"Me Time"

After waking up early with BabyBoy, making him breakfast, and playing for a couple hours, Hubby crawled out of bed.  We took the boy to the zoo for a run in the crappy weather (That sounds like we're taking the dog to the off-leash park, which is kind of exactly how it is).  After the zoo visit, we got some lunch, and I put him down for his nap.

I emptied the dishwasher, setting out bottles, sippy cups, and child plates to air dry, loaded the dirty dishes in, and asked for some "me time" to go to a craft fair at Seattle Center.  A particular vendor was there, and I wanted to take advantage of the show discount to stock up on soap for the shower.  Hubby agreed, and went downstairs to take a nap while BabyBoy slept.

After the craft show, I was walking back to my car in the rain.  I saw an older lady, skipping hand in hand with a young girl who was wearing and elaborate feathered mardi gras mask and a tutu.  They were skipping right through the cross walk, in the pouring down rain.  I wished that my eyes were a camera so I could save that image to share here.  Unfortunately, I can't translate an image from my head to the computer, so this will have to capture the mood.

My first thought was "sometimes I wish I had a little girl", my next thought was "I hope I can still skip when I have a grandchild."  Lastly, I thought "I want to skip with my son in the rain." 

Frivolous part of "me time" was done, so I made the practical trip to the grocery store.  Milk, Toilet paper, food for dinner, and a few other staples for the house were all on the list.  When I got to the checkout stand, I handed the checker my bags.  I had an Oscar the Grouch bag, and a Thomas and Friends bag that happened to be in my car, so that's what I brought in with me. Apparently, I was also wearing my "please poke fun at me" face.  The checker inclined his head toward my bags of groceries and said "You don't get out much, do you?".  He was right, I don't.  I laughed a little ruefully and said "What was your first clue?"  He said "We don't get a lot of Thomas bags on Lower Queen Anne."

When I got home, the dishwasher had finished it's cycle, and the sink was full of dirty dishes.  There was a bag of garbage blocking the door to get into the house, so I took it out to the garbage cans before I could get in, put away the groceries, unload the dishwasher and put the dirty dishes into the machine for the next load.  Hubby and BabyBoy were in the living room, sitting in the middle of a pile of toys, and watching "How to Train Your Dragon" for the third time in 24 hours.  All nice thoughts from 90 minutes to myself were completely washed out of my head by internal grumbling about delayed chores.

I want to skip in the rain, holding hands with my son.  I'm going to hold onto that for tonight.

My pipe dream....

I want a day off, in a hotel, with a huge bathtub. I want a day where there is no laundry, no dishes, no diapers, no ant infestation, and nothing to do but sleep in a huge bed.

Laundry opinion poll

Let's pretend you're doing laundry, which is to say you are sometimes washing dirty clothes, and sometimes drying wet clothes, which you then THROW ON THE FLOOR IN A PILE, mostly because you want to see if your spouses threat of having her "head explode if you don't stop throwing the clean fucking clothes on a pile in the floor" is actually true.

Ok, so, yeah. Doing laundry. And you're folding some laundry because it gives you an excuse to avoid coming upstairs and engaging with the little person who is screaming "BEANS PWEEEEEEEEASE!" at the top of his lungs and kicking the wall while sobbing his angry sobs.

Right. Folding laundry. Then you come across a sock that has no pair. Do you set the sock aside so you have a shot of making a pair when the next load comes out of the dryer? Or throw the now clean sock back into the dirty clothes hamper?


It never ends. Tomorrow is Remicade infusion day and I'm looking forward to it. Not because of the relief that Remicade brings for a few weeks to the arthritis symptoms, but because of the lovely, drugged sleep the IV Benadryl, which keeps my blood pressure from spiking and blowing a hole out my eyeball during the treatment, brings.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad. Fueled by coffee.

Location:NW 87th St,Seattle,United States

Who'd you fuck to get this job, anyway?

I work in an industry that is predominantly, heavily, overwhelmingly white and male.  Although the face of the people actually MAKING the games has started to change, the common (incorrect) perception is that women in games fall into one of two categories - Marketing or Artist, with a strong skepticism around ability.  As a former Quality Assurance lead and current producer, I've been asked (more than once), "So, who'd you fuck to get this job, anyway?"

My answer is pretty consistent.  It starts with a level, unblinking stare.  "I didn't get here on my back.  And it would you serve you well to remember that for future conversations.  I'm smarter than you know, I have an incredibly long memory, and a low tolerance for people who make assumptions.  Did you have any other questions?"

Success is a hard thing to judge.  I've never wanted to be the talking head behind a podium at industry events.  I don't want to be on the cover of Game Developer Magazine.  I never use the words "Rock-Star" as a preface to my own introduction.  In the Internet meme "Which Muppet are you?" I scored as Scooter.  I'm the competent one behind the curtain, making sure everything gets done.  I'm the Liz Lemon of 30 Rock - all work, no credit, dealing with the Tracy Jordan's of the games industry.  I'm the ego fluffer, the hand holder, the mom that makes sure people eat, the sound of applause, and sometimes I'm the one that says "Gimme a fucking break.  Pull your head out of your ass and get back to work."

