margotvankapelle: (centrifuge)
So, I've been sick, right?  And while the antibiotics are doing their thing, I'm still hacking crap up, you know? 

Did I mention that my Microbiology class has a lab component?


Guess who is pretty darned stoked about culturing her own sputum sample, and doing all sort of fun staining to the smears?

:D :D :D

That'd be me.  *buffs nails*
margotvankapelle: (impossible)
Okay, so it's been...4 days?  since I had a cigarette.  I'm back at school, and on the drive here, I was so unaccustomed to being in a vehicle (because I spent 4 days in my bedroom, natch) that I didn't have a single craving.

I'm still hacking up quantities of chunky slime, but the amount that I cough up seems to be decreasing.

I'm still exhausted.  I might skip my afternoon class today; I might all depends on how I feel.


Sep. 23rd, 2011 05:37 pm
margotvankapelle: (marie antoinette grumpy)
Yesterday at work, I noticed I wasn't feeling well.  As the day went on, the worse I felt until I finally gave up and went home early.  I hit the sack at about 6 last night, then woke up this morrning at 7 feeling like I'd been hit by a truck.  Naturally, I called off of work.

I went to the urgent care place and came out with a scrip for heavy-duty antibiotics and a handful of shiny new diagnoses: tonsillitis, otitis media (middle ear infection), oh, and my personal favorite, pneumonia.  Which is pretty much what I had assumed I had -- the quantity of vile-smelling, chunky grossness that I've been coughing up today has been truly epic.

Typing this pretty much wiped me out for the next couple of hours, so I'm off to nap.
margotvankapelle: (nocatfarts)
Because I cut the bust and waist about 3 extra inches too small.  But the bodice is mostly done and I'm starting in on the skirt right now.  By the time I hang it up tonight, I should have everything done except hemming and lacing rings.

The linen is so stretchy that the topstitching I've done to keep the lining from rolling has left the top and bottom of the bodice edges all warped and wavy.  But with the whole cutting it 3 inches too small thing, the edges will smooth out once it's on a human being insead of laid flat on a table.

ETA:  1:15 AM.  I have the bodice and skirt constructed and the pleats pinned.  By some miracle, I'll be able to do rolled pleats on the back of the kirtle skirt.  That's an unexpected bonus.  Also, Odin is a nasty cat and the living room reeks.  I think I am going to go outside and have a cigarette in olfactory self-defense.  Then shower and bed.
margotvankapelle: (asshat)

I have finally hit the end of my rope with Random Gamer know, Mr. Shits-his-pants?

So within the past three weeks, he has left the toilet seat and lid up -- and a fecal suprise dissolving in the toilet bowl -- eight times.  Keep in mind, we only have the one bathroom.  Also keep in mind, I have three cats and a dog...a dog that likes to drink out of the toilet if the seat and lid are up.  A couple of the cats are also interested in drinking from the World's Biggest Drinking Fountain, given the chance.  The first couple of times, I reminded Random Gamer Guy that hey, the pets will drink out of the toilet bowl, so put the seat and lid down; while I'm at it, flush, willya? 

I guess because I have ovaries, Random Gamer Guy decided not to take me seriously...until my husband managed to baptize his own ass with filthy water during a 2 AM why-bother-turning-the-light-on-I-have-lived-in-this-house-ten-years-I-can-manage-to-use-the-bathroom-just-fine-in-the-dark trip.  Boe sat down, got his butt soaking wet, and turned on the light to mop up the water he splashed all over the floor.  That's when he discovered Random Gamer Guy had taken a crap, left the seat and lid up, and not bothered to flush. So Boe had a chat with Random Gamer Guy, gave him what-for,  and pointed out that RGG will make our pets sick if he continued the bathroom passive-aggressiveness.  

It's happened six times since, and tonight was the final straw.  In addition to the toilet shenanigans, Random Gamer Guy has not paid his rent.

I am so evicting him.  In my municipality, I am supposed to give him 10 days.  That' all I am willing to give him.  My critters are my babies and he is endangering their health.  Dude's gotta go.

I must say, I felt a certain dark pleasure when writing out the notice to vacate the premises.  We'll see how everything goes.
margotvankapelle: (magic8ball)
I made a post in[ profile] adoption , and I wanted to throw it out to my f-list as well.  Let me know what you think, I am getting so very very turned around on quite a few issues (as I am sure you all probably already knew!), and I could really use advice on, well, everything.

When Boe and I have discussed adoption, it has been with the assumption that we'll probably be adopting from the foster care system, since the financial costs of that method seem to be lower than for private adoption, and it gives us the chance to adopt a sibling group (we're primarily interested in adopting a sibling group since they are traditionally difficult to place.)  However, my hormones have really done a number on me and given me a raging case of baby rabies. As in, OMG BABIESRITENAO! sort of baby rabies.  So in my idiocy, I've been scoping out private adoption facilitators, which makes the whole "wanting a baby immediately if not sooner" feeling stronger. 

In addition, Boe -- who has always wanted to have children with me -- is of the opinion that we should go ahead and start the classes and whatnot now and as far as finances go, we'll just work it out the same way we would if I wasn't infertile and we had an unexpected pregnancy.  On the other hand, I can't help but fret that the course of action that Boe is suggesting would be irresponsible...but I'll be 35 before I graduate, and Boe will be 47.  I mean, yeah, Larry King can father a baby at the age of 927265, but that doesn't mean that we can or should.

So what on earth do I do in this situation?  If it was a question of me not being infertile and we had an unexpected pregnancy, we'd just muddle through as best we could while trying to juggle sketchy finances and a newborn.  But in this case, where having children requires not only money, but time, effort, and one hell of a lot of red tape, the right path to take is not nearly as clear-cut.  Wait until I'm out of school, even though we'll be (depressingly) a lot older than the ideal? See if we can adopt even though we're not *quite* where we need to be financially yet?  Foster care adoption, private, or "lady, you are clearly way too nuts to have kids"?

