dreading the weekend and actually looking forward to jury duty on Monday. What does that say about my existence? Home has become this black hole that drains my will to live as soon as I cross the threshold. It's like there is this oppressive spirit blanketing our home that only Patrick and I can feel. I hope so anyway. At least Cade doesn't loose any of his vibrancy by walking in the door. Patrick and I are nice to each other. We hug and kiss on the cheek when we leave or come home. We engage in conversation and witty rapport, but it all feels so empty. I want to lay down and just sleep away the next couple of days so that I can come out on the other side and leave the doom of our domicile. It's just no way to live.

Regardless, I am going to put on my big-girl panties and be the mother that I expect myself to be. I will entertain my son and we will all go to the hockey game tomorrow and the birthday party on Sunday. I will smile and act engaged. But I will still feel like a shell of a person, a zombie only playing the part of Erin to lure my loved ones into a sense of false comfort. What will it take to fill the void and get myself back?

iRun

2009-03-25T21:57:00.003-05:00

Just a quick post before I go to bed tonight. Today was my second day training and it was wonderful. I followed my handy iPhone marathon trainer and did alternating runs and walks on the treadmill. Pro - it is SO much easier than road training. Con - my handy program that tracks my mileage with GPS doesn't track you when you run in place. Ahhh, technicalities.

I also found out (after gaining 1.4lbs. in our weekly weigh-in) that I was making the very bad mistake of not eating enough, which I never thought would be an issue. But since I started reading the labels of what I put into my mouth I am very reticent to put yucky stuff in there (insert oral sex joke here...only I don't remember what that's like). So, I had to get the handy calorie tracking app on my iPhone and go back to logging the calories of everything I eat, this time so that I can increase the calories! This caring what you look like stuff is a lot harder than I thought it would be. Oh for the days of lonely depression where the only thought was how long I could hold it before waking from my mid-day nap to pee. I kid of course. I wouldn't trade the feeling I have now for anything! It's great to feel like a human being again.

Oh yeah, and I don't work for Apple, but seriously, I could do a commercial for them. This phone does everything! I think I am in love and I don't know how I lived without it.

Running For My Life

2009-03-24T09:48:00.005-05:00

I have made a decision. I am going to start training for a half marathon. It seems like everyone around me is doing it...and yes, I would jump off the bridge, Mom. Months ago, while I was reading Sasha Is A Monster I was inspired by her journey. She completed the half marathon and in the process made some impressive changes in her life and outlook. Then my sister-in-law and two good friends from church started in. Candy is running the full Boston Marathon in a month and Tiffany is on her first full marathon after an impressive finish in the half last fall.

And now, I am jumping in. The timeline couldn't be more perfect. It is on October 3rd, two days before our wedding anniversary and three days in front of my 32nd birthday. And, in case you weren't paying attention, that is the end of the six-month trial that our counselor imposed. So over the course of the next six months I will be building a stronger, more empowered me. That will work in one of two ways the way I figure it.

1. I will be more comfortable in myself and stand in less judgement of my husband because I am getting things done myself. Maybe his pride in me will create an interest, since he has been living with a sloth who naps rather than face him and reality.

2. Since I know that my actions cannot change anyone else this is the more likely. I will feel empowered enough to do what I feel is right for myself and for Cade, and ultimately for Patrick. Everything that we are working for will come to a head at the same time and completing this half marathon will be like a new start for a new me.

So today I am going to buy my spiffy new running shoes, strap on my iPhone with the crazy cool running tools (complete with automatic Twitter updates, you can follow me here), and continue in my quest for a less pathetic me. I've already dropped 17 lbs since I changed the way I ate in January...so now I'm just working to feel great.

I've got Cade training me at home, he is quite good really. He pushes me until it hurts. He also watches what I eat. He saved me from a close donut incident over the weekend by throwing the donut to the birds and reminding me that donuts have "a hundred million calories". Now, I want to make him proud and show him what drive looks like because that has been completely lacking in both of his parents and that's not fair to him.

Wish me luck!

