Ridiculous

Guys, it’s been a roller coaster. So, bullet points:

  • Mr. MLACS saw the Cardiologist after his “episode” and Cardiologist surprised him by saying he is now a good candidate for the ablasion surgery!
  • Mr. MLACS has lost over 100lbs this year, but still needs to lose 57lbs to get under 40% BMI for his height, so we thought he was disqualified from any procedures until he lost more weight. *side note: the BMI chart is stupid*
  • Mr. MLACS accepted a job up North, so we are moving. He HATES his job here and his old company made him a good offer, and we decided to go for it.
  • After Cardiologist said ablasion surgery was a “go” pending his discussion with his colleague, Mr. MLACS decided he wanted to do it before we move up North. He was SO excited at the prospect!
  • Mr. MLACS became panicked from stress at his current job and the stress of waiting for the *official* job offer. He was having heart palpitations and said it was similar to what was happening prior to his last “episode” (defibrillation). So I packed up my kid in her jammies and my pregnant self and took him to the ER at 8pm on a Wednesday in monsoon rains. They said he’s fine. I asked him to work from home for the next 2 days so he could calm down.
  • Friday we saw Cardiologist again, anticipating scheduling the ablasion…
  • Cardiologist says his colleague reviewed his case and said he’s not a candidate for ablasion surgery. Ever. Due to what happened during his initial cardiac arrest.
  • So the Cardiologist has been pushing Mr. MLACS to lose weight for this ablasion for *a year*, never bothered to consult about it, and then CRUSHES Mr. MLACS by telling him it’s not even an option.
  • Oh and instead, Cardiologist puts him on a new med (Amitriptyline)  with serious potential side effects to help his arrythmias.
  • And *then* Cardiologist says “You really must lose that 57lbs because the way you are going you are going to need something (like an LVAT) before you’re 50. Even though none of your tests show no abnormalities, the fact that you’re being defibrillated every 6 months indicates there is something wrong.”
  • Mr. MLACS starts crying while I sit there numb, in disbelief. And Cardiologist backpedals trying to make it seem not so bad.
  • I try to comfort Mr. MLACS after we leave. But it’s hard because it does not feel like things are going to be ok. Ever.
  • I bottle it up and morbid anxiety-induced visions of the future plague me for the next several days. Visions of my little girls grieving because he dies, because they find him dead or he dies right in front of them, or of him becoming disabled/incapacitated.
  • I throw myself into trying to figure out this move. It’s overwhelming.
  • After I found a house I like, it is revealed that we cannot buy a house because Mr. MLACS’s federal student loans are in default–he didn’t even know and I found out from a mortage broker. I’m livid because I’ve been checking with him periodically and emphasizing that he MUST keep them in good standing or they can and will garnish his wages and it will ruin his credit. He blew me off and also never bothered to check his credit report. I hate being right sometimes.
  • So then he tells me his choices are to pay $1100/mo for 9 months to get the loans out of default/collections (and I assume keep paying $1100/mo) *or* pay $50k in a lump sum.
  • I don’t want to bring my baby home to a rental house in March. I don’t want to move again. I’m f*cking exhausted at the thought of it. I don’t want to “waste” money on rent.
  • I have the money from my inheritance, but my own federal student loans are in default. Why should I pledge my/our nest egg for his mistake? True, he gave me $333/mo for 5 years to pay off $21k private student loans while I was a SAHM…and he was a total dick about it. He yelled at me “Well I paid your loans!” But what he’s asking is not fair or equal. And the fact that he is demanding it when he made me grovel is the definition of irony.
  • I am really sick of him. Sick of worrying about his heart because he ignored my pleas for him to quit smoking and lose weight and now the damage is done. Sick of him acting like I should use my finite inheritance money as income. Sick that he thinks he’s entitled to it for his student loan f*ck up–this hypocrite lectures me any time I spend too much at Target. Sick that I have to move out of my dream house and drive my 7 months pregnant ass and my kids north for 3-4 days *through the snow in January* to live in a rental home, so Mr. MLACS can have a job he likes–but there’s only a 2-3 year contract so if he stays with the company we have to move again. And again. And again. Or settle somewhere without him. I’m sick that even though he’ll be making $2k more per month he tried to tell me I had to pay $1100/mo for his student loans. And this is in addition to A LOT of other stuff I’ve been paying for, like preschool and dance classes and clothes and lawncare and date nights and all my bills–this is from my inheritance money, I don’t work outside the home. I’ve vowed not to use any of the rental income as personal income for awhile (it stays in the business account) because it’s not consistent and I need to invest in repairs b/c some of the houses are in shambles. But all of a sudden he treats me like a bank. My Dad died. My Grandma died. And even though he’s been supporting us for years he is acting broke.
  • I wish I didn’t have this money (well actually I *do* appreciate being financially secure) because Mr. MLACS is greedy about money–it has always been a thing with him. And me getting this inheritance makes him act like Ebineezer Scrooge, whereas we were in a good place before that.. after years of him being a dick about it, berating and degrading me when finances got tight even though it was NEVER because *I* was financially irresponsible.
  • And now he has f*cked up financially BIG time several times this year alone, and he expects me to dismiss it, without him taking full accountabilty, offering sincere apologies, or giving an explanation of how he intends to do better. Nope, he just wants to sweep it under the rug.
  • Oh and then use my inheritance to fix it because I’m over here “freeloading” as a wife and mother.
  • I found a house to rent up North, since we can’t buy, and I had us fill out credit and background checks last night. This morning I get a call from prospective landlord asking to explain *the 2016 eviction*. I’m like “You must be mistaken”. But no, apparently Mr. MLACS cosigned a lease for his mother before he met me…we have been estranged from her since BG was born nearly 4 years ago. She’s a horrible person and Mr. MLACS was the family scapegoat. Well, now we have to get a lawyer to fight *her* eviction on his record. I explained everything to potential landlord and gave proof that we were not living in that state and in fact have an excellent reference ftom the property management company we were *actually* renting from. But it’s a mess.
  • I own several rental properties and I have money, but I can’t buy a f*cking house. Now I can’t even rent one. This is ridiculous.
  • Did I mention BG has been sick for the last several days and I haven’t gotten any sleep and she is needy and whiney and wants to be on me like velcro 24/7? I have no space to think or breathe. I am low on energy. And then today I’m having back spasms and my uterus felt tight.
  • I called Mr. MLACS crying and I found it insulting when he asked what’s wrong…EVERYTHING is wrong and he KNOWS it. He told me to take it easy.
  • I asked Mr. MLACS to help me get the house ready because the listing agent is coming over tomorrow.  He yelled and berated me for every little thing, like that I hadn’t unloaded the dishwasher. He was insufferable. I finally turned around and said “FINE! I’m not selling this house, I’m staying! I don’t even want to move at this point! So do the dishes, don’t do the dishes, I don’t f*cking CARE! YOU go work up north. I’ve dealt with a metric ton of your bullsh*t this week and I’m DONE!” He says “Well you’ll have to explain that to her (BG)”…and I’m thinking…you probably won’t live to see her graduate highschool so she may as well get used to not having you around…but I didn’t say that.
  • Mr. MLACS is a great dad. And he loves me. But he needs so much f*cking therapy. When he gets stressed or feels threatened (or when there’s money involved) he turns into a monumental dickhead. He’s *my* dickhead. But I f*cking hate him when he’s like that. And I hate it when I have to sink to his level to deal with him–there is no progress with taking “the high road”.
  • After declaring that I was done trying to tidy the house because IDGAF if goes on the market, I went and laid down on a heating pad and left him to do (or not do) the chores.
  • He did them.
  • Why’s it always gotta be like this? With all the drama. We are a magnet for drama.