I mean, 35 is -- in my opinion -- really pushing the boundaries of age-appropriateness of first-time parenthood.  And that doesn't mean that I'd become a mom at 35; the classes and stuff can take up to a year, then there's the wait to get a home study done, and then there's waiting to be matched, and and and and and.  Realistically, it can take 2-3 years for placement through the foster care system. 

Hell, if we knew that I could carry a pregnancy, Boe and I would have gone the "family friend and a turkey baster" route.  But I can't carry a pregnancy, and we can't afford fertility treatments at $10,000 per round of IVF, embryo adoption in this case requires a surrogate, and we certainly can't afford a surrogate -- which would require us to go through a lot of the same hoops as an adoption would to boot.

My life is not turning out to be anything like what I had hoped...hrmph.
margotvankapelle: (snow)
I've never been terribly secretive about the sexual abuse I went through as a kid. It was pretty standard, as child sexual abuse goes: Parents divorce, Mom remarries, Stepdad decides to make Mom's nine year old daughter his personal sex toy. While he never raped me, there are any number of sexual things one can do that don't involve penetration.

I thought for years that post-abuse counseling had done the trick as far as coping and healing go, that I didn't have any major aftereffects from the abuse. I even felt a little guilty about identifying myself as a sexual abuse survivor -- I mean, other girls and boys have gone through so much more than I did. Little have I realized how insidious the mindfuck that comes with abuse can be.

I haven't been able to remember a whole lot about my childhood in general and the period of time I was abused in specific. I have a couple of vague memories, that's all. Not very much! But I was talking with my aunt several months ago, and she told me that my late grandmother (humorless German Catholic upbringing ahoy!) had called together a family conference when my stepfather was arrested, and spent the entire time berating my mother for "allowing" the police to become involved. I was "shaming the family" by telling my teacher what was going on, you see. That conversation with my aunt seemed to trigger a bunch of emotions and memories that only come out in nightmares.

I love my sleep -- I think I was a cat in a past life because I could happily sleep for 20 hours a day if given the chance. So the nightmares (and I could never completely remember them after I woke up, very frustrating) were irritating and depressing and just awful. Every time I try to talk with Dad about it, he gets red in the face and his eyes take on a flat, dead shine to them that frightens me just a smidgen -- I know even after 23 years, he'd still like to kill my former stepfather. I prefer not to jack Dad's blood pressure into stroke territory, so I have given up on talking with him about it. My stepmom becomes hysterical. My mom and I, well, we had our first conversation about it, um, about 3 months ago? And of course she became upset -- she was just as much a victim as I was. (It's weird that no one seems to think along those lines -- the rest of the family is victimized along with the abused child.) So with my craptastic memory and an unwillingness to hurt my family by bringing all this up, I went down to the Wabash County courthouse last Monday to look at the case records from the trial.

Arthur Michael "Mike" Swango -- arrested April 1987, pled guilty to 1 count child molestation (class C felony), sentenced December 1, 1988. He was sentenced to 5 years with three years suspended, with time off for good behavior (of course there was good behavior -- there are no nine year olds in jail!), he served 1 year.

I read the initial police report, the transcript of my taped statement (I didn't remember being videotaped), the transcript of Mom's statement (and my heart broke all over again reading it, she was so hurt and bewildered and betrayed), and finally, Mike's confession. That son of a bitch confessed to molesting 2 other girls back in the Seventies (after he statute of limitations had run out) as well as to my sexual abuse. The awful part was that he made it sound consensual. That a very naive, very insecure nine year old liked what he was doing instead of keeping his hands, his mouth, and his dick far away from little girls.

A bonus was reading the letters of support for Mike written by our next door neighbors, a couple of co-workers, and our family priest. Even now, I am utterly gobsmacked that one of his friends wrote that I was probably confused and maybe had been mislead by the police into accusing Mike, that this friend had no problem leaving his daughters alone with Mike. Another mentioned that I had most likely led Mike on. The victim blaming I read was devastating.

To be honest, I'm still trying to come to terms with everything I read. Between the nightmares, the depression that's been crushing me lately, and the guilt and shame I live with on a daily basis, I've made the decision to reenter therapy. I can't live this way anymore.

I am leaving this entry public for several very good reasons: I have done nothing to be ashamed of, others who have undergone sexual abuse may find it helpful, and frankly, because I included the name of the man who abused me. He's not on any sex offender registry -- my abuse occurred before Megan's Law. Finally, I left this entry open because I want the world to know that victim blaming is incredibly destructive, and revictimizes the survivors.

If you are a survivor of abuse, you did nothing wrong.
margotvankapelle: (bodyofgoddess)
I've been thinking...(no, there's no need to put crash helmets on! REALLY, YOU CAN TAKE OFF THE DAMN CRASH HELMETS ALREADY!) about weight loss surgery.

I weighed myself today.  I am 5'5" and 270 lbs.  I can't exercise without wheezing myself into a coma.  I have an endocrine imbalance that makes weight loss extraordinarily difficult, so sayeth my doctor.  However, I do not have the comorbidities that would make it feasible for my insurance to cover weight loss surgery.  I am thinking of talking to my doctor and insurance to see if there's any way that the comorbidities issue can be waived in my case so that insurance will approve covering me for weight loss surgery.   Suggestions from the peanut gallery?

The specific surgery I have in mind is laproscopic gastric sleeve surgery.  Thoughts?  Opinions?

And, on my next appointment with my doctor-type, I will be asking for a scrip for Chantix.  I am tired of smoking and I need help to quit.


margotvankapelle: (Default)

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