The Edict

2009-03-23T13:43:00.004-05:00

The last thing I had to do was go to the apartment and tell him why I was leaving. It couldn't be a surprise, I have brought it up a million times in our marriage and we'd been in counseling. But he was. He was surprised that I didn't think that things were as great as he did. He couldn't believe that I didn't have the same hopes for our future as him. And because I hate to hurt people I stayed with him. We talked all night and and I tried to explain to him how we could make it work. We could live close, we could still be friends and spend time together with Cade. He would still be welcomed by my parents at our barbecues during football season. He didn't want to sleep alone, so I told him that I would stay with him that night and then he could pick Cade up the next night. And I told him that he could finally get a dog, and the dog could sleep in bed with him at night. That actually seemed to comfort him some.

But the night was long...and there were tears. Mind you, when his mother passed away suddenly almost four years ago, I never saw him shed a tear. But he cried and my will broke. He is such a sweet man. And I love him. Sure, it is the love that most feel for their family members, but that is what he has become. He is family. And so, without him even having to ask, I said that I would stay. We made promises to change all manner of behaviors between the two of us. And of course, step up the counseling.

Since then, things have been better. He has been more involved with Cade, complimentary of me, and extremely helpful. Those eyes that drew me in the first night haven't lied. He has a sweet heart and a kind nature. I truly believe that he has never been in love in order to know what true love feels like. No, it's not easy, but you put yourself behind those that you love. You sacrifice so that they can be happy and you work to show them that they are important to you. While he is able to do so when times are easy, he cannot see past himself when the going gets tough. And really, I have not been perfect. How would anyone like to live with someone who has mini-breakdowns every year or so? I don't cook and I don't clean. These are all things that I have to work on. I just want to do it without the weight of an unhappy marriage. Is that me just being selfish and giving up too easily?

So, as I mentioned when this story started, we had our first post-divorce scare counseling session. I can only tell you what I perceived from the session. I was told that even if I did separate from my husband, life would still be a struggle. Besides, our counselor said, there is no guy in his right mind that would want to hook up with me considering my history of mental illness and inability to control my finances. So, what I gathered was that I'm pretty lucky just to have a man in my life at all. I was told that my idealism about our separation and divorce were not based on biblical principles, and thus, will not work. Our counselor asked me to give it another six months (he asked me for three more months four months ago). This time, we are going to meet 3 weeks together and one week with just me, because I apparently need the most work. See, I had the indecency to question the applicability of biblical principles to our marriage. I was given books that will help me to understand. And I am to start going to church regularly and pray and read the bible so that I will be in a better frame of mind and realize that God can make all things possible.

Forgive the tone in my writing. I am trying very hard to subscribe to my new life as a Baptist. I simply have issues with having my life dictated to me. Our counselor told me that he never wanted me to check my brain at the door, so if I had questions, just ask. But the skeptic in me wonders why, so that he can tell me what to think on that matter as well?

The thing is, in January I started a life change. I began eating well and working to find happiness in myself. After visiting another therapist to make sure that my bipolar disorder was in check he told me that it seemed to him like I had a great grasp on things and was making the effort needed to improve my situation. I have the support of my family. I love my job. I am finally feeling somewhat strong and stable. But I am unhappy with my domestic situation and I can't see a light in the tunnel up ahead.

So the questions is, what if my motives really are self-driven and wrong? People can change. I have to believe that because I have to believe that I can change. In turn, doesn't that mean that Patrick can as well and I owe it to our family unit to give everything I have to getting to that place and time? And is sex in a relationship overrated? My parents haven't had sex in over 20 years and they are still married, though they sleep in separate rooms. Am I doomed to something similar?

The biggest question of all, in the long run, might I be doing more harm than good for my son? Because the bottom line is, everything I do is for him. He is what kept me alive in the worst of times and what gives me hope about the future. So, what now?

The End?

2009-03-23T09:25:00.006-05:00

The remainder of the story of Patrick and me could be summed up in two words. Vicious. Cycle. Our marriage counselor said last week that the problems that have hit us, if thrown on any couple one at a time, would be enough to kill a marriage. We managed to live underneath the burden of all of them for more than six years. First there were the internet affairs (who knows if there were actual affairs). Then there was the lack of sex in our marriage. If you asked me today when we last had sex, I couldn't tell you. Maybe last year some time? We've gone as long as a year and a half without before we forced the issue, only to realize that there was a reason we weren't doing it. It's not worth the effort.

Next there are the monetary issues. We are both terrible money managers. My lack of frugality comes from being raised by parents who lavished me with whatever my heart desired. His came from being raised poor and feeling that we were, while making very little money in my perspective, well enough off to by the things he had always wanted. Spending money made us feel good. Almost seven years in and we have yet to own a home.

