I am sitting here, eyes burning, trying to write just to stay in the habit of writing. Yesterday was a very rough day. I was still recovering from the stomach bug, while at the same time starting to feel achy and yucky. We were also on a death watch for one of the guinea pigs, Leather. She ended up passing away while we were away at Bekah's party. Guinea pigs are interesting in that they don't like to pass away while they're around their friends. I have had multiple piggies who have held on until I've removed them from their cage. Upon being placed in a different environment, they pass away in short time. In any case, we have had two other piggies (Laverne and Shirley) pass away since we moved in. Cagney and Lacey are still with us. When Laverne passed last year, we told Jeremy that she went to help her grandma in South America. Brian and I decided that Jeremy was too young to deal with the subject of death. Our hope was that this simple explanation would serve to answer any questions he might have.
What we underestimated was his memory. A year later and Jeremy is still asking about Laverne. "Where did she go, Mommy," he'll ask me. He also asks me about the "white one," Shirley, who passed when he was only like 20 months old. I mean, really. So now I am anxious about him realizing that Leather is no longer with us. It would seem ludicrous to think that this sick grandma pig needs three girls to help her convalesce. The guinea pigs no longer have the cache that they used to. Frankly, I think that the girls are quite happy being left alone. The friendliest ones we had have now passed (Laverne and Leather). I am not feeling well enough to deal with this, so I'm hoping it will come up in a few days.
Bekah's party was a huge success. We paid more than we had expected, but Pump it Up really handled it so well. I knew I was still not feeling great when just seeing the kids jump up and down made me feel nauseated. As the evening progressed, my achy and tired feeling did, too. Luckily, I felt well enough to participate and it was just a treat and a hoot to see Bekah enjoy herself. Jeremy struggled, though. He wasn't happy that he didn't get any gifts and then threw a fit that I hadn't made him a goody bag. By God's grace, Billy forgot his so I was able to at least let him hold it. Again, though, he was a step ahead. He knew it wasn't his name written on the outside. My dad proved to be a big help in dealing with Jeremy's emotions. He was holding Jeremy at one point and told him that he could have his birthday party at Pump it Up. Jeremy responded, "yeah, and I will get birthday presents and Bekah won't be able to open any of them, hah hah hah." (The hah hah hah was in the style of an evil villain.)
When we got home, I really started feeling awful. I had the worst chills. I couldn't get warm to save my life. I took my temperature but had no fever. I slept fitfully through most of Mission: Impossible and awoke during Quantum of Solace. At that point, I took my temperature and it was up to 101. I was burning up, dizzy, the whole nine. I went in to nurse Doug and then came out, still feeling awful. My throat felt like I was swallowing knives. I finally got the fever to break, but then I was sweating like crazy and couldn't get comfortable. I slept even more fitfully and woke up feeling worse. I was able to find someone to watch Jeremy and Bekah, then headed off to the doctor. My temperature there was 103.8 (under the armpit, so add a degree to that). I texted Brian, asking him to come home.
I have not been able to get more than a couple of hours of sleep over the past 48 hours. I am sitting here, sweating. I can't manage to get comfortable anywhere. My stomach is churning from the antibiotics and ibuprofen. I wish that I could fast forward through this. The worst part is that it's likely I'll have to have my tonsils out. My doctor is concerned because I've had strep twice in the past six months.
While all of this has been happening, I'm mourning the death of my friend, 27-year-old Remi. She was found by her parents yesterday morning. There is an autopsy, but the reality is that it was an alcohol-related death. I am a member of a 12-step program, which is where I met her. I had known her for about 4 years. She was 100 pounds and nothing, a worrywart and a lover of McFlurrys. I have not completely processed her death. I am grateful for my sobriety. I am grateful that my parents didn't have to find me like that. I miss her sense of humor, her predilection for multiple types of mascara, her melodrama and her baking. I keep hoping that this is all a bad dream, that she is still holed up in her townhome in Mundelein. She loved to go to Goodwill with her mom. She gave me a bunch of magnets for Bekah and Jeremy to play with-they still play with them to this day. She was so beautiful and everyone loved her. I am sad that she died the way she did; I can't blame myself because she did have the solution but didn't apply it. I am not sure why some are taken so long before they should be.
All of this happening at once has been a lot to handle. I wish I could get comfortable enough to sleep, but I'm not sure that's going to happen. I am grateful for so much today and hopeful that the antibiotics will begin to do their work before too long.
Monday, January 30, 2012
Saturday, January 28, 2012
The 12th Hour
I had every intention of writing about my value as a SAHM relative to the cost of me staying at home. Unfortunately, I was struck with a violent stomach bug last night. I barely got any sleep because I was making multiple trips to the bathroom. Now it's like 16 hours until Bekah's birthday party and I'm cutting out Dora and Boots. I still have so much work to do, but I am sure that it will all be great. I wish the whole thing didn't cost so much money, but I love my baby girl. She is so excited about this party that I think her head may just explode. That is why I wear old clothes and never see movies in the theater at night; I want every single possible dollar to be put toward making Dora birthday parties happen. I will rant and rave about the system more tomorrow night. I have so much more cutting to do.....
