It's been a rough week or so here, and honestly, I haven't felt like doing much except lay in bed or on the couch. I still don't, if I'm being totally honest. But I'm forcing myself to leave the Danni shaped imprint to bounce back for a bit and at least attempt to do a few small things.
This post is going to be a bummer. But, I've often found letting stuff out instead of holding it in is tremendously helpful. So I'll go ahead and hope that'll be the case this time, though I doubt it will take away this damned stomach bug that's been plaguing me so I can stop being queasy all the time.
It all started Wednesday night when Joe came home from showing a visiting coworker around town and grabbing dinner with him at a restaurant we've been to a few times. See, the husband rarely ever gets sick, so when he came home complaining of gas pains and being pale and sweaty it was an indicator that something was wrong. Given that he'd felt fine earlier and had only started to feel ill after dinner, we figured it was food poisoning. He spent the next 24 hours (which just so happened to be his birthday) in a state of misery with my forcing him to keep drinking liquids to stay hydrated.
During this time, my sister and I had been texting back and forth for a bit. Things had gotten quiet for a little while, which isn't unusual because neither one of us is a chatty Cathy. But the next message I got was a bad one... our mom was on the way to the hospital with severe chest pains and a numb arm. I knew immediately that she was having a heart attack but didn't want to scare my sister more than she already was, so I told her to go to the hospital and keep me posted. I lied to her and told her I wasn't worried. Then I laid on the couch with my sick husband and just sobbed.
Periodic texts came in, letting me know she was stable and they were going to keep her overnight for observation. Then more news of her having to be transferred to a larger hospital for further testing the following morning. Everyone keeps telling me that being stressed out while pregnant is bad, that I shouldn't do it, that worrying could hurt the baby so I tried to hold it all in but ended up being worried about worrying.
The next day Joe is still sick. I get news that the doctors confirmed that mom had indeed had a heart attack and would be getting tests to determine what caused it. My mom, in typical my mom fashion, keeps telling me she's fine and nothing major happened and she feels great. The shit she always does when something serious is going on because she doesn't want to worry any of us. Luckily, my sister keeps me informed as to what's actually going on so I can't invent anything worse than reality in my own head. Having a vivid imagination is a double edged sword.
The weekend comes and Joe is finally starting to feel a little bit better but still not totally like himself. I'm still thinking it was food poisoning and his body is just reacting poorly to the inability to keep anything in for a few days. Mom gets to go home; she has had 2 heart attacks in the last month and was diagnosed with coronary artery disease. Her arteries are weak and there is some plaque built up in them. She now has to be on a lifetime regiment of numerous, very expensive, pills and like me, she hates being medicated. She also has to basically change her entire life in order to hopefully prevent further, more severe heart attacks. They say mules are stubborn, well, those mules haven't met my mother. Changing will be hard, to say the least, but she tells me she's going to try her level best to do what she has to in order to see her grand kids grow up. So, I'm hopeful.
I do some digging, because the internet is a bad thing sometimes, and read on several sites that the disease can be hereditary. So, I harp on my siblings to make similar changes to their lifestyles too; no more smoking, no more shitty bad for you foods, no more excessive caffeine or alcohol intake. In my family I'm both the weirdo and the nag.
Sunday comes around and there's a bright break in my otherwise gloomy week. My sister and several friends all wish me a Happy Mother's Day - my very first ever. Joe cooked me scratch made waffles and took me Downtown to the annual giant art festival despite still not feeling entirely well. The heat got to us and we went home, where I promptly dozed off on the couch with a massive headache and a queasy belly. At dinner time neither one of us felt up to eating the steak we were planning to cook up for dinner and feasted on soup instead. He gifted me with a perfect necklace which I won't share here because it's lovely and the rest of this isn't.
Monday morning, I started my day with projectile vomiting. I wasn't able to even keep down water. Guess Joe didn't have food poisoning after all, though he never vomited. Tuesday I decide to err on the side of caution and see the doctor since I'm pregnant and fluids are important. By the time I get there I'm capable of keeping small sips of water down, so they give me a prescription to help with nausea and tell me since it's a virus, it basically has to run its course. Which is what I expected. So, I keep to the couch with my water and ginger ale and the occasional cracker once I got brave enough to start trying for solids again.
Yesterday I was able to hold down some soup. And Joe told me his boss said he can only have 2 weeks of vacation when the baby comes, not the 3 we had planned on. I want to punch him. Not Joe, to be clear. Sure, FMLA says he can take up to 12 weeks unpaid with no repercussions, but I don't know that they have to allow you to use vacation or PTO if you so choose and quite frankly... we can't afford to lose a week's pay. I'm hungry, feverish and very, very angry. I don't even acknowledge the Full Moon. I just go to bed, head pounding and belly churning.
It's been a very long week. There were thunderstorms early this morning, big raging beasts of things with howling winds that shook the house. And there was rain earlier. The first decent amount of it we've gotten in weeks, though not enough to revive the scorched Earth that is my backyard these days. It's already passed and it's annoyingly sunny and humid again. Where the fuck are our Springtime rains?
Tomorrow, hopefully, I'll wake up and feel better. And can start from a better place. One with real food in my belly and no bad news.
That'd be swell.