Lastly, a couple years ago, I became friends with a guy. He had done his college thesis on how divorce affects children and I wanted to pick his brain about it. We talked. We hung out. As is the danger with friendships with the opposite sex, there grew a chemistry. I began relying on him because he would listen. I basically gave up on my husband. I was trying to push Patrick out the door. I wanted him to leave me because I wasn't strong enough to leave him. I would put Cade to bed, then go out with this guy and our group of friends and come home at six in the morning. We never took it to another level, but it was an emotional affair. When he moved back to Canada (he was here playing hockey), I sunk into a depression. I admitted to Patrick the reliance that had grown with "Other Man", and we began to try to work through the problems that this created. All the while, I felt somewhat justified in my actions because he had done the same with the computer screen as a buffer. Just last summer, while my husband was doing business out of town for six weeks at a time, I found that he had created a profile on a site designed for meaningless sexual flings. His description, "Just looking for some fun while I'm in town". So this man, for whom I had gone through the trouble to have Viagra prescribed for me just so that I could get through sex, and had still declined my offer, was now pimping himself out to random chicks on a nasty website. But I stayed through that too, because our counselor said that we needed to get to the root of his problems and I just had to give him time.

Year, after year, after year, the merry-go-round of dysfunction continues to spin in our lives. Finally, a couple weeks ago, I had just had enough. Patrick was treating Cade and I like we were nothing more than obstructions in his life. He wouldn't do anything with Cade without huffing about how tired he was. Any time I said a word, like "honey...", he would snap back at me like the sound of my voice wore him out. It was miserable. And then the straw that broke the camel's back, I found more stuff on the computer. And I was done. I packed the car and had my mom pick Cade up from school while I talked to Patrick. I had finally made the hardest decision of my life and I felt...relief.

Raison D'Etre

2009-03-20T14:51:00.002-05:00

We had a rushed wedding. I was late to the alter because The University of Texas was losing to Oklahoma State until the last few seconds of the game and I couldn't leave for the aisle until I knew how it ended. Sure, I'm that into football, but I think I just wasn't that into my wedding. We weren't two kids in love. We were two good friends sealing a deal. That night he played his last gig (yes, on the night of our wedding he worked). And to share just how redneck a life I had married into, we simply had the reception at the bar where he was playing, complete with a Just Married sign on his microphone stand. Classy. All of the pictures we have from that time show my family with looks of stunned acceptance.

So, I had to get a real job and so did he. Real life began. We were both completely broke. We had terrible credit at the ripe age of 25 and neither of us had anything of value to bring into the marriage. We were both nomads. I had been flying since I was 20 and anywhere I lived was sparsely furnished because I was rarely there. He was a musician and eternal college student who had ragged second-hand belongings and little else. My parents gave us a Honda Accord, bought us a mattress set and the rest we got from the wedding shower. Fortunately, my parent's affluent friends didn't hold it against me that I ran off with a musician, so they all donated to our cause. Of course, they didn't yet know that they would be invited to furnish our nursery and clothe our child in a matter of months.

I was working an office job with horrific morning sickness. Patrick did what any good husband (in the fifties) would do. He started selling Kirby vacuum cleaners door-to-door. I was miserable, with a diagnosis of placenta previa early on, all-day sickness, and annoyance with our new stationary lifestyle. But I believed in my new husband, and I believed that he would be the best Kirby salesman in the state. But he started coming home at midnight and staying on the computer until dawn when he was home. There was no sex because he was afraid he would hurt the baby. At 27 weeks pregnant I logged on to his computer and his instant messenger popped up. It was some girl with whom he had been having online fun with. While lying in bed by my pregnant, sleeping side he was having virtual sex with some chick from South Carolina. I freaked out. I realized that I was in a doomed relationship and carrying this man's child. Apparently the emotional trauma sent me into early labor. I ended up in the ER with pre-term labor. He was right by my side. I used the coping mechanism I learned growing up with an alcoholic father and ignored the unpleasantries in hopes that they would dissolve over time.

My contractions continued and the doctor realized that I had an abrupted placenta. I was put on strict bed rest. At 32 weeks they realized that my baby was not gaining nourishment from me any longer and they were forced to induce. After 36 ridiculously long hours, our son was born. He was 4lbs. 11oz., and though he wasn't breathing when he was born, he came right along. I felt that love right from the beginning, but it turned to terror when I realized that this little person was mine to keep and form. After less than 48 hours in the hospital with a child that could not maintain his body temperature, was jaundiced, and had no sucking reflex thus not eating, they sent us home...with him. All he did was scream because he was hungry but couldn't understand how to make it stop and our manual efforts at feeding him were failing.

