Chronic Ama

Sometimes I wish I was an introvert. Maybe the pain of being alone a lot would turn to pleasure. I wouldn't need to schedule coffee dates because I wouldn't have this hole in my soul that can only be filled with the presence of others. I could easily pass off the last few years of having people as a phase. I'm an introvert now.  Grocery shopping panic attacks make sense because I'm an introvert now. I can pass that blame on to the pandemic maybe. I'll start getting comfortable with the fact that I am truly disabled now. I can't work or keep up with my own little business demands. It's ok, I was running out of energy lugging the same shit all over town. Also, I'm an introvert now. I'd rather not have to talk to people about what I make and why I make it. And be disappointed when they keep walking by, too turned off to even say hello. Introverts appreciate it that. We don't mind when people keep walking by. It's less stress to deal with in the ...

The voice in my head keeps yelling at me to write. He's like this annoying super fan at a kids basketball game, standing on the bleachers, yelling shit at an awfully high decibel. Yeah, I've given the voice in my head a gender for some very odd reason. Maybe it is just natural to think that way being as old as I am. Every time I finish a book, he gets up and yells, "why the hell did you put those huge nails on?! You know you can't type with those!" He totally forgot the part about telling me to write. So, I ignore the rude remark about my fabulous claws and sit down with my journal. I write about my day. as mundane as that sounds. It's so routine and lacks that voice that my fingers are so adept at portraying on a keyboard. What will people think reading that when I'm dead and gone? "No wonder she was bat shit crazy. She was bored out of her fucking mind." Life moves at varying paces that change daily and even sometimes by the hour. This past mon...

When the sun came in through the window, she opened her eyes and fell through the sunbeams. She fell through the floor and was left with gashes She fell through the tangle of twinkling lights Fell through the wrapping paper and tape Fell through the bows and stockings Tore through the ribbon and was left with gashes Fell through the stories of pain she heard Fell through her own pain and stopped to check her bleeding gashes She knew she couldn't fall any further.  She was buried and bleeding Until she got up and flew through the pain Flew up through the bloody mess of paper Ribbon and lights left behind Stockings and bows left bloody She flew Up from her bed to grab at the sunbeams Bright and cold  Sunbeams that fell on her gashes, pulling them shut Sunbeams fell on her face Fell on her naked breasts and blood-stained hair Fell onto her soul to lay her pain to sleep She was awake again and ready. Ready to just be. Dancing the day away until again she fell Fell asleep.

 My day was going like the typical mom day... fucking laundry, fucking dishes, not enough fucking coffee, and a kid at home on Thanksgiving break when I needed to cook pies and prep a turkey and find a little peace in the bottom of a large peppermint mocha cold brew.  Of course my kid was in the way. I bumped him on the head taking out my pie crust from the fridge (I use store bought, bitches, because, time.) I gave him a flat tire putting a dirty pan into the sink. He was constantly jumping up on me, hugging me and not letting go. I pictured myself as a football player, just trying to avoid the defense getting to the peppermint mocha col brew on the other side of the touchdown.  Man. It was barely 9am. Mind you, at the time I'm writing this, I have missed a therapy appointment totally by accident. Sorry, I was busy momming.  There's a person there, behind the offensive lineman I play in my head.  That person had a brilliant fucking idea! Kiddo wanted to help ma...

 It was a necessary evil, or whatever people call it. I had to get my COVID shot. My hip has been giving me serious grief, especially with the no rain, rainy weather we're having. So, it's getting injected again along with my SI joints, but I needed to get vaccinated first because all them pain relieving steroids tend to knock my immune system down like a bought boxer in a two round knock out. Although, I'm feeling like I walked into a bar fight and didn't walk out. My nose is so stuffed, I can't hear through my right ear. Funny how that shit works, eh? The best part of the first dose of the vaccine has been watching my teenager cry over a sore arm while I cough up boogers the size of mucous plugs. Yep. I went there (um, this is a mom blog. If it has to do with vaginas, I'll talk about it at some point in time). I'm not even going to touch on the post nasal drip that makes everything taste like I'm a toddler with a hardcore booger addiction that no 12 st...

