Sami's surgery was this morning, and after checking into the hospital at six a.m., they took her in around 7:15. I was a nervous wreck, and not in the mood for any of the stupid shit from anyone I have to deal with regularly. Since this is going to be an old-fashioned and well-deserved rant, I caution you to read at your own risk. My ex-husband and Sami's father, in short, gets on every nerve I have at exactly the same time; there is a good reason why we're divorced, and it's not because we communicate beautifully. I won't droll on about this because it's pointless, but the Reader's Digest version of our history is: we split up, he remarried and had other kids almost instantly, and then pretty much decided that making babies is a lot easier than caring for them in a meaningful way. Don't misunderstand me, he loves them and his heart is in the right place - it's his brain that needs some serious help. He has been content for the past TWELVE years to let me do every single thing - often with no financial support from his end - to care for our daughter: I feed her, clothe her, provide a nice place to live, a great school, love and support, and a generally healthy environment in which she thrives. He can't even get a place that allows her to have a bedroom in it, and he spends a paltry couple of hours per month with her and lets his wife and other two kids do most of the family time interaction with her. Sami loves her stepmother and they have a lovely relationship, which I fully support, and I have also accepted the fact that Jeff will never be the father I want him to be and I am basically in this alone. I figured that out when she was about five. So when it came time for this big-time surgery and the decision-making, suddenly he's interested and wants to be involved in everything. Fuck that. You don't get to choose when you're going to be a parent; it's an often thankless job that doesn't grant sick time, days off, paid holidays, or options. Of course I get that he loves her and is concerned, but for him that translates into us suddenly being parents together and he thinks I give a rat's ass about his opinions, which I don't. I hate that he shows up and wants to be the hero; fuck that. He hovers over my shoulder, stares at me, and is basically my audience for every single emotion. In short, I don't want him around me, and I certainly don't want to talk to him or seek comfort from him - he couldn't comfort me when we were married, and I'll be fucked silly if he's going to try to make up for it now. I guess this story isn't as "Reader's Digest" as I'd hoped, but I'm on a roll here.
So here's an example of what I mean: Sami is about to be wheeled out to surgery, I can't go with her any further and she starts to cry; I keep it light, tell her it's okay to cry, make jokes about how many beanie babies I can buy her before she wakes up, etc. I can cry five minutes from now and all day if I want to, but she doesn't need to see it. She needs strength and reassurance, and anyone who knows her at all would know that. So what does Jeff do? He gets this teary-eyed expression, gets all maudlin and shit, and acts as if she's being sent to her funeral. Grrr... what's worse is that after this moment passes, I want to burst into tears, but he's watching me the whole time, like he's my audience or something, and this continued throughout the day. Then he wanted to talk about it! I said, point blank that I had no interest whatsoever in a conversation and retreated to the bathroom to cry for a while. I know that most of the people in my life count on me to be level-headed, capable, strong, and considerate of others' feelings - often to the point that my own are neglected. However, today should have been about Sami and ME secondarily, and all pleasantries and accommodation are off the radar at the moment, right? No feelings were spared today, and few were left untouched by my wrath, and goddammit, I deserve a day like that. How can I possibly give a rat's fucking ass about how my EX-husband is feeling when my baby is being cut and mangled in some hospital wing, scared and alone? Whoever doesn't understand that can fuck off as far as I'm concerned. I don't see where any expectation of sanity or manners on my part falls to me. I expect a wide berth and a free pass to be unreasonable; it's enough that I'm not in a straightjacket.
Which brings me to the best part of my day, in which I managed to discover the hard way that I'm allergic to Aleve. After taking it for my excruciating headache, I had an allergy attack, walked across the street to the pharmacy to get some Benadryl, and by the time I got back - even after taking the medicine - was completely broken out in hives, wheezing, coughing, covered in red splotches, my lips swollen, and I nearly passed out in the emergency room whilst checking in. I then got to enjoy their hospitality for the following three hours, in which they gave me an unholy amount of intravenous drugs including epinephrine, solumedrol, benadryl, and some other fucking thing. The best part was that the first round didn't entirely work, so they gave me more. All in all, it's what I imagine a speedball to be like; I'm tired and sleepy and lethargic while my mind is racing, I have tremors, and I can barely blink my eyes, let alone sleep. I then had to obtain a prescription for more steroids, which I now have to take for the next five days, and the drug makes me feel like I drank a pot of coffee. Woo hoo.
The saga continues anon...
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