The first year of his life pretty much went along like that. He was always sick. He had reflux, asthma, pneumonia, and colic. Life was miserable and I did not like this new addition one bit. But I was a perfectionist in a sense. I had to at least look like I had it all together, so I behaved and did exactly as I would expect an adoring mother to. But my baby was on to me. There was no connection between us, mostly due to the postpartum depression. I wanted out. I wanted out of the marriage, out of motherhood, and out of my life. I kept thinking that if I could kill myself now, Cade would never know what he was missing. It would just be a sentence in his life story. "Yeah, my mom killed herself before I turned one, so I was raised by my stepmother who adopted me. We were very happy". But I didn't do it. Fear of the unknown, a shimmer of rationality in an otherwise broken mind...who knows.

At 13 months into my beautiful son's life, it clicked. We fell in love with each other, Cade and I. He became my raison d'etre.

Rocky Road

2009-03-19T20:53:00.005-05:00

Our dating continued in sporadic bursts. I would spend my time in New York City, or London, or Dublin, and I would call him when his gigs in the states were over and we would talk. I craved him, as I always craved male attention and companionship, but this guy was SO NICE. It felt good. Over the 4th of July holiday I flew out to Jackson Hole for another of his shows. I was so excited to see him, but on the way out there I met two other guys! One was a pilot I met in the bar in Denver. We exchanged numbers because I obviously wasn't wholly committed to the relationship I was pursuing. The other guy was an outdoor magazine editor that was on my flight into Jackson Hole. I told him that I was going to see friends and even invited him out to see their show. And he showed up! I don't know what I was thinking or what I thought would happen, but in hindsight I think that I was so deeply entrenched in a manic episode that I simply had no control over my actions. I just wanted to feel good, whatever brought that feeling at the time.

Well, editor-guy showed up at the bar and came straight over while Patrick was on a break. Patrick grabbed my hand, since I guess peeing on me was out of the question. Editor-guy looked confused and I can only imagine what he was thinking. After evaluating the situation he quickly turned and left.

All the while, on that trip, I was pressuring Patrick to commit in some way to me. I wanted it all. I was being unfair to him and I knew it. I just couldn't stop my behavior. On my last night there he drove me up a mountain and we parked and talked and watched the sun rise. He told me he loved me that morning. It sent thrills through me even thinking about it on the flight back to New York. When I was with him, he was all I wanted. When I was away from him, I wasn't completely sure. But I knew that I enjoyed being with him. After another couple of trips to Europe I finally went home to meet Patrick's friends and family. To say that I was shocked would be putting it mildly. I was a city girl. Even having been raised in a metro area of only 200,000 (which I considered a small town), I had the mentality of an East Coast big city girl. His friends were like nothing I had ever seen. They were country. Just country. His family was wonderfully nice and I enjoyed them, but again...there was a huge difference and I was completely out of my comfort zone. It was like Green Acres. I was fighting against myself. I wanted to walk away. I was being a shallow snob, but I just couldn't relate to this life.

So, guess what I did. I talked until sunrise with him and we decided to get married. We had known each other a total of three months and actually been together probably one month total in that time. But he offered it and I grabbed it. I thought I was choosing stability and domestic bliss. At the time, I was so unstable in my own mind that I was reaching out to anything and anyone that would be the rock for me. But he didn't know that. He couldn't have known that my expressed thoughts and feelings were possibly disingenuous. He only had what I gave him to go on.

We headed out the next day to his next gig at a resort in the Texas hill country. It was our engagementmoon. We started to tell people our plans. They all tried to be happy for us, but looked at us like we were crazy. And they were right, about me anyway. While we were lying in bed one morning the pilot from the Denver airport called to see if I wanted to get together. It had only been a couple of weeks since I led him to believe that I wasn't in a relationship and was open to dating. But now I quickly informed him that I was engaged and ended the conversation. Another guy left wondering what the hell was wrong with me.