Thursday, January 26, 2012
Home Bittersweet Home
I have been remiss for not blogging more frequently. I would like to thank my dad, my biggest cheerleader, for encouraging me to stick with it. I am blogging tonight because I have no other recourse and because my anxiety has been hitting all time highs.
Let me start by saying that we are not going to be able to pay the mortgage this month. We are already behind by two months. When the calendar turns over, we are in the red. The amount we are short every month is not something that can be remedied by cutting back on frivolities (we have very few as it is). We were incredibly blessed over the holiday season to receive several large financial gifts. They were instrumental in allowing us to register Jeremy and Bekah for preschool for the coming school year. Unfortunately, because we are in the red every month, it seems like the money gets tossed into a furnace to be burned upon impact. It's a shame, really. We are about to go through another medical procedure. Brian has a (benign) growth on his thyroid. It is putting pressure on his larynx and his trachea. This is not an elective procedure--his life could be in danger if he didn't have the surgery. So we are doing our best to prepare, but financially there's nothing set aside for it. We are going to be buried in an avalanche of bills after he is discharged. Mind you, every person involved in the surgery will send a separate bill. We will receive a bill from the hospital where the surgery is being performed. We will receive an obnoxious amount of mail and correspondence from everyone. They will send us a bill about every two weeks. Usually, I exaggerate. This is not one of those times. The flurry of bills and invoices and EOBs we have received over the past 4 years fills the entire bottom drawer of our filing cabinet.
When I say that we are not able to pay our mortgage, don't think that we don't have a desire to pay our mortgage. I have a strong desire, as does Brian, to meet our financial obligations. We receive phone calls daily from collection agencies asking us if we would like to pay our bills. We would (and I can't emphasize this enough) LOVE to pay our bills. Nothing would make us happier. It would thrill us to not have to just shrug as the bills come in. I received a letter today from my OB/GYN that they are dropping me as a patient because I've not paid. Probably the most humiliating thing that's happened thus far. I've never been dropped as a patient. I had to sit across the desk from the business manager of that office and explain to her that my family falls through the cracks. We don't qualify for any kind of financial assistance, we aren't eligible for any kind of government subsidies, we have no assets of value to sell to cover our expenses. She sat there, looking like I served her lemonade sans sugar, not believing that there was a person such as I. How could such an irresponsible person become pregnant? How could you think about having a child when you don't have $700 saved up and ready to hand over before your 20th week of pregnancy? How do you sleep at night knowing that you owe this office money?
The answers are, in order--at the time I became pregnant, the health insurance Brian's work offered covered more and cost less than it did just a few short months later; I just filed bankruptcy, through which I discovered I had no possessions of any value (and used the last of my retirement money to cover lawyer's fees and court costs); and I really don't sleep well at night, honestly. '
I feel judged by my mom about this whole thing. I have intimated to her that we are in arrears on our mortgage. I have told her our plan; if we are put into foreclosure, we will use the money we're not paying to Wells Fargo to pay off our van. This will give us enough money to then rent something down the road, when the sheriff comes to evict us. Her consistent comment has been, "well, you have to pay to live somewhere." Our intention is to stay in our home until the sheriff knocks on our door. If that's six months from now, eighteen months from now, whatever it is, we will be here. We will not budge. We have done nothing wrong. I hate the feeling of being judged. I hate the feeling of powerlessness I have over the entire situation.
My anxiety is high because there is an enormous amount of uncertainty about what's going to happen next. I have never been through this before. I hope and pray that someone intercedes with Wells Fargo on my family's behalf. I am not looking to live somewhere for free (as my mother seems to think); I simply think it would have been good to know that the house I bought was not worth anything near what I paid for it. I would have loved to have known that the lack of regulations on Wall Street would hit hardest those of us living on Main Street. If God wants to pay off our mortgage, he will. I know He's a God that can. I don't understand why this is happening. I feel like we've already handled more than our fair share of hardships. I don't want to leech off the system. I don't want to live in a communist state. I just want to feel like my husband's hard work actually is enough to cover the bills. I want him to have the opportunity to earn an amount of money that would cover our expenses.
This entire process is demoralizing and humiliating. If you've taken the time to read this and you're not in this situation, have empathy for those of us that are. Please don't give me platitudes and direct me to government web sites. I assure you, there is no help for families like us. I have applied for charity countless times, but even the amounts that are left over are too much for us to pay. I am finding that the food pantries are starting to feel the sustained strain of families like us visiting them every month. The best thing you can do for us is pray without ceasing. Pray for us on a daily basis, that our faith and belief would be broadened and deepened. Pray for our country's leaders, that they would allow God's wisdom to govern their decisions. Pray that God would deliver us from this hardship, if it is His will; if it's not, that He would lift us up throughout it. Pray that I will have the discipline to document this entire process, so that others can see what it's like to walk in our shoes. Pray that there is something on the other side of this that can be used for God's glory. For crying out loud, just pray.
