Neglectful

I have been very neglectful of this blog--shame on me. My apologies to my reader(s).

Yesterday I visited my last place of employment (has it really been two years since I held a job?!). The managers I worked under were both present and they barely recognized me. In the past year I have started wearing glasses, cut my hair short and lost 40 pounds, so they both did a bit of a double take when I greeted them by name upon entering the store. We had a pleasant visit and I purchased a few items before leaving with a smile on my face.

I have worked with some lovely women over the years, and I am grateful for that. I'm even more grateful to be a housewife. I'm sure I'll have to get a job again someday, but for now I am happy to leave the hustle and bustle to someone else.

Happy New Year.

Tits

I had a mammogram at the beginning of June, and a week later I got a phone call telling me I needed another one. Just a precaution, she said. When I asked for details she told me I needed to ask my doctor. Fuck.

The doctor’s office called me before I even had a chance to call them (which was nice) but they couldn’t give me any details either. There was just an area that looked different than my previous mammogram. Better to be safe and have a closer look.

I had to wait a week for the second mammogram, which I had today. I had a spot compression mammogram, which focuses on the area of the breast in question, not the entire breast. It hurts like a bugger, too!

The radiologist looked at it immediately after it was taken, and reported that it was a non-issue. The mammography technician explained that my breast tissue is dense and just needed a little extra compression to get a clear picture. Once a clear picture was available, the radiologist confirmed that it was normal, healthy breast tissue. Good news.

Then why am I so pissed off?!

I’m pissed off because I wonder if the first mammogram was done incorrectly. How would I even go about questioning the imaging center about the experience level of the first mammography technician I encountered?

I’m pissed off because I think there should be different standard for routine annual mammograms when the woman has dense breast tissue. There should be a way to avoid the need for a second mammogram and a way to avoid the waiting period. Not knowing if your body is trying to kill you is hellacious!

If the first technician had the ability to do spot compressions during the same appointment, I wouldn’t have spent a week trying not to freak out. I wouldn’t have spent a week wondering if I should warn my family that there was a potentially life-threatening health issue looming in my immediate future. I wouldn’t have spent a week wondering if my next appointment would end with me having to decide whether to have my breasts removed!

There has to be a better way.

Painful

Why is the anniversary of my son’s death so painful? It’s not as though I haven’t been missing him every minute of every day for the past five years; and yet I still find myself a blubbery mess on the actual anniversary. Am I subconsciously allowing myself to feel things I normally try to suppress (without much success) other days?

Whatever the reason, I haven’t left the house in two days and I keep breaking out in tears. Time does not heal all wounds, and whoever propagates that lie should be slapped.

Pass the Kleenex.

Reason

Since my son’s death, I have needed to come up with daily reasons to continue living. At first, it was terribly difficult. I was in so much pain and I could see no end in sight. I asked myself why I would want to continue such a painful and futile existence. I decided that I wanted to feel the pain and suffer his loss; my son deserved to be mourned and I wasn’t going to take the easy way out and end it all.

Once that phase began to wane, I found little things to select as reasons to go on living…seeing the sun rise, walking in the moonlight, petting the cat, seeing my husband’s smile…these things gave me something to focus on to get through the many hours that were without joy.

It is going on four years since my son died, and I still use this method to get through the days, weeks, months and years without him. Yes, it has gotten easier to remember him fondly and lovingly, and the intense pain I felt early on has subsided, but it will never be easy. There are daily reminders that something special is missing from my life. But there are small daily joys to hold onto.

Those small joys continue to sustain me.

House Hunting Blues

In the past week, I’ve been out with my real estate agent three times and have visited about a dozen homes. Add to that the home listings that I’ve waded through online to come up with just those twelve, and I’ve considered a shit load of houses this week.

There was one home that I could definitely see myself living in, so I decided to make an offer. My agent called the seller’s agent who said they had an offer on the property already. Her reply was to keep us in mind if the current offer didn’t work out. This is how civilized real estate negotiations are handled, but the seller’s agent wasn’t too keen on playing by the rules. He immediately said he would refuse the current offer if we could beat it by X amount. I said I could and my agent had a verbal acceptance of my offer within minutes. We began discussing the offer contract but the seller’s agent called back and said I needed to add another several thousand dollars to the price in order to get the house.

Wait a minute! He had just accepted my offer, and moments later wanted more money. Sorry, I’m not going to have my chain yanked. Either honor the offer you accepted a few minutes ago or go away. So, he went away.

First thing the next morning, the seller’s agent called and said the original offer I made was good enough, so I got together with my agent and put the offer in writing. We only gave the seller 24 hours to respond, thinking that the shorter the time-frame was the less time he and his agent had to try to find a higher bidder.

Twenty-four hours came and went and I still hadn’t heard from my agent. After 30 hours I broke down and called her. She had heard from the seller’s agent who said he needed until the next morning to finish his end of the paperwork, so we should expect an acceptance by morning. That turned out to be almost 48 hours, which was too long. This morning my agent called and said the seller had a higher offer on the table and it was almost 10 percent higher than my offer. Consider my chain yanked once again.

I know exactly how far I can stretch our budget to afford a home; my husband and I are not wealthy people but we live a nice, upper-middle class existence. To have some stranger tempt me with a home in my price range only to try to get me involved in a bidding war is infuriating! I steamed for a few minutes, brooded for an hour and then hit the MLS search again.

Better luck next week.

Interlopers

I’m going to start answering the door with a gun in my hands. Twice in the past week, my day has been interrupted by some random person ringing my door bell and saying “I’m not here to sell you anything”; which means they are totally here to sell me something.

I live in a gated community, and yet these maggots manage to get in and annoy the residents of my complex. Okay, mainly they annoy me but I’m sure they annoy others as well. There is a sign at the gate saying No Trespassing, No Soliciting. When I point this out to the interlopers at my door they just smile and shrug.

I think if I were to answer the door with, (Insert sound of racking the slide here) “Can I help you?” I wouldn’t have to say anything more.

Maybe next time.