As you can see, it was already a giant, messy clusterfuck. But I wasn't done creating havoc as we bipolars are known to do. I was ovulating that weekend and I knew it. At one point I even said to him, "I'm ovulating. If we have sex, we will get pregnant". So we did have sex, and we did get pregnant. It was another of my reckless behaviors brought on by my manic episode. And we could never have imagined how immensely that short-sighted moment would change our lives, for better and worse.

A Long Goodbye?

2009-03-18T21:21:00.004-05:00

My husband and I are going to another session of marriage counseling tomorrow, and this time it is kind of the last ditch effort. We've been together for almost 7 years now and are the proud parents of a beautiful 5 year-old boy, Cade. We are both from families that never divorced, despite pretty crappy circumstances, and divorce seems like such a wild notion. We've been struggling since the day we said our vows and so I have come to wonder, when is it okay to give up? At what point is the disassembly of a family unit an okay trade for the hope of a happier existence?

To better understand us, let me tell you our story.

In February of 2002, I had a breakdown. The love of my life had just broken up with me and I had suffered a lot during the September 11th attacks. I had surrounded myself with good times and a carefree existence since being furloughed from the airlines shortly after September 11th, but I was called back to flying and lost him in a matter of days and my carefully crafted armor began to crumble, finally leaving me to face the aftermath and changes created that Tuesday in September 2001. It wasn't pretty. I was allowed to go on medical leave from Continental Airlines where I was working as an international flight attendant based out of Newark, New Jersey. My parents had to sit watch by my bed because I was severely suicidal. After breast augmentation surgery, colored contacts, and trying to change my entire persona, I was beginning to come out of the fog. It was April and spring felt rejuvenating. One day, as the medicine was beginning to work and I was able to venture into the sunlight, I was out around town driving and saw a sign at a local bar. A guy I had known in high school was playing that weekend and I decided that it would be good for me to get out. I talked to some friends and they agreed to go with me. When I walked into the bar I had absolutely no intention of even looking twice at the males screwing up the atmosphere that night. But there on stage, with a bass guitar in hand, was a guy. And the guy had my exes' eyes. They were dark, kind eyes and I was immediately drawn to him. On breaks he would come and sit at the table next to us and eventually we spoke. I gave him my phone number before leaving pretty early that night, and amazingly enough, he called me the next day. He asked me to come back that night and so I did. After the show we went to IHOP and then talked until 7am. There was chemistry, or I was manic from the breakdown. Either way, we ended up on the floor of his friend's apartment with my hand down his pants. But I was back in West Texas, and his friend had a bible on the end table that was freaking me out, so I refrained from sleeping with him at that time.

That day he left for a long road trip. He called me when he got to Cheyenne and we stayed up until 6am just talking. At the end of that conversation he asked me to fly up to Cheyenne. I was nearing the end of my medical leave and would have to return to Jersey soon, but I decided that the best way to get over someone was to get under someone else, as they say. So I jumped on a plane and headed north. When I got off the plane, I was honestly worried that I wouldn't recognize him. We had, after all, only spent a few hours together. But there he was, sweet and nervous, and waiting for me. We spent the next week together, getting to know each other, having a lot of sex. I was always the dominant one. I climbed on top and I took the lead, but he was a very willing participant.

After a week we left Cheyenne and headed to Denver and by that time it felt like we had known each other forever. We just clicked. It was comfortable. And besides, I knew those eyes. They were the same windows that I had looked into and lost myself in so many times over the last year. The same eyes that I met in my dreams, the dreams that I woke from sobbing, with my heart tearing apart in my chest and my breath unable to catch. But with Patrick, I could look in those eyes any time I wanted. The pain would subside. I felt safe with him and that was something I desperately needed.

The story is long and convoluted. Perhaps telling it will remind me of why I am still here, still trying so hard to keep it together. There's lots more to come...

Erin Go Bragh

2009-03-16T14:31:00.005-05:00

Tomorrow is my favorite day of the year, St. Patrick's Day. Years ago I petitioned my mom to let me change my birthday to March 17th in order to give the appropriate weight of celebration to the day with those around me. She said that she worked too hard on the sixth of October to give up that birth day, but as the story goes, I popped out 19 minutes after she showed up at the hospital so I'm not buying that crap. I was willing to age myself by a good 6-1/2 months just to feel more acutely the thrill of St. Patty's Day and force my loved ones to celebrate with me. Alas, it was not to be. Instead, this year, I guilted the fun, newly-married young girl at the office into going out with me on a Tuesday night. Mind you, we have never been out together in a social setting, but she is the only friend I have around here that is allowed to drink (yeah, I'm baptist). So tomorrow, I will be the freak in the green feather boa, drinking a Guinness and revelling in the sprawl of Irish heritage surrounding me while this poor hispanic girl sits in annoyed misery beside me. I'm sure she is just counting the minutes.