Let me start by saying that we are not going to be able to pay the mortgage this month. We are already behind by two months. When the calendar turns over, we are in the red. The amount we are short every month is not something that can be remedied by cutting back on frivolities (we have very few as it is). We were incredibly blessed over the holiday season to receive several large financial gifts. They were instrumental in allowing us to register Jeremy and Bekah for preschool for the coming school year. Unfortunately, because we are in the red every month, it seems like the money gets tossed into a furnace to be burned upon impact. It's a shame, really. We are about to go through another medical procedure. Brian has a (benign) growth on his thyroid. It is putting pressure on his larynx and his trachea. This is not an elective procedure--his life could be in danger if he didn't have the surgery. So we are doing our best to prepare, but financially there's nothing set aside for it. We are going to be buried in an avalanche of bills after he is discharged. Mind you, every person involved in the surgery will send a separate bill. We will receive a bill from the hospital where the surgery is being performed. We will receive an obnoxious amount of mail and correspondence from everyone. They will send us a bill about every two weeks. Usually, I exaggerate. This is not one of those times. The flurry of bills and invoices and EOBs we have received over the past 4 years fills the entire bottom drawer of our filing cabinet.
When I say that we are not able to pay our mortgage, don't think that we don't have a desire to pay our mortgage. I have a strong desire, as does Brian, to meet our financial obligations. We receive phone calls daily from collection agencies asking us if we would like to pay our bills. We would (and I can't emphasize this enough) LOVE to pay our bills. Nothing would make us happier. It would thrill us to not have to just shrug as the bills come in. I received a letter today from my OB/GYN that they are dropping me as a patient because I've not paid. Probably the most humiliating thing that's happened thus far. I've never been dropped as a patient. I had to sit across the desk from the business manager of that office and explain to her that my family falls through the cracks. We don't qualify for any kind of financial assistance, we aren't eligible for any kind of government subsidies, we have no assets of value to sell to cover our expenses. She sat there, looking like I served her lemonade sans sugar, not believing that there was a person such as I. How could such an irresponsible person become pregnant? How could you think about having a child when you don't have $700 saved up and ready to hand over before your 20th week of pregnancy? How do you sleep at night knowing that you owe this office money?
The answers are, in order--at the time I became pregnant, the health insurance Brian's work offered covered more and cost less than it did just a few short months later; I just filed bankruptcy, through which I discovered I had no possessions of any value (and used the last of my retirement money to cover lawyer's fees and court costs); and I really don't sleep well at night, honestly. '
I feel judged by my mom about this whole thing. I have intimated to her that we are in arrears on our mortgage. I have told her our plan; if we are put into foreclosure, we will use the money we're not paying to Wells Fargo to pay off our van. This will give us enough money to then rent something down the road, when the sheriff comes to evict us. Her consistent comment has been, "well, you have to pay to live somewhere." Our intention is to stay in our home until the sheriff knocks on our door. If that's six months from now, eighteen months from now, whatever it is, we will be here. We will not budge. We have done nothing wrong. I hate the feeling of being judged. I hate the feeling of powerlessness I have over the entire situation.
My anxiety is high because there is an enormous amount of uncertainty about what's going to happen next. I have never been through this before. I hope and pray that someone intercedes with Wells Fargo on my family's behalf. I am not looking to live somewhere for free (as my mother seems to think); I simply think it would have been good to know that the house I bought was not worth anything near what I paid for it. I would have loved to have known that the lack of regulations on Wall Street would hit hardest those of us living on Main Street. If God wants to pay off our mortgage, he will. I know He's a God that can. I don't understand why this is happening. I feel like we've already handled more than our fair share of hardships. I don't want to leech off the system. I don't want to live in a communist state. I just want to feel like my husband's hard work actually is enough to cover the bills. I want him to have the opportunity to earn an amount of money that would cover our expenses.
This entire process is demoralizing and humiliating. If you've taken the time to read this and you're not in this situation, have empathy for those of us that are. Please don't give me platitudes and direct me to government web sites. I assure you, there is no help for families like us. I have applied for charity countless times, but even the amounts that are left over are too much for us to pay. I am finding that the food pantries are starting to feel the sustained strain of families like us visiting them every month. The best thing you can do for us is pray without ceasing. Pray for us on a daily basis, that our faith and belief would be broadened and deepened. Pray for our country's leaders, that they would allow God's wisdom to govern their decisions. Pray that God would deliver us from this hardship, if it is His will; if it's not, that He would lift us up throughout it. Pray that I will have the discipline to document this entire process, so that others can see what it's like to walk in our shoes. Pray that there is something on the other side of this that can be used for God's glory. For crying out loud, just pray.
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