In games, the natural path to production is to start in Quality Assurance.  QA is the Ozona, Texas of the games industry.  An armpit that smells bad, wide spot on the map, where your car breaks down on the long drive across I-10, a place you want to get out of as soon as you can.  A place that has an even LOWER ratio of men to women than "real game production".  I worked really hard in QA.  No one helped me out, other than believing that someone with real testing experience would mean more to the team than yet another person who 'just loves playing games'.  That was my lucky break.

Not an actual QA tester - but not far off.

From that point forward, it's been me using my head and paying my dues.  I mixed hard work, passion and pizazz with a refusal to give up.  I became very astute at seeing when the end was nigh, and I left positions before I EVER got laid off, I worked insane hours, traveled the world, and never said "no" - instead I presented options, "That's technically possible, however we will sacrifice x, y and z to accomplish that.  Are you OK with those trade offs?  No?  OK, let's stick with the original plan."

I've never, EVER forgotten that I am one of the lucky ones.  It's very much a sense of "there but for the grace of God go I".  Particularly in Seattle, a town with a high homeless and unemployment rate.    When I throw in a realization of my medical issues, I am constantly grateful that I have a job, I have insurance, and I have a home.  I look at my medical bills and I KNOW that I am two out-of-pocket treatments away from ruin.   I think about the choices I've made, and the turns that life has taken, and I'm glad that I've had the freedom to make the decisions that were right for my life at the time.  One of the most frightening things to me about the thought of Mitt Romney as President is the idea that there is a feasible future without choice in store for so many Americans.


It wouldn't be a rumination from me without a song quote.

Blame it on the television, blame it on the company;  
Don't blame it on the fundamental fact that no one owes you something.  
"I've come about my share, I only want what's fair.  
Anyone who knows me knows that I'm not greedy.  
Like everybody else, I wanna pay my dues.  
(I only want someone to tell me who to make the check out to.)" 
 - "Pike St./Park Slope" Harvey Danger

I don't really tag myself as liberal or conservative, democrat or republican - I think those words have evolved so far from their original purpose and definition that they're not accurate any more.  But I know I want to live in a country where people have a chance to work hard, to realize dreams, and where a misstep or a setback is not the end of their participation in a productive society.  I think of family members who gave time out of their lives to the military, and some who gave their lives to the military.  I don't always agree with what their assignments were, but I am proud that they would be willing to serve.  I want to help build a country where a persons need for basic (and not-so basic) medical care is separated from their ability to pay for medical care.  I want to work in an industry where gender is not an automatic flag that the only way you could be doing the job you have is because you slept with someone to get there.  I want to be treated fairly, paid equally, and doing my part to support the country that's made it all possible.

Rapidly fraying rope

I am at the end of a rapidly fraying rope - it's the one that connects to my deep inner core of strength, and it's not going to hold up.

Monday was MRI day, Tuesday included rhuematologist, infusion therapy, gyn annual visit and chemo drugs. The infusion or the chemo either one would knock me on my ass for 1-2 days separately. The two together have not been treating me well. Today included work panic, primary care visit, and a new ankle brace, all while fighting the urge to throw up in a corner before finding a quiet place to lay down.

I put z to bed around 7:45, and he went down easily, except his reactive airway cough started acting up. Two coughs, 10-15 seconds, 2 coughs, lather, rinse, repeat. I woke him up to give him an albuterol inhaler, which made him very upset. We lay him back down and gave it an hour, no change. SO we got dressed and went to children's hospital.

It's not asthma, his lungs are totally clear and his pulse oxygen levels are strong. He's just.... Coughing. We're under instructions to give him two puffs of inhaler every 4 hours for the next 24 hours. Gotta stay awake until 2 to give him that dose. And here's pro tip #3, it is impossible to give a child an inhaled medication without waking the child.

I want my boy to be feeling better, number one priority. But I sure would like to have the luxury of taking the kind of care of myself that I need to shake the treatment hangover.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad. Fueled by coffee.

Contraindications land.

** Post cleaned up a bit, it was written while heavily medicated. **

To my male readers - girl troubles discussed.  Feel free to skip this one.

I have a variety of health challenges. I much prefer this phrase to a have a lot of health issues.

I have psoriatic arthritis
Irregular/heavy/painful menses
A slowly healing broken ankle
Depression
Asthma

Days like today frustrate and exhaust me. The treatments seem counterproductive to each other, and I'm certain the doctors are not talking to each other. I'm a PERSON with a life, not a medical record number. I need to get that through to them. While the treatment plan may sound like a fine medical experiment, I've got someone depending in me to make the right, semi-informed choices so I can take care of him.

