I love the rain. I truly do. But not so much the metaphorical rain. You know, when it’s life that keeps dumping down on you and your mouth it already covered and the water is creeping ever closer to your nose. That’s about what it has felt like around here lately. So I’d like to just take a moment to say “Ugh!”
It’s not that there has been any huge thing, just a combination of too many small and medium-sized things. Zach’s car had a leak in it, which we discovered when the weather switched from “oddly-long-summer” to “monsoon” and there was suddenly a swimming pool where the front passenger’s feet should go. We managed to find the source of the leak and, because we are too poor to care about things like how pretty our car is, we bought a tube of caulk, gummed it up and thought “Phew. Done.” Ha. As if. Apparently there is another leak. Somewhere in the vicinity of the sunroof, although we have yet to be able to determine the exact spot. So now it is the driver’s side that gets soaked and we can hear water gurgling and moving in the roof of the car. In other words, it doesn’t sound like a cheap fix.
Then there is Zach’s knee. It has been hurting him for about a month now and he finally got it checked out. After an MRI we know he has a complex tear to his meniscus and will need surgery. So we’re in the process of trying to find a surgeon we like and get him on the schedule ASAP. (You know, before we have a newborn).
It is also time for my “VBAC” appointment. This is the appointment where I go meet with some OB/GYN I’ve never met before and have them give me “permission” to give birth to my baby. They tell me what they think my odds of a successful vaginal delivery are (with Eleanor they gave me 70%) and make me sign a form stating that I realize my baby might die because I want to give birth to it the natural, least-complicated, least associated with actual risks to baby, most associated with actual benefits for both mom and baby, way. It is degrading, unnecessary (in my opinion), and emotionally difficult, not to mention costing us more money. Yet I have to do it if I want my family practice doc to be able to deliver our baby (her insurance won’t cover her if I haven’t been “approved” by a surgeon). So anyway, we just had this really fun, beautiful, extremely detailed ultrasound done of the baby, prior to making this appointment. Then they tried to tell me that I would need another ultrasound at their facility (note: this is all the same medical system, just different campuses where the ultrasound machine and the OB are located) because supposedly their machine is better quality. I pulled the “I’m a nurse, it was high enough quality, don’t give me that crap” card and scheduled the appointment anyway. So next week I go in and meet this doctor and have to hope that he isn’t going to be the egotistical type who is upset that I wouldn’t jump through all his hoops and therefore won’t sign off on my VBAC. Because, quite frankly, we can’t afford another ultrasound.
Did I mention the PTSD nightmares about the c-section have come back?
Between Zach’s knee appointments, my OB check-ups, the girls’ yearly check-ups and appointments just for flu shots which always seem to become available just after all our yearly check-ups, it feels like we are living at the doctors’ offices. Heaping all these things on top of the usual crazy schedule of work, school, and me still feeling crappy with this pregnancy and Zach having to pick up my slack all the time means we are all just feeling stretched to the limit. Every little thing with a “due date” – no matter how insignificant – feels like another brick loaded on. The library books have to be back by tomorrow? That’s it. I quit. Throw in the towel.
Thanks for letting me vent, internet. It’s cheaper than therapy. Now if only I could have wine while pregnant, I’d feel 80% better…