September 2010

And everything keeps going down the drain.

by Veronica on September 29, 2010

in Ehlers Danlos Syndrome,Headfuck,My body is broken.

There are things you don’t want to hear when you go to the doctor.

Like – You have the back of a 60 year old. When Nathan is only 28.

His back is bad. Really bad.

There are arthritic changes, a bulging disc, some compressed discs, bone spurs, narrowing of the nerve canals and degenerative issues.

Never gonna get better kind of bad.

Sure, loads of physio should help in the short term, but as far as I remember, nothing can be done for bones that are arthritic, or bones that are breaking down.

***

I’ve been seeing a Gyno for my insane periods and heavy bleeding/cramps like labour pains. That’s the backstory.

I went to see them yesterday, to follow up on how the trial of a contraceptive pill went.

[paraphrasing, as best I can, because somehow, telling you without the conversation added is too hard]

‘So, how did the pill go?’

‘HA! Badly. Really badly. I came off it early because it was bad.’

‘Bad how?’

‘Mood swings, depression, increased dislocations, etc etc. Bad.’

‘Well, in situations like yours, we really like to try the contraceptive pill.’

‘Yes, but the pill doesn’t agree with me.’

‘I can see. And you seem very against trying it again.’

‘Yes.’

‘So, we’d like to try the Mirena.’

‘No.’

‘Huh? No?’

‘I have anecdotal evidence to tell me that the mirena would be really bad for me’ [he tries to cut in] ‘and YES, I KNOW that the progesterone supposedly doesn’t leave your uterus, but really, my body is so sensitive to progesterone that I don’t want to trial the mirena.’

[he looks very spluttery]

‘We would like to try the mirena. If you don’t want the mirena, then we’re looking at things like gonadatropins and they’ll make you gain lots of facial hair and will deepen your voice and -’

‘Well I don’t want to trial those either.’

‘If you’d try the Mirena, we wouldn’t have to look at gonadatropins.’

‘I don’t want the Mirena.’

‘Gonadatropins will make you gain a lot of weight… wait, I’m going to consult with my boss.‘

[A few minutes later, his boss- the doctor I saw last time enters.]

‘Hi Veronica, so you trialled the pill?’

‘Yes. And it was awful. I stopped it after 3 weeks because I couldn’t cope anymore.’

‘What happened?’

‘My joints fell apart, it felt like I was walking on a wobble board instead of a pelvis, I was angry and sad and it was horrible. So I stopped.’

‘Good, that’s what we discussed. So really, our next option is the Mirena.’

‘I don’t want the Mirena.’

‘It’s really the best option.’

‘I don’t believe it’s the best option for ME. I think it will make my joints worse and YES I KNOW the progesterone won’t leave my uterus, yada yada, I’m not willing to put a coil into my uterus to just see.’

‘We’re really running out of options here, the Mirena…’

‘No. I am opposed to IUD’s on ethical grounds too and really, I don’t think poking my internal organs with metal and making them angry is going to make me feel better on the whole.’

‘Ethical grounds?’

‘Yes. I don’t like how they work.’

‘Do you KNOW how they work?’

‘I know a plain IUD doesn’t prevent ovulation or conception, it just prevents implantation. I know the Mirena with it’s progesterone generally prevents ovulation, and also that it prevents implantation in the event that conception occurs. I don’t want the Mirena, I don’t want something I can’t stop using myself if I get bad. I can’t afford to wait weeks until I can get in here to be seen and fixed and HONESTLY, I’ve been on the wrong side of side effects and statistics for so long, I’m not prepared to mess around with things.’

‘Right. Well then.’

‘Can we try something to help with the cramps and pain instead of trying the mirena? ‘

At this point, I feel like I’ve been fighting the doctors to get ANY sort of health care that doesn’t involve inserting a foreign body into my uterus and leaving it there. Not to mention the absolute shock on their faces that I wouldn’t accept the Mirena as ‘the best possible thing’ [all hail the fucking copper coil] and wouldn’t be badgered into it. Not even with the ‘you’re gonna grow facial hair and get really fat’ scare tactics that the original doctor was using. I mean, fuck.

Eventually, the doctors agree on a course of action, medication wise and send me away with a script.

45 minutes later, I get to read all about the reasons I should not take a drug to help my blood clot.

Like, don’t take the drug if anyone in your immediate family has had a blood clot. Both Mum and Nan have had blood clots.

Don’t take the drug if you have bruising, especially bruising without trauma. Hello fucking EHLERS DANLOS.

Don’t take the drug if you have irregular periods. Um yeah, that’s part of why I’m seeing a Gyno. I’m 21, I’ve had periods since I was 12 and I’ve had 2 kids, my periods should be fucking regular. They aren’t.

I’m just so tired of having to fight the doctors for things that might help. Tired of them not asking questions they should before they prescribe something. Tired of being treated like a disobedient child, for not falling into line and letting them do whatever ‘they think best’.

Tired of feeling like these bandaid fixes don’t do anything towards working out why my body isn’t doing regular periods, why I bleed for 10-12 days each period, why the periods feel like labour pains, and why I’m having hot flushes.

