Depression and Shopping

Dear friends,

I haven’t really felt in the mood to write lately.

I have been fairly down in the dumps.

This morning Hope said,  “Mom, why don’t you ever get up in the morning anymore like you used to?”

Even she can tell I have very little energy.  It’s hard getting up.

And painful to walk.

So when I get depressed, I go shopping.  I did well on Friday.

Two pairs of shoes (low, flat, shiny, black Birkenstocks) and one pair of open-toed black shoes for when I am able to walk better.  I want to wear something different to church other than my running shoes.  My hips were hurting for over a week and my oncologist has set up an appointment for me to have a bone scan on Tuesday.  I’m hoping my hips hurt because I was walking more.  They don’t feel to bad today.

I also bought two purses.  One to go with the Birkenstocks and the other, a tiny one to just carry stuff from my wallet.  I had to down-size considerably because I can’t stand carrying my heavy purse/wallet anymore.  Hmmm… what else did I buy?

Two t-shirts.

Oh yeah, and I went to Pottery Barn and I saw a beautiful boys bunk-bed.  It was the floor model and on half price.  Frack has wanted a bunk bed ever since his sister got one.  The store clerk said it wouldn’t last on sale long (they just put in on sale the night before and she was sure it would be gone by Saturday).  I phoned Bobo at work to ask him what he thought and he said go for it.  So I did.  He said he would pay for it, which made me feel even better.

When I got back to the store, the clerk said someone else was eying it and it was a good thing I came back for it before it was too late.  So Frack’s room is almost complete.  I just have to get Bobo to put up his curtains and he has the cutest little room ever.

Recently I went to a funeral.  My Godmother’s husband passed away of cancer.  He suffered considerably as it spread.  He ended up at the Hospital near my house.  He had cancer in five of his bones in his spine (T3, 5, 7, 9, etc).  They decided to do 5 days of radiation encompassing all of the affected areas.   It killed him.  He couldn’t swallow after the 2nd treatment.  It was very sad.  He was a very sweet, kind, and caring man and it was very hard on his family.

I went to church this evening.  Bowed my head so low I didn’t even look at the priest during communion.  I did rat him out though to the chief priest of the parish who said he was going to send him to a class about appropriate ways to deal with people with disabilities or something like that.

In choir we have been practicing singing songs for this up-coming Easter.  When I look at Jesus nailed to the cross, I figured he suffered considerably given the fact that there was no drugs given to him.  I consider myself lucky.  I’ve got two rods and four screws in my back, but I still have my oxycocet!

P.S.   I have bad news for Reema. My radiation doctor’s secretary has been searching for Dr. Alomar but she can’t find him.  She said she thinks he’s gone back to his country (wherever that may be), but she will keep looking for him and keep me updated it she finds him.



Trouble With The Priest

When I was little, I never walked straight.  People who walked with me would eventually end up on the curb on one side of the street, change places with me and end up on the other side of the street.  This would continue until we got to our destination.  I also had poor posture, which didn’t get better as I aged.  My heavy purse, which was always strung across my right shoulder, didn’t help.  And what really ruined my posture was when I had my left breast removed as it shifted my weight considerably, again on the right side.

However, after my painful spine surgery, I, for once in my life had the best posture ever.  My back is so straight.  I feel so tall.  I am taller than my sisters, and I have to say, I was pretty smug on Saturday when I went to pick up my kids from Chinese Math school, because I felt like a towering giant in comparisons to all the little people out there.  Life seemed good. But not for long.

I was relatively happy about my new, straight posture, until I went to church on Sunday and got yelled at by the priest.

Yes, that’s right.

During receiving the host, no less.

I was mortified.

The story goes like this.

I went to receive the Eucharist and while in line, was momentary distracted (because I was searching for my daughter who was an alter server).  Usually I can’t see her because the choir sits on one side of a huge organ, and she sits on the other.  So I made eye contact with her and she smiled.  Unfortunately, it was my turn to receive the host and I guess I didn’t get close enough to the priest who yelled, “COME CLOSER”.  I immediately took a step closer.  I guess I didn’t look humble enough or something because then he shouted, “BEND YOUR SHOULDERS”.

Shocked and embarrassed, I did what I was told.  “Oh crap,” I thought, “I’m going to need one of those Oxycontin pills after this”.

And I did, just as soon as I got home.

So much for good posture.

So much for staying away from those pills.

I am destined to become a drug addict.

All because of a priest.

Next week I’ll be taking 2 pills before communion.



My Number is NOT a FAX Machine…and other Aggravating Phone Calls

I watched a program on The Fifth Estate re: Oxycocet and have decided that I don’t want to live the life of a drug addict and am now never going to take Oxycocet again.  However, I am still in pain and am extremely agitated.  Not sure if it’s because of the pain or because I’m suffering from withdrawal.  Ask my husband and my kids about my mood swings, let me tell you.

I am going stir crazy sitting in this house and answering the freakin phone.  Yesterday some stupid twit called Chantelle Ung phoned me 18 times to fax me something.  Beep,  beep, beep, in my ear every time I picked up the phone.  So why didn’t I let it go on voice mail…. because then I would have to waste more valuable time erasing it from my phone messages.