Most adults have been through the grind of middle school. We often talk about how hard our jobs are or how much adulting sucks. But, I bet most can give you middle school horror stories. They should make a suspense movie about middle school. It would be more believable than the feel good Hulu specials we are inundated with to make kids feel alright. I kinda remember sixth grade. My teacher was Mrs. Kewin. She was amazing and kind and nurturing and our student council sponsor. I stayed in touch with her through high school. The last time I talked to her was over a pizza dinner at Mama's one evening when I was in college. Man, that's a real teacher. Someone that can stay in touch and whose name I will always remember.  Sixth grade was meh. I was in Catholic school with a class of 30, which included kids I had gone to kindergarten with. I think I hung out with Shannon, the only white girl in the class. She was petite with long blonde hair and her mother was the first grade...

 Hear me out here, we have a shower bucket.  Wait, that's not a fair place to start.  Let me rewind to February, the month that I usually start my garden. I've been gardening for about 4 years now and have gotten better at it over the years. (It honestly is great for quelling anxiety and getting my mind off whatever is bothering me at the moment!) This year, I planted more tomatoes, garlic, cilantro, basil, more red chiles, thyme, and some other shit that I can't even remember. You see, it's been a dry ass year and I've lost plenty of plant babies, including two of my coveted lavender starts, to the extreme heat that all us Arizonians should be used to by now. I got a little smart this year and made room on the patio for lots of things, but that wasn't enough. I was growing bored of trying to schedule what to water when and how to mourn the lost little green things and how to make a shade cloth impervious to the haboobs. (Not my boobs! Haboobs! Just google it al...

 I guess I was meant to open Blogger today and see the blog my daughter left for me last April, at the beginning of the pandemic. I must have had a flare up at the time. It was probably stress about the world being on fire.  That actually is a great opener for why I'm back. It's been on my mind so much lately to keep blogging about being a chronically ill mother. Mom is a tough job in itself, but there are so many more variations when it comes the Chronically Ill Mom job. I'll just take things day by day here and see where we end up at.  I've been feeling down today because I got a migraine yesterday morning that started with pain in my neck. I think my nerves have regenerated rather quickly following the ablation I had done in April. My migraines had started 2021 with an intensity only matched by my uncontrolled fibromyalgia flares. I had cervical medial lateral nerve ablations done starting at C3 and then going up and down to burn off all the nerves that were the culp...

Heyyy. Its Bella again.. I just wanted to check in and leave a lil message for my one and only mother. I just wanted to say how much I love her and support her. Today was a bit rough so I wanted to tell her how strong she is. I know she loses confidence in herself sometimes but I would never.You just have to keep going mommy and never forget we will always be by your side. When you fall we'll pick you right back up. I know somedays are hard for you but just keep your head up even if you have to stay in bed all day. I know you love to be out and about but sometimes its okay to not be okay. You know I hate that phrase personally. That's just my opinion though. I have so many mixed feelings about literally everything so that may explain it. But anyways yeah. Wow.. the last time I wrote one of these I was in like 6th grade. Time flies. Well not really I'm in seventh grade this year. That adds on to what I was saying.. I also wanted to thank you for all you've done during th...

I've been thinking about writing this for too long. I've started putting it down in my physical journal, but it didn't feel right just yet. I still don't think it feel right. It's too surreal and fresh out of my TV screen, But it happened. We had had enough and needed to get away. I flipped through listings for cabins up on the mountain, but decided that the cold really wasn't a good idea for either of us. I texted my mom and jokingly asked if she would pay for us to go to Vegas. No, but she would watch the kids. Was it doable? Could we really make it to Vegas? I remembered years back I had booked a hotel in Vegas for my parents as a birthday gift to my mom. It was very reasonable. I did it. I found a hotel suite with a hot tub in it for a reasonable price. I picked dates during Spring Break since the kids would be out of school and mom wouldn't have to shuffle them there and back for the three days we'd be gone. Six am on St Patricks Day came ...

