Living in the Pacific Northwest comes with a certain challenge -surviving the 9 1/2 months of torrential sideways rain, soggy ground, dirty cars, filthy floors and stained pants. Given that three out of the five above are centered around cleanliness, you can imagine how bat$hit crazy I get during the winter months here. Not to mention the fact that when you have a six year old son that has a lot of energy, having 9 1/2 months of crappy weather poses another challenge - how to make sure your child has a way to get his energy out somewhere (note: having shopping cart races at the neighborhood Target, while definitely fun, is not a good idea - it took a lot of fake tears and pleading - from the mom - to be allowed back there again).
With the endless gray and bleak days stretching out ahead of me, I decided to talk to my doctor about going on an anti-depressant just to get me through the season. She prescribed me Wellbutrin. It worked wonderfully - I felt better, my tone was lowered to a shrill instead of a shriek, and I actually began to enjoy my days a bit more. The only downside is that it caused a bit of insomnia but hey, Ambien works well for that.
Things were going great until a few weeks ago when I ran into what I like to call "woman issues" (not your typical monthly problems, more severe and more painful. The kind of medical thing that your husband flies back from China early for). Anyway, in addition to a few other things, the doctor prescribed me Vicodin for pain relief. I could finally stand up, walk, shower and sleep without pain - brilliant!
Unfortunately, two days ago I ran into this website called drugs.com. In addition to being riddled with anxiety and OCD, I am also a hypochondriac. On a regular basis I am convinced I might be dying, therefore, if you searched my web browsing history you would see WebMD, various symptom-checker websites, and potential risk factors for any given diseases. Last February I had my doctor give me an EKG because I thought I had a heart attack (in my defense, it WAS heart health awareness month for women). Thank god I have a patient doctor - well, she's either patient or loves the money she gets for my visits. Anyway, I find this drugs.com and (after accepting some waiving of my rights) I plug in all the medications I currently am on and...holy $hit Batman, this is not good. There are glaring red warning signs all over the page. My heart rate skyrockets, I feel light-headed, and my left arm goes numb (am I having another heart attack?). I scan the list and guess what? The major interaction is NOT from Vicodin and Ambien (or Vicodin and Xanax, which I have on hand for my fear of flying or fear of the moms of the kids in my son's school), it's from my Wellbutrin and Vicodin. The risk is...lowered threshold for seizures. Seizures? Like my eyes bug out and roll back in my head and I choke to death on my tongue? So the maintenance drug I take for seasonal depression could cause my death?
I spent three hours last night after being on this site getting my affairs in order. I was convinced I would die in my sleep but finally went to bed around 3am. Then, I had an appointment today with my doctor and she confirmed that yes, Wellbutrin does lower the seizure threshold but there is still only a .001% chance in 1000 people. I wasn't buying it.
So I'm going off the Wellbutrin. Not only because I'm convinced I am just special enough to qualify for that .001% chance of a seizure (because I AM that amazing), but also because I know the warmer and sunnier days are approaching. I would rather be able to live without physical pain than have to travel with my own defibrillator and personal assistant trained to use it.
My only concern now is that one of the warnings on the Vicodin bottle is to "use care when operating heavy machinery"...does that mean I can't apply for the forklift driving position at Home Depot? Or maybe not even take a spin on my dad's riding lawn mower in a few weeks? Because I live for operating heavy machinery and if that's taken away from me, I just don't know what I will do.
*Update: after much thought I've decided that the forklift position will most definitely not work. However, I think taking a spin on the riding lawn mower (or go-kart) is still in the cards. I can't do much damage on 1/2 an acre anyway...
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Saturday, May 1, 2010
"I Don't Get To Go When I Need To Go"
Oh, the joys of being a parent of a grade-schooler. Kindergarten was a mess and a complete waste of time. Two hours a day, five days a week. What can you really do with twenty kids in two hours? Short answer: nothing. The highlight of the year was when Connor threw a chair and when prompted to tell the teacher why he did it, he responded with, "Because Spongebob told me to".
First grade has proven to be challenging as well. Mrs. Smith (not her real name, that would be too normal and too cute for her) and I have VERY different takes on life. Mrs. Smith lives in a 900 square foot studio apartment with her husband and son. I also have to note that this studio has no doors or walls (I wonder how much the therapy bill will be for her son as he gets older). She also told the children last week on Earth Day that they should not eat red meat because doing so creates carbon dioxide which could take away all the oxygen we have and might create the end of the world. Connor definitely understands carbon dioxide so of course this caused him to spin into a panic attack later that night when I served ground beef tacos for dinner. He was convinced that he could possibly cause the end of the world and that would mean the Blazers would definitely not make it far in the playoffs. No six year old should have that burden on his shoulders (and I'm glad he was more concerned with guys making absurd amounts of money then with the safety of his immediate family).
I definitely believe that everyone is entitled to their own opinions, lifestyle choices and moral takes on life - for instance, I shared with Mrs. Smith during the Valentine's Day party how I recycle every day - I take the plastic Target bags, scoop the kitty-roca from the litter box in them, tie them up and toss them in the trash. I was disappointed by the look on her face, it was almost one of horror when I thought she would be proud. I really want to ask her if she takes prescription meds to help her deal with the anxiety she must feel when she looks at the school parking lot on any given day stuffed with vans and SUVs, the trunks loaded with massive amounts of food from Costco and bags full of overpriced produce from Whole Foods, and children dressed in expensive designer jeans. While I am not guilty of all of those offenses, I think it's safe to say that I am the walking example of her worst nightmare and she probably calls me "Lucifer" behind my back.
