Author: Veronica

  • On words, or the lack thereof

    I can’t talk about it anymore. The grief, it is crushing and although I laugh and smile, I can’t breathe. Often, I have to remind myself to keep breathing, to keep moving, otherwise I’d be found, struck dumb with tears streaming down my face. Unmoving and uncaring.

    I cope  by moving through my moments without thinking about it. If I consciously don’t think about her, then I can move through my day without hurting.

    Then

    something will happen.

    And the enormity of what we’ve lost hits me like a truck with no brakes.

    Loss is forever and I think that is the hardest part. That this is forever. There are no undos, no fixing this. I can’t make this better because I can’t bring her back.

    I said after she died that I didn’t regret anything I had done or not done. That I was at peace with her passing. I told her I loved her lots on that last day.

    I think I lied.

    Because

    I regret that she died at all. That we didn’t have longer. That she was in pain.

    In the future, we will have a cure for cancer. It might not be for a hundred years, but in the future there will be a cure. Future generations will look back and wonder how we managed to lose so many people to cancer. They will wonder how we didn’t crack the code sooner, in order to save more lives.

    But it will be like us, looking back on the invention of antibiotics. We know that we’re lucky, but we don’t realise how lucky we are. We’re not likely to die from a simple cut anymore. A puncture wound is not going to be our death.

    In the future, Cancer will be like that.

    I hope it is sooner than we believe.

    But until then, we will support the research. We will donate money and time and good humour. We will do what needs doing, even if that means we hold the hand of a loved one while they’re dying.

    We do this, hoping that in the future, our children’s children won’t have to go through it.

    Because god knows, I wouldn’t wish cancer on anyone.

  • A big first

    I rang poison control today. Yes, it finally happened, I had to ring them. Amy took the lid off a spray bottle filled with pine-o-clean and eucalyptus oil and used the straw part (you know, the part that actually sucks up the liquid so it can be squirted? yes, that part) as a straw to drink her milk.

    The cup smelled like pine-o-clean, the straw smelled like pine-o-clean and her breath smelled like, you guessed it, pine-o-clean.

    Sigh.

    We were given instructions on what to watch for and what to expect, but basically, if your toddler ingests a mouthful or two of pine-o-clean, you’re not going to have to race to emergency in an ambulance.

    (For the record, we were told to watch for breathing difficulties, excessive hyperactivity or excessive lethargy. They mentioned she might also vomit, but not to worry too much unless she couldn’t stop vomiting)

    So far, she hasn’t even complained of a tummy ache.

    Seems that for Amy, actual cleaning poison is less like poison than gluten.

    Heh.

  • Highlights

    When the highlight of your day was finding two freddo frogs inside one wrapper, you know it’s not been a good day.

    If when you found the freddos, you promptly snapped a photo so you could blog it, then it’s definitely not been a good day.

    Freddos

    NaBlo, it’s been lovely, but don’t think I can subject everyone to this quality all month.

    Gah.

  • Talking about my period.

    AKA Too much information, so uh, walk away now if you’re one of my male readers.

    ****

    Today is day #5 of my period and I’ve bled through 3 pairs of underwear already today. Despite using tampons sized the equivalent of a small nation.

    Last night I bled through another 3 pairs of underwear and 2 pairs of pajama bottoms. I was still awake every hour to go to the toilet. Yesterday I bled through a tampon, a full sized maternity pad AND 3 panty liners I’d put on underneath the maternity pad just in case. That was within an hour.

    I’d just like to say a giant fuck you to my uterus. Not only is it trying to take over my body with the stabby pain, but it wants to leave it’s mark on everything. At this point I’m scared to cough, just in case I drown.

    I’m thinking I need to rename it the Pit of Despair.

    Apparently, when you’ve not had a period for oh… 9 months or something, when it happens, it’s like the flood gates open and away goes everything you thought you knew about your body. Hell, this bleeding is heavier than the bleeding I had after pushing a decently sized baby out of my vagina. Only without the ‘grazing’ (I refuse to acknowledge that it’s grazing. Cheese gratering was what it felt like).

    We won’t even talk about what happens when I feed Isaac and my uterus uses it as an excuse to clamp down and leave me curled up in a tiny little puddle of pain.

    Stupid uterus.

    We’re also not talking about my EDS while I’m bleeding. Needless to say I feel sort of like a rag doll. A shaken rag doll.

    On the upside, I now have an excuse to buy new underwear. I’ve thrown out nearly a dozen pairs so far.

    Heh.

  • NaBlo

    I signed up to do NaBloMyFuckingGoat again.

    Someone shoot me now.

    Day #3 and I’m already asking god why I thought I’d be able to blog every day.

    ANYWAY.

    If you’re interested in coming along for the ride (3 days in) you can find my profile here. We can amuse each other backwards and forwards.

    Or something.

    Welcome to the month of quantity over quality.