So as I am trying in vain to get some sleep (due to sleep deprivation because of taking Frack to the hospital),  the phone kept ringing every 3 minutes to fax me.  You would think after 3 times that the door knob would check the number to make sure it was done right.  But nooooo.  She had to phone me 15 more times.  I really couldn’t believe it, and yes I was keeping track in my head because I had nothing better to do.  Finally, it stopped… only until the next afternoon when I decided to put my little head on my pillow to rest.  Then she phoned me 9 more times.  I had really had enough and phoned Bell Canada to get them to make her stop.  They told me that for a fee of $10.75, they could put a call block for that number.  I told them I would like her telephone number so I could call her 27 times.  Unfortunately, they could not help me.  But apparently I could call the cops and tell them someone was harassing me, and that wouldn’t cost me anything.

I told them there was no way I was going to pay Bell Canada  $10.75 for someone else’s stupidity and hung up.

So then I went on the computer (411 directory) and typed in “Chantelle Ung”.  There are 17 C. Ungs in Canada.  Only two in Toronto.  I figured I would find her.  So I phoned the first one and told them that if Chantelle Ung is trying to fax something, she has the wrong number.  I had a lengthy discussion with a chinese guy who told me that his wife Chantelle does not have a fax machine and he was sorry that I was sick and kept getting annoyed by the constant telephone calls.

C. Ung number 2 wasn’t at home… but I could leave a message if I wanted to.   But I refrained.

Shortly thereafter, I got another call.  The air duct cleaning guy, of course.

I will never win.

However, the next one that phones… I have it all planned.

You see, the air duct cleaning guys,  they have a script that they read off of and I am onto them.

Good afternoon.  How are you today?

Usually, I say, “I’m Okay”.

And they say, “That’s good to hear” before they begin their blurb about cleaning your air ducts.

I usually tell them I have radiators and they leave me alone.

However, the next time anyone selling something (even if it’s not air duct cleaning) asks me how I am, I’m  going to say, “I have stage 4 cancer and I’m dying”, just because I really want to see if he replies,  “That’s good to hear” from his script.

I’ll let you know what happens.

You see, you see what happens when you are stuck at home and you can’t drive anywhere.

You go mental.

Damn the next guy who calls.

Oh wait.

You know what is great about having caller ID on my phone.

I have Chantelle’s fax number twenty-seven times.

It’s (416) 750-7702.

Maybe I should get all of my friends to fax her.

Maybe I should figure out how to use Twitter, so she can have thousands of people call her for nothing

Just a thought.

Time for bed.


Sick Kids = Whiney Momma

Sick kids = Whiney Momma, Pre-Made food, and a House-keeper

I have had a hell of last 2 weeks.  First Frick got sick and was home for a week, then Frack was sick this week (and I ended up having to take him to the hospital Monday at 12:30 in the morning because he had a temperature of 104; and despite 5 doses of Tylenol, it wouldn’t go down).  You know what it’s like having whiney kids at home when you yourself are not up to snuff?  Drive ya nuts, that’s what.

Last week…..

Decided I didn’t want to cook anymore and ordered over $200 in pre-made food from a company called Today’s Menu.

Shoved it all in the freezer and anytime I want a meal…Voila1  The hell with whiney kids, it’s whiney momma now.

And I’m not cleaning either.  I can’t sweep or do anything productive because of my back so I  got me a house-keeper too.


Not Willing to Give Up My Job For Cancer

Yesterday I spent the evening bawling because LTD contacted me and told me that they won’t be hassling me for a year.  I was under the impression that I just lost my job at my school because I was told I had to go back to work by June 12.  So I cried and cried and cried.  I wasn’t ready to give up my job for cancer.

But today, things are better.

I phoned the surgeons office and questioned them as to how long it was going to take me to recuperate.  The head nurse, recognized my name.  “Yeah”, it’s me…” I told her… The Screamer”.  “Oh yeah, I remember you.  You were the one with all the muscle spasms” she replied.  “Yes, that would be me”,  I told her.

She told me it takes at least 6 weeks to deal with the pain and about 3 months to feel more normal.  And there would also be the fatigue factor due to the radiation.  Then I thought, “Good, maybe I can get my act together and get back to school for that June 12th deadline.”

“So what am I suppose to do about the strings hanging out of my back?”, I asked her.  “You can go to your family doctor and get them cut off”.  I’d rather get my sister to cut them off for me.  I’m not exactly in a hurry to see any more doctors any time soon.

“Can I now take a bath?”, I asked.  “Yes”, she answered, “Please tell me you have been at least showering occasionally”.  “Are you kidding me?”,  I cried, “Do you have any idea how smelly I would be if I didn’t”.  She laughed and told me that you wouldn’t believe how many people don’t because they are afraid they will get an infection.  Yuck.

Then I phoned the union, but they were in a big meeting re: Sick leave days that the government wants to claw back.  Each teacher stands to loose about $50,000 when they retire if that happens.  The government should just get rid of the EQAO tests and save themselves $90 million.

I should be in power.

And what is this crap about only having 6 sick days a year.  How will people bank up 180 days for LTD?  Young teachers would be on welfare if they ever got sick and had to wait an entire school year to get some money.

I’m going to have to learn to inject my own needles in my stomach because I won’t be able to afford taking one day a month off (I’ll need 10 during the school year) to go to the hospital for my shots.  Won’t be able to afford to get sick either.  Thank heavens for the days I’ve already banked, but apparently I can’t use them.

Anyway, my union rep. T.L. called me back this afternoon and told me that as long as I have seniority (and there is only one person, at my school who has more than me), then they have to keep my position open for me for whenever I get back.

Boy that made my day.  However, I still don’t want to say anything to Anna yet because I know that she will be placing teachers in positions for next year soon, and as I will probably be coming back at some point in the next school year, I don’t want her think I won’t be back.  So no one say anything!  Got it!