Her Bad Mother

Thursday, September 4, 2008

In Which I Just Babble Incoherently, Because, You Know, THE TIRED

I can come home now, please?

I am so tired, so worn out, so spent, so - it feels - cut off and adrift from everything - almost everything - that keeps me sane and happy in everyday life.

And so I just cling tightly to my baby - my one little beacon of joy and light through these dismal days - and wait for tomorrow.

Tomorrow, I'll be home.

(**Am unable to do pictures. Imagine a picture of a horizon and a rainbow and maybe a unicorn and some daisies here.**)

Thank you all so, so much for, you know, everything. I haven't been able to access all the comments and tweets and messages, but I know that they're there, and I'll respond as soon as I can. In the meantime: THANK YOU. It has made all the difference.

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Tuesday, September 2, 2008


Further update below...

I have never been so emotionally exhausted in all my life.

Zachary is improved. Improved enough that we can say, now - our hearts in our mouths - he almost died. He almost died.

We can only say that, now, because there is every reason to remain hopeful that that 'almost' will remain past tense. Expectantly hopeful. Positively hopeful.

But still: my heart is so tired.

I have been in hospital with Zachary - alongside my sister, who has been sleeping in a chair at his side for a week now - around the clock, cut off from the rest of the world. Soon it will be time to return. For the moment, my access to technology is limited. And that's fine - my attention, my energies, my everything is needed here.

But still. I am so tired. I wish that I were not so tired, so that I could use my words, find solace in using my words, telling this story.


Update: we're still at hospital. Zachary has sustained such extensive nerve damage that they don't know if he'll be able to walk again. He's trying so, so hard. It's both heart-bursting and heart-breaking.

Me, I'm living in the dark ages - there's no wireless here and my smartphone isn't working properly and so I only have computer access when I stand in line for the one dial-up system on the ward. I'm limited to text and sporadic access to some machine that was built in 1983. But know that I am - and Zachary is, and my sister is - receiving all your warm wishes and hopes and prayers.

Sunday, August 31, 2008

Why Does It Have to Require So Much Thought?

Hey there folks, it's katie from motherbumper. For all those looking for Catherine, she is with her family, and spending all her time inside of a hospital environment. As if her situation could be any worse, technology is being completely uncooperative with her and she is unable to get access to the internet or send email. She can receive it but not send it. Like she needed this kind of crap.

Anyhow, she asked me to keep the
Betchfest going and of course I said yes - I'd do anything to help out. If you haven't heard about Betchfest you can read all the details over in The Basement.

The following post is part of the
Betchfest exchange and Catherine offered this space so another person could find a safe space to rant and rave - something we all need to do every once and a while.
Why Does It Have to Require So Much Thought?

Notice to my Four Brothers: If you somehow find this, stop reading now and go away. Really. This post references a) my sex life, b) my lady parts and c) tampons. All of which you are happier pretending don’t exist.

Dear IUD.

Listen. We've tried to work it out. We've given the relationship a fair shake. But clearly it's not meant to be. Try and change my mind all you want, I'm not having any of it. You had to know the 8 day period was a deal breaker.

I just wish you'd been more honest about the whole thing. You were all, Try me. I'm carefree. Install me and forget about me. I'm like magic! You won't have to think about birth control ever again. Or at least for the next 10 years. I'm lovable. Made from natural materials. Drug free!

I'm a sucker, I admit it. It sounded too good to be true, but I totally fell for it anyway. Consider what I'd tried/considered before coming to you.

First. The pill. Which I would forget to take. Freudian? Maybe. Because I hate taking pills. And then I would get weirdly moody. It was a bad fit. I was glad when we were ready to have a baby .

Second. The shot. How did I ever try this? And more than once? What am I, a masochist? I used to have to pray and meditate before the doctor visit so that I would be calm enough to face the needle. Not only am I pill averse, I also get freaked out by shots. And. The same drugs the pill used were still messing with my emotions. Not good. Not good at all.

Third. Condoms. Aren’t condoms just back up for when you forget to take the pill?

Fourth. The pull out. Ummmm. Gross.

Fifth. Spermicide. Probably the closest thing to a good relationship with birth control that I've had. But it still required too much thinking ahead. And then there was the fact of the 24 hour seepage after use. Oh dear.

Sixth. The Rythym Method. But I thought the point was to prevent pregnancy.

Seventh. Abstinence. Not gonna happen. If it comes to that, I’ll take the 8-day period. And smile about it. (My husband is hot!)

Which finally brought me to you, IUD. And all my friends talked you up. And the doctor said I was perfect for you. And I was so hopeful. And you were so little. And cute. The day I went to meet you, the weather was gorgeous. I felt great. Super positive. Failure didn’t even enter my mind.

Imagine my shock, when within hours of meeting you I was crippled with fever, cramps, non-stop vomiting, and a complete -- ummm. let's call it "cleanse" -- as my body tried to reject you. And still. I wanted our relationship so badly! I overcame the rejection. I worked through it. I focused on the positive: no pills! no gellies! no mess!

No mess? The first period came and it was brutal. There isn't a brand or size or quantity of tampon in the world that could contain the havoc you sent down my birth canal. Clothes were ruined. Car upholstery was ruined. Sofas were ruined. And it just kept going. What was once a simple affair, 2 or 3 days, was now a week plus! Impossible? Sadly, no. Very, depressingly possible. And accompanied by the kind of bloating I thought only existed in commercials.

How did I not run screaming to the doctor right then? Again. I just wanted this to work so badly. I told myself it would taper off. Next time, surely it would only be 6 or 7 days.

It wasn't.

Now. It’s five months since we met. And I’m nearing the end of yet another blood bath. Without a single unmarred pair of underwear left to my name. I am done. I will call the doctor today and make an appointment to rid my life of your abuse.

Where will I go next? Who can tell? I just turned 34. I've still got a long road ahead of me. I've been told the snip-snip is the next logical step. But I know myself — I'm not ready to commit to a permanent relationship.

I just don’t want to have to think about this so hard.


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