Today Was a Terrible Fucking Day

Today was a fucking terrible day.

I know I spend a lot of time here talking about gratitude. About slow mornings and golf cart rides and good food and my kids and friends showing up and finding little pieces of normal in the middle of something abnormal.

But some days aren’t like that and some days just suck.

Today started with a lab visit to VCU and a dressing change for my PICC line.

I haven't really written about having the PICC placed because, mainly, it was awful. The procedure was complicated because I have a weird vessel. So, something that should have taken a few minutes took an hour and a half to place. It hurt. I cried. A lot.

And apparently my skin doesn't tolerate the usual cleanser they use for dressing changes, so today they had to use alcohol instead. It hurt like hell. My arm hurt afterward. I felt crappy. And that was how we started things off today.

But there was parenting to do.

My mom is getting ready to take over a lot of my life when I leave for Texas, so right now I'm trying to teach her the thousand invisible things that go into managing the three kids' lives. Today that meant psychiatry appointments for Graham and Etta.

We picked Graham up from school at 11 and drove him to the Midlothian office.

Except Graham didn't have an appointment there. Etta did. And we had missed it. Graham's appointment was at a completely different office.

And I lost it. Completely lost it.

Which sounds ridiculous because its an appointment. Reschedule it. Move on.

Except it wasn't about the appointment.

It was about everything. It was about being in pain. It was about leukemia. It was about trying to organize my children's lives so they can keep functioning when their mom leaves Virginia for months to have a stem cell transplant. It was about watching my mom learn all the tiny pieces of my children's lives because soon I won't be here to do them.

And it was about the infuriating reason these particular appointments have become so complicated in the first place.

My children have been neuropsychologically evaluated and diagnosed with ADHD. Medication significantly helps them function. This should not be complicated.

But their father, Greg, doesn't just have a remarkable ability to make uncomplicated things complicated. He actually enjoys it. Conflict isn't an unfortunate byproduct with Greg; it’s actually like the entire freaking point. Give him a perfectly functional situation involving the kids, and somehow he'll find a way to create a problem, pick a fight, threaten someone, or burn down a relationship that was working just fine before he got involved.

So back to the whole reason of why I have to take my kids to psychiatry at all, is because Greg threatened to report our beloved pediatrician to the DEA for the apparent offense of prescribing ADHD medication to children who have been diagnosed with ADHD. Then, as I understand it, he followed through with a complaint against her medical license to the medical board.

So, understandably, she is no longer comfortable prescribing controlled medications for my children.

Honestly, I consider myself lucky we're still allowed in the practice at all. Greg's profanity and verbal abuse had already gotten our family fired from that same practice once before.

Fortunately, I was able to salvage that particular dumpster fire.

Which, when Greg is involved, has become something of a recurring theme.

So now we go to psychiatry. Another doctor. Another office. More appointments. More driving. More time away from school/work. More hoops for children who never asked to be part of any of this.

And today, after finally getting Graham back to school, rearranging the entire day, picking him up AGAIN and driving across town to the correct psychiatry office, an office that we spent ten minutes driving around trying to fucking locate, we finally made it into his appointment.

And at the end of that appointment I was notified that the kid’s father had reported this doctor too. For what? Who knows?

At some point you almost have to admire the consistency. Almost.

What’s crazy- These are doctors taking care of his children.

Not enemies. Not adversaries. Doctors. People whose entire involvement in this shitshow is that they have tried to provide medical care to three children.

And somehow, once again, the adults simply trying to help my kids have found themselves pulled into unnecessary conflict.

Meanwhile, I am trying to get into remission. I’'m waiting to learn whether we have a bone marrow donor. I'm preparing to move to Texas for months for a stem cell transplant. I'm trying to keep a veterinary practice alive while I'm gone. I'm trying to arrange caregivers. I'm trying to make sure three children feel safe when their mom leaves.

I'm trying to teach my parents where everyone needs to be, which doctor does what, which medication goes where, what time everyone gets picked up and approximately eight thousand other pieces of information that normally just live inside my head.

And now their father has filed an emergency custody request.

That one is going to take me a minute.

There is something particularly cruel about having to spend any of the limited energy I have right now dealing with this.

I don't know how much time I have before I leave for Texas. I don't know exactly how long I'll be there. I don't know how my body is going to respond to what comes next. There are so many things I don't know.

What I do know is that I would really love to spend this time loving my children instead of dealing with problems manufactured by someone who is supposed to love them too.

I would like to make sure Graham has his medication without turning it into a full-day expedition.

I would like to prepare them for what is about to happen to our family without another adult creating more fear, uncertainty and chaos around them.

And I am angry. And I resent the hell out of having even one of my days stolen by bullshit.

Today I wasn't graceful or brave. Today just sucked.