I read an article recently about "unicorn moms." No, really. Someone wrote that shit. Because some twit out there thinks I want to be compared to a horse with a horn growing out of its fucking head. OK, I'll bite the click bait because I'm curious if a mom with a subcutaneous hunk of keratin protruding form her fucking forehead is anything like the one with the giant cystic zit on her chin from all the stress in her life. Unicorn moms drink and curse and don't care of their precious little brat gets a skinned knee once in a while. Oh Em Gee! So fucking eye opening, right? Why is there such a pretentious desire to squeeze women who have popped out a little crotch demon into these ridiculous categories. Fuck it, I want to be an asshole mom. Does that make it any better? No it doesn't. Here's why. Today I rocked the fuck outta my khaki linen plazzo pants from Old Navy, clean hair for the week, and my messenger bag with a giant fucking goat head pentag...

Good morning. I hope you had a pleasant morning. Me, I got to pour my coffee and look up to see the tears my daughter held back in her eyes. I got to see the pain streaked red across her face. I got to hear the heartache as she angrily told us she didn't sleep last night. Yesterday I got to hear all about the other girls that yelled at my daughter to drop the fight against her bully. I watched my daughter's shoulders slump as she said she had no choice but to yell back. I think her heart is switching the sadness to anger. My heart is breaking. I have raised both my kids to be loving and accepting of people. I'm raising mixed race kids in a technology driven world and that used to be scary to me, but we've delved in. We celebrate inclusive love in this house. Both kids know that they can grow up to love anyone. We celebrate culture with friends that have grown up differently or even in different countries. I attended a dinner in not the so distant past where the ho...

As a woman, I am well aware that health is often measured by that nasty little digital number on the top of my scale. It is insanely hard to change that idea since we are inundated with that measurement at every turn. I remember my primary care doctor having me sign a document that had my height, weight, and BMI on it along with information about how I was overweight and at risk for diabetes, even though my bloodwork had always showed my blood sugar as being on the low side of the normal range. I remember when I was dealing with all the issues and symptoms that go along with having Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome and having my OBGYN at the time tell me that I needed to not worry about how I'd get diabetes, I needed to worry about when because for one, it ran in my family, and for two, I had insulin resistance which usually goes hand and hand with PCOS. I remember the first time I stepped into my GI doctor's office. The older gentleman had more than a few extra pounds around his mid...

Today was the perfect overcast spring day for an adventure. I'm beginning to want to explore again. I have all these ideas and a growing destination list that begins right around the corner. I better get started, so here's my take on a little afternoon adventure before the summer hear set in.  We started the day at Mercado San Agustin, mostly because we were hungry and partly because I had been craving something from Seis Kitchen. Breakfast tacos are an odd concept to me, but my mouth watered as the chorizo and sriracha hit my palate. I cleaned my plate and washed down the spicy goodness with an icy jamaica, which I hadn't had for a long time. It's my favorite, even over horchata. Jamaica is a Mexican drink, or agua fresca, made with hibiscus flowers. It's dark pink and sweet and refreshing. Full bellies called for some walking. I finally got to visit the MSA Annex, up the block from Mercado San Agustin. It's a trendy little outdoor shopping and dining ...

Man, I just gotta love when I feel the need to record some of my musings and then this lovely blogger program eats all my words and refuses to spit them back out.  I was reflecting on the face that I feel complete for the first time in a weeks. I feel like I can let go and just be happy and content. There are no lingering tasks at hand like sorting out looming finances or making sure the fridge is full again and we're not out of toothpaste. The kitchen is clean and dishes are put away and I'm not even worried about the upcoming lunch, snack and dinner messes. Laundry isn't piled up taller than my youngest and the cat box no longer is emitting cartoonish green essences into the air. My garden is not dead. The pool still has water. There are no overdue library books hidden in the depths of a child's sanctuary.  I have allowed myself some time to be pulled out of the mundane daily world and, in sharp contrast, put into the world I love. The one that never ceases t...