And they're all interrelated and co-depend at on each other. For example, I went to my primary care last week to find out why a 12 week old ankle injury still hurts like it just happened. He sent me off for an MRI, which showed multiple fractures in various stages of healing, repetitive tendon injury and swelling. I already knew all of those things. I also known theirs not much we can do except put the time into letting that heal. (I am also thankful the answer is not "reconstructive surgery".)

Today at the rheumatologist, she reminded me that the primary drug, Remicade, is a TNF blocker and will slow healing, coupled with weekly self administered of methotrexate (a chemo drug used to severely suppress your immune system so other medication can work more effectively) which puts my immune system into a state of remission, so it can't speed up healing. She renewed my prescription of prednisone for swelling and pain and also reminded me that methotrexate can cause out-of-cycle sloughing of the uterine lining, so I may see some break through bleeding. She was adamant. Prednisone for swelling and pain, methotrexate weekly.  Both of those drugs will impact the problems with my menstrual cycle.

I them went for my Remicade infusion, which is coupled with a beautiful 50 mg dose of Benadryl right onto a very effective port-a-Cath, which runs the line into my brachial artery on the left side of the chest. I never count backwards from 20 any lower than 12 before I go sleepy. Today I had my eyes closed at 14.

Between the Remicade infusion and GYN appointment, I went to sleep in my car for an hour. It was warm and cozy, but I couldn't really get to sleep because the wheezing and coughing had started.  My most common side effect from Remicade is a wheezing cough that often times deepens into bronchitis. Tomorrow I check in wih my primary care to find out if my swollen lymph nodes and painful ears are just an infection, and to start monitoring the cough.

The next appointment today was with the GYN. I've been bleeding non-stop since May, with VERY heavy "normal periods" (Normal in the fact that the bad weks are once every 28 days).  Back in May, I discovered my IUD had moved and was in the wrong spot, which started the non-stop bleeding.  That IUD was replaced with a different brand, and it's just been getting worse.  Two periods ago landed me in the emergency room because the heaviness of bleeding and severeness of cramps made me thing I was having a miscarriage. I wasn't,  It was just a side effect from the non-hormonal type IUD that she inserted after having two previous failures with the preferred brand.   Talking with her about other meds, she was adamant "no methotrexate! No prednisone!" We scheduled for a mammogram and switching back to the mirena IUD for ONE LAST CHANCE. If this doesn't work, we explore surgical options. Her confidence is higher than mine. This will be my 4th IUD insertion in less than a year. Maybe I'm just built funny in there.  We also talked about birth control methods - my goals are pretty simple.  1) If I bleed at all, I'd like to have normal 3-5 day periods on a 28 day cycle 2) I do not want to have any more kids.

I also suggested that rheumatologist and gyn get together and talk out a plan for me. It's exactly the reason why I'm in a multiple-speciality, one chart system. Hell, they could invite the hematologist that is following me for anemia (iron) and pernicious anemia (vitamin D) and my primary care, just to make a party out of the whole thing.  I'd bring the cookies!

I realized a long time ago, I am my only advocate, medically. But in a world where I'm living with chronic pain and a debilitating disease that is sucking away my ability to pay attention sometimes, it sure would be nice to think someone has my back.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad. Fueled by coffee

Parenting Pro tip #2

Not to toot my own horn, but I figure I have to have said at least one insightful thing about parenting at this point. I'll be damned if I can tell you what that ONE THING is, but I believe it's out there.

Tonight, I'm going to share pro tip #2. This falls firmly in the category of laundry - it's not just for moms! Dads can do laundry, too! Are you ready for it?

When you take something out of the dryer, fold it and put it in a place where it will get put away in a timely manner. This might be in a laundry basket, on the bed, or even neatly stacked on the dryer to be carried upstairs the next time you go. Laundry takes a lot less time when you don't let the half-ass attempts pile up to the point of being a fucking disaster.

You will thank me for this, for a couple reasons. 1) nobody likes doing laundry. Showing that you're not just paying lip service to "helping around the house" by actually FINISHING a chore goes a long ways. 2) you will likely not find your wife dead on the laundry room floor, where her brain exploded from a aneurism that could not take the sudden blood pressure spike when she realizes that even though it was your morning to take care of the squid, she BELIEVED YOU when you said you had some stuff to do around the house, like laundry, so couldn't SHE just take the baby with her to the grocery store, violating the only consistent me-time she's had in the last 22 months. (Pro-tip #3: doing the household grocery shopping while the baby (and you) naps is not "me-time" for mommy. You are not fooling anyone, you selfish wanker.)

Three loads of laundry picked up off the floor, folded and put away. Another load done, folded and put away, with one more neatly stacked for morning. An essential load in the dryer (loveys, blankets and clothes for the week at daycare) to fold in the morning, with a load of towels washing away, and one more in the queue just waiting to be finished. Who knows how may additional pro-tips about parenting I'll come up with while faced with the drudgery.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad. Fueled by coffee.