Our latest throwdown happened over bathroom privileges. Just typing "bathroom privileges" makes me wince - since when is relieving yourself a privilege? Anyway, Connor informed me that he missed his afternoon recess last week because he went to the bathroom after lunch. Since Mrs. Smith has taken to not returning my phone calls or emails, I decided to "just drop in" after school to the classroom to calmly discuss the bathroom issue. I told her the story I had heard while thinking deep down that she will surely have a rational explanation for what happened. Maybe Connor threw a chair again or maybe he decided after he returned from the bathroom that it would be a great idea to throw a dance party on the desks. In reality, she completely agreed with the story and added the clarification that if children use the bathroom earlier than thirty minutes after lunch they lose their afternoon recess. Dumbfounded, I asked her what her motivation for this was and she replied with, "Well I don't get to go when I need to go - I have to wait until my breaks, so why shouldn't they?" I didn't dive into the fact that these are KIDS and therefore their bladders are much smaller than adults. I also wanted to ask her how many accidents she's had in class and which is worse, allowing kids to go when they need to go or mopping up pee and dealing with a mortified student? Instead, I said, "If you are looking for sympathy and understanding from 6 and 7 year olds, good luck. They don't care or understand. They are more concerned with snacktime and recess, not when you can take your potty breaks".
Until this point I had assumed Connor was still waiting down the hall, out of earshot. I was wrong. Just when I finished my heated response to Mrs. Smith, Connor appeared beside me and dropped this bomb of knowledge, "You know Mrs. Smith, when you have to use the bathroom it's like your body's way of taking out it's trash. If you don't go when you need to go you can get an infection and get sick. Would you keep a full trash can in your garage? Of course not".
Next time I go toe-to-toe with Mrs. Smith I'm sending Connor in first. I'll be Robin to his Batman. He summed up everything I wanted to say in a calm and fact-based statement. A beautiful ending to a frustrating situation.
First grade has proven to be challenging as well. Mrs. Smith (not her real name, that would be too normal and too cute for her) and I have VERY different takes on life. Mrs. Smith lives in a 900 square foot studio apartment with her husband and son. I also have to note that this studio has no doors or walls (I wonder how much the therapy bill will be for her son as he gets older). She also told the children last week on Earth Day that they should not eat red meat because doing so creates carbon dioxide which could take away all the oxygen we have and might create the end of the world. Connor definitely understands carbon dioxide so of course this caused him to spin into a panic attack later that night when I served ground beef tacos for dinner. He was convinced that he could possibly cause the end of the world and that would mean the Blazers would definitely not make it far in the playoffs. No six year old should have that burden on his shoulders (and I'm glad he was more concerned with guys making absurd amounts of money then with the safety of his immediate family).
I definitely believe that everyone is entitled to their own opinions, lifestyle choices and moral takes on life - for instance, I shared with Mrs. Smith during the Valentine's Day party how I recycle every day - I take the plastic Target bags, scoop the kitty-roca from the litter box in them, tie them up and toss them in the trash. I was disappointed by the look on her face, it was almost one of horror when I thought she would be proud. I really want to ask her if she takes prescription meds to help her deal with the anxiety she must feel when she looks at the school parking lot on any given day stuffed with vans and SUVs, the trunks loaded with massive amounts of food from Costco and bags full of overpriced produce from Whole Foods, and children dressed in expensive designer jeans. While I am not guilty of all of those offenses, I think it's safe to say that I am the walking example of her worst nightmare and she probably calls me "Lucifer" behind my back.
Our latest throwdown happened over bathroom privileges. Just typing "bathroom privileges" makes me wince - since when is relieving yourself a privilege? Anyway, Connor informed me that he missed his afternoon recess last week because he went to the bathroom after lunch. Since Mrs. Smith has taken to not returning my phone calls or emails, I decided to "just drop in" after school to the classroom to calmly discuss the bathroom issue. I told her the story I had heard while thinking deep down that she will surely have a rational explanation for what happened. Maybe Connor threw a chair again or maybe he decided after he returned from the bathroom that it would be a great idea to throw a dance party on the desks. In reality, she completely agreed with the story and added the clarification that if children use the bathroom earlier than thirty minutes after lunch they lose their afternoon recess. Dumbfounded, I asked her what her motivation for this was and she replied with, "Well I don't get to go when I need to go - I have to wait until my breaks, so why shouldn't they?" I didn't dive into the fact that these are KIDS and therefore their bladders are much smaller than adults. I also wanted to ask her how many accidents she's had in class and which is worse, allowing kids to go when they need to go or mopping up pee and dealing with a mortified student? Instead, I said, "If you are looking for sympathy and understanding from 6 and 7 year olds, good luck. They don't care or understand. They are more concerned with snacktime and recess, not when you can take your potty breaks".
Until this point I had assumed Connor was still waiting down the hall, out of earshot. I was wrong. Just when I finished my heated response to Mrs. Smith, Connor appeared beside me and dropped this bomb of knowledge, "You know Mrs. Smith, when you have to use the bathroom it's like your body's way of taking out it's trash. If you don't go when you need to go you can get an infection and get sick. Would you keep a full trash can in your garage? Of course not".
Next time I go toe-to-toe with Mrs. Smith I'm sending Connor in first. I'll be Robin to his Batman. He summed up everything I wanted to say in a calm and fact-based statement. A beautiful ending to a frustrating situation.
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