I'm afraid of moving forward, which is exactly why I do it every day. I think that's what drives our nostalgia and love of the past. It has to be fear of the future with a nod to our own existential debate. Often internal, and more often lived out each day. I wonder why I'm here a lot lately. I wonder why I keep going. I keep writing waiting to find some sort of epiphany, that one idea to make everything right, to make everything ok. I keep writing to find that connection, the thing I'm going to love doing, the person that says I made a difference for them, the end to my worries. I lay here in bed thinking of all the things I want to do for myself. I'd love to get a hair cut that didn't involve 5 minutes in my bathroom with a plastic trash can and a pair of hair shears that came with an electric trimmer as a bonus. The idea of a beautiful hair cut and maybe even some color is so distant to me. I could really use a massage, but time eludes me when I have...

About an hour and a half drive from midtown Tucson is indeed a summer haven for those brutal Tucson summer temps. At the top of Mount Lemmon lies the town of Summerhaven. With temperatures at least 20 degrees cooler, hiking trails and restaurants, it's the perfect summer day trip for locals and visitors. We had the perfect day trip in July, during monsoon season. We got to Summerhaven early enough to enjoy a short hike on the trail at the end of Turkey Run, aptly named for the wild turkeys roaming around in the early morning and calling out through the day. We stopped to photograph a fairy garden and leave our own momentos for other passerbys to enjoy. It was at least 25 degrees cooler than down in Tucson, which was a nice break from the dry heat. After building up an appetite, we walked to the Cookie Cabin for a carb fuelled lunch of giant pizzas, decadent oversized cookies and calzones that took an extra while longer to arrive. Waiting outside at a picnic tabl...

The unbearably hard pull out bed was my constant reminder of all the times he did this for me. The lack of sleep I was already familiar with. My son said it smelled too much like hospital. I guess that's the only way yo describe this place.  We officially started Mark's Bionic Back Journey on the morning of June 3rd. It was a Monday. The Monday-est Monday that ever Monday-ed. No, really. Who the hell wants to start off their week with a large incision into their lower back to fuse to vertebrae together? I sure as shit don't wanna. I think two C-sections, a hysterectomy and a plethora of other surgeries have been a sufficient quota.  How did we get here? Well, around January 2018, Mark threw his back out (my husband, for those of you not totally in the know). It was actually a normal occurrence in his life (and mine too, I guess). I can recall plenty of times I've had to help him into the tub or out of a chair because said back was thrown out. This time was ...

Lately I'm super drawn to all these "mom" shows and I had no clue why. Then it hit me tonight while watching the new Christina Applegate Netflix joint. I like that I'm part of this eclectic generation of moms. You know the metal head moms, the goth moms, the crafty moms, the wine moms, the soccer moms, the working moms, the stay home moms, the 5k running moms, the love to bake moms, career moms, and every and all combos of such groupings. We are so far removed from wearing pearls to vacuum, but some of us still do and that's pretty cool too. Let's just leave all those wierd Jell-o dishes alone and reorganize our "ain't fucking cooking tonight" menus.  I like that moms are into having mom friends. You know, that other mom you can text about needing to hit that parent teacher conference with a shot of Baileys in your iced coffee. Not because your kid is being a jerk or because the teacher is reminiscent of a turn of the century school marm, bu...

We caught the rain on the way back from Phoenix this afternoon. It was the usual day trip to see my pelvic pain and surgery specialist. This visit was far from usual. I caught myself wanting to pull over or, at the very least, stick my head out the car window and feel the cold hard rain wet my hair and pelt my carefully painted face. I wanted to physically wash away the worry and stress that came with these trips. I wanted just to feel the world around me from this new perspective. I have no where to go but up now. It may be that I have reached the pivotal point in my health where I may be in the clear from the recurrence of endo. The bleeding lesions may never appear again. I truly wish this to be with a degree of foreseeable certainty, but I'll take the large chance I now have of never seeing this brutal disease grow inside me again. And that small sliver of uncertainty and doubt can go in the trash. Really. I don't need that doubt. I need the clarity. I'm moving on f...