Tired.

I’m booking an appointment with my regular GP to discuss the new tablets before I even think about taking them. Somehow, knowing how my body works and which side of the stats I fall on, I’m a little concerned about taking something to promote blood clotting.

On the upside, there was a Med Student there during the whole appointment and I got ages to talk to her about Ehlers Danlos while the doctors were consulting in the other room. She was lovely and interested to know how EDS presents in normal cases.

So good deed done. Even if I still want to bang my head against the wall.

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Cottees

by Veronica on September 28, 2010

in Sponsored Posts

The cottees post has had to be taken down, due to legal reasons – the competition terms and conditions haven’t been approved yet, so we need to wait for that. Anyone who has commented already, your comments will remain, everyone else, I’ll give you a yell when you can comment and enter the competition again.

Sorry.

Ugh.

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Asking Advice

by Veronica on September 26, 2010

in Headfuck,Isaac

Sometimes things happen and I’m at a loss as to whether it’s totally normal, or something I need to be concerned about. So this is where I ask for your input, because you know, you’ve got kids and can tell me if your kid did it.

Anyway.

Isaac used to be my snuggly boy. More than happy to give me a cuddle, or sit on my lap.

But lately (in the last month – 6 weeks), when he’s upset, he won’t let me hold him. I’m not allowed to rub his back, or hold him, or cuddle him better. He will smack at my hands if I insist and he either runs away, or wiggles away, flopping like a fish, depending on whether he is standing, or flopped on the ground. All this while screaming like a banshee.

I’m not talking temper tantrums, although those are increasing a lot too, but actual upset. Maybe Amy stole his toy, maybe he’s tired, maybe he fell over and hurt himself. He won’t let me hug him and if I force the issue by picking him up, he will throw himself at the floor, bent like a pretzel until I put him down to cry alone.

Mostly I’ll leave him and sit next to him and try to rub his back, but like I said, he will hit/slap/flap at me until I stop touching him.

When he wakes up of a morning, he lays in his cot crying and whinging. However, when I come into the bedroom to pick him up (rescue him from baby jail) he will throw himself at his matress and turn away from me. If I touch him, he will crack up and scream. Eventually he will clamber to his feet and ‘allow’ me to lift him out of his cot, but I’m not allowed to cuddle him. I have to put him down to walk out of his room himself and if I try and carry him, or cuddle him, he will dissolve into a boneless screaming puddle.

I wondered if it was pain related, but he does it whether he’s had painkillers or not. So, I just don’t know.

It’s not the stage that kids go through when they just want their Dad, because he gets just as pissed off at us if Nathan tries to console him instead.

It’s quite heartbreaking to know that he’s upset and he won’t let me FIX it.

We’re also dealing with other things. He’s stopped waving bye bye. He doesn’t point anymore. He only holds my hand in order to drag me towards what he wants/needs. If I try and hold his hand when he doesn’t want something from me, he will drop to the ground and either meltdown, or curl up into a ball until I move away.

He’s not learning any new words and the ones he does have are easy words. Stop, don’t, no, o’tay(okay), oh-oh,, ow-side, oh no, bo’ble (bottle), a-me (Amy), mummy, daddy, waddy (Maisy), duck, nanny, poppy, dave. The same words he’s had for months, but no new ones. (despite what I said on twitter about Don’t being a new word, I told Nat, he reminded me we’ve had don’t for a while). At 14 months he was soaking up words like a sponge and babbling constantly. Now the babbling is stopping too. He doesn’t want to make eye contact as often.

He’s also getting more clingy in public situations, won’t let anyone look at him or touch him. My father touched his hand the other day, Isaac looked almost offended, ripped his hand away and hid in my chest. To be honest, the only times he’s let me hold him lately is when he’s using me to hide in.

He’s the same at the supermarket or shops, anyone stopping to talk to us makes him burrow into my chest and hide.

But, if I put him down, he will bolt, without caring where I am. He just runs. At least until someone else tries to talk to him, when he throws himself to the floor and hides.

So, any advice? Any one else’s kid do this? Or is he just a typical toddler and I need to stop being so upset when I can’t make him happy again.

He’s 20 months and 2 weeks old and I’m fairly concerned.

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More chook death, phobias and a little stress

by Veronica on September 26, 2010

in Amy,Animals,Autism

We had to kill our rooster last Saturday.

I say ‘we’ in the very broadest sense, aka the sense that this time I didn’t get my hands dirty and I roped my baby brother in for the job. Of course, it ended up being me who traipsed half way out of the suburb through sheep paddocks to find the fucking thing after he spotted Davey and bolted. It was an interesting walk.

Needless to say, the rooster was shooed back into my yard and the job was done. We got to eat roast chicken on Saturday night, so that’s a bonus, right?

Of course, we didn’t just decide that rooster death was on the cards and jump to a frenzy of blood lust.

No.

The bloody rooster attacked Amy.

Twice.

The first time, I figured he had a day of grace because I wasn’t sure if he’d attacked Amy, or just flown near her and scared her. Then he did it again, destroying any grace he might have had and creating a mild (large) phobia of roosters in Amy’s pretty little head.