I don't know what caused my abnormal adoration for this holiday. I spent a lot of time in Ireland and loved it. My name, Erin, is gaelic for Ireland. Green is my favorite color. None of this explains my absurd obsession. Nonetheless, I will continue to weigh down the date with unreasonably high expectations. And then, on Wednesday, all of the decorations come down and the wait begins again. I'm sure my boss will be happy. He has a hard time explaining the chick in accounting with the green pigtail headband, Irish flags, and flashing shamrock pen. Soon it will all be over and we are just back to being in the middle of tax season. Sigh....

Update: I was just informed by my unsuspecting St. Patrick's Day victim, Savannah from work, that she and her husband made a pact to STOP DRINKING and it started yesterday! So now, she is not merely tolerating my idiocy, she is tolerating it SOBER. But I vow, like any good Irish-person to handle my Guinness like a champ and refrain from dancing topless on bartops. Okay Savannah? Will that make it better? -- Ooh, or spike her water.

Off Autopilot

2009-03-15T16:58:00.005-05:00

Today I went for a bike ride. It was about a twelve-mile ride on the paths at our local University. What an incredible time for introspection. I have had a bit of an aversion to exercise while struggling through a patch of depression so today was a step out for me. It was exhilarating. The weather was beautiful. It was 75 and sunny with a pretty strong westerly wind that made for a good workout. As I was passing the prairie dogs and beware of coyote signs I had a lot of time to think about what I want with my life.

I have been content to take the path of least resistence for years now. I have been lazy. As everyone knows, the things that are the best in life are the hardest to come by. My child, we'll call him Cade, is the greatest joy (and trial) in my life. Everything that led to his existence in my life was pure misery (except maybe conception...but I digress). Life gave me no choice but to work hard to get him. Once he was in there, there was no turning back. So I went through the trials and tribulations, and he was born. And now, even though parenting sucks a good majority of the time, I have no choice but to stick with it because he deserves my very best.

However, with every other aspect of my life, I have been totally willing to drop the ball. All of the intellect, promise and drive that burned in me through adolescence and young adulthood just faded into oblivion while I learned to exist at the most basic level. I woke up, I did what I had to do to pay bills and raise a wonderful son, then I went to sleep again. The last six and a half years of my life have been completely wasted. Ideally, I will have a long time to get back to where I need to be, but I have to start now.

I've let myself go while just trying to make those around me comfortable, if not happy. I stopped working to grow myself. So many wives and mothers run into this same trap. The selflessness that erupts inside of us when we give birth to a little human (because trust me, I was never selfless before) tends to push us to last. Well, I am taking it back. I am grabbing my life and making something of it for more than just Cade. I am doing it for me for once.

Yep, it's going to be hard and it is going to SUCK. I am going to have to work harder than I have in my short history to juggle all of the things in my life and still be successful at most of them. But I am tired of coasting. I've been on autopilot for years now, and it's time to take back the controls.

It begins...

2009-03-14T01:43:00.002-05:00

I have been told for some time to start a blog or write a book, but was always concerned with the aspect of letting people I know see inside my head. I am perfectly happy sharing with complete strangers, as is any good lunatic. It's letting the people I see on a regular basis know just how random and unstable a person I am that I worry about. I would love to write in relative obscurity. I have always toyed with the idea of writing fiction, but everything is too autobiographical. Once it was published (a pipe dream, I know) those in my life would crucify me for outing the intricacies of our relationships. And since it is of utmost importance to me to never hurt or discomfort anyone, I refrain.

My life really is a pretty open book with everyone except the man I married. While I am quite happy to share and discuss with anyone willing, it frightens me to think that the insecurities and doubts that I currently have in regards to my marriage would be open for him to see. I realize that since I am having doubts, he is probably the first person I should air them to, but reason doesn't always work in life. Besides, I find it somewhat therapeutic to ask advice from those that don't know us, and I appreciate hearing from everyone. However, there are few men that I have known in my life that think it's a great idea for me to share the inner workings of our relationships with relative strangers.

Keeping that in mind, I am biting the bullet and jumping in. Damn the consequences?