I promised her that Uncle David would kill the rooster and she proceeded to ask me about it, oh, every hour or so.

‘Uncle David is going to kill the rooster, isn’t he Mum?’

‘Yes Amy.’

‘A’cause the rooster flew at my HEAD.’

‘Yes Amy.’

‘And then the rooster will be DEAD and we will eat him.’

‘Yes Amy.’

‘Good.’

It was … interesting to say the least.

So Uncle David came to stay, the deed was done and rooster was eaten.

Only, Amy still appears to be a teensy bit phobic of the big yard. To the point where she hasn’t even enjoyed the ducklings because she is too scared to walk out there.

Sigh.

I’m just a little lost at this point.

Amy develops phobias of all kinds of things, usually for no reason. To date we’ve dealt with moths, feathers, balloons popping, needles, doctors and water on her head.

More recently has been the mouse phobia and a fear of spiders (aside: where did she get a fear of spiders from? neither Nathan nor I are scared, we don’t squeal or screech when we see them and she has no reason to be anything less than matter of fact about spiders. But shrieks of KILL IT KILL IT SPIDER MUMMY KILL IT frequently fill our house and then we dare to scare her further by refusing to be party to spider genocide. Ideas?) and then the rooster issue.

Normally, we ignore the phobia until it goes away. But if the freakout over a moth the other day tells me anything, it’s that ignoring doesn’t work so well.

And I really REALLY need Amy to have the acre or so of pasture out in the big yard to run herself silly on.

I won’t lie though, not having her escape through all our security measures to go and run when we’re not aware of it has been nice. But not having her collect the eggs, or squeal with me about the relative cuteness of ducklings, well, that’s been a bit sad.

Hopefully we can work on the fact that the rooster is dead and can’t fly at her anymore. We’ll cross our fingers that works, because I’m rather enamoured of free eggs and getting rid of table scraps easily, too much to want to get rid of the chooks.

If nothing else, the chooks will end up like a giant guard dog, preventing Amy’s escapades.

I can’t work out if that will be a good thing or not though.

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The harlotry of mummyblogging

by Veronica on September 25, 2010

in Blogging,Soapbox

Mummyblogging: It sounds like a dirty word. Like something you’d spit out of your mouth, or scrape off your shoe. People say it with a snide smile, or throw it over their shoulder. Like ‘the dirty mummybloggers, bringing us all down’. It’s become the word for all that is boring and mundane in blogging.

It’s a bit of a rough deal, to be considered a mummyblogger. The rest of the blogosphere avoids mummyblogging like the plague, even as advertisers and sponsors court the hell out of you. Mummybloggers are considered to be sell outs, to be making money off the back of their children, to be blog whores.

It’s all a little bullshit if you ask me.

I spent a lot of time avoiding the whole mummyblogger cliche. I called myself a personal blogger, because I was writing about myself, with bits about the children thrown in. I wasn’t writing about poo or doing nothing but updating with photos of my kids and telling everyone how wonderful my life was.

It took a long time to come to terms with the fact I was a mummyblogger (spit, cough).

But I am.

I write about my kids, myself, my life.

THAT is mummyblogging. If you put photos of your kids on your blog, you are mummyblogging. Whinge about your sleepless night? Mummyblogging. Complain that nursing tops are hideously uncomfortable and that you tried to drown the baby in breastmilk? Mummyblogging. Remind everyone that kids are hard work and you’ve got it hard? Mummyblogging.

You might not do it all the time, but you’ve got to own the fact you do it sometimes. You might hate the term, it might make your insides curl up and die a little, but if you have ever blogged about your kids, then you’ve participated in that thing we call (spit, cough) mummyblogging.

Funnily enough it isn’t solely the genre of crap and mundane writing, in fact, some of the best writers I’ve ever read are writing about themselves and their children.

I’ve seen plenty of utterly crap blogs, written by people without children, so why don’t they get the (spit, cough) reaction that mummyblogging gets?

I share parts of my life and you guys click over to read about it. It’s a little voyeuristic, a little like being a whore, only without the need to shower afterwards. It’s also the closest thing I’ve got to a community and the most supportive network you’ll ever find.

Some people might exclaim that I’m selling out my children in exchange for Internet celebrity (hahahahahaa, cough, ahem), that children and disabilities are all currency that sells here in the InterWebs. And I’ll consider those points, probably while I tear my own hair out and the children bounce off the walls, and then I’ll disagree with them.

I’m selling myself, sure, maybe a little. After a fashion at least, but I don’t think I’m selling the kids.

Like most mummybloggers, the kids are the supporting cast to my (not-so-brightly-lit) stardom. They get their own lines, sure, but in the end it always comes back to me. Slightly narcissistic? Okay, probably. We’ll go with that.

But, that’s me, I’m the mummyblogger harlot. Taking off layers of my personality for money. Baring my soul for dollar signs. Supposedly.

I might as well own it.

And as the old saying goes, if you don’t like it, click away. It’s the Internet, it’s big enough for everyone.

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