XOXO,

MLACS

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A Mixed Bag

So I should probably start with an update from my last post–I celebrated my one-year stomaversary on October 17th. I did not get a cake, but we were on “vacation” in my midwestern  hometown so we could enjoy fall weather (since it’s still hot in the south) and so I could handle some business with my parents’ estate/my inheritance. We enjoyed ourselves–I caught up with my old friends, and BG played with their kids and had a ball. We took our labrador and he enjoyed going to “puppy camp” (doggy daycare) a couple times and every morning we’d bring him scrambled eggs from breakfast (we stayed at a Staybridge Suites hotel as it allows pets and it provided breakfast, which was delicious). I enjoyed going to my old favorite restaurants to get yummy gluten-free specialties. And really, we’d love to move back there at some point because it’s a lovely town.

But there was some bad stuff too.

At the 9th hour of our 13 hour drive, I received word that my dear girlfriend had passed away of complications with her cancer. I knew she was terminal, but she had been just fine the day before and no one expected this. I was heartbroken that I didn’t get to see her one last time. I did join her husband and some friends to celebrate her life, but they were all drunk and disorderly (which is why I love them) and I had Mr. MLACS and BG with me so we didn’t stay long, as they were heading towards a collective breakdown. I didn’t make it to her official memorial and I know some of the crew found that offensive. But funerals are for the living. Jen knew I loved her. And I reached out to her husband to support him. I cried for her–she was a beautiful person.

Then, my sister was (as per usual) a giant passive-aggressive, manipulative pain-in-the-ass. She never misses an opportunity to make my life difficult and piss me off, then play the victim when I call her on her sh*t. She likes feeling like she has some power over me. It’s pathetic. And I’m sure our estate lawyer needed a drink after dealing with our quarrels last week–he will be so glad to be rid of us. I don’t envy him. We have one item left in the trust and then it will be dissolved and we won’t have to “work together” anymore as co-trustees.

And then, we took a 2hr trip to a nearby city to do fun stuff with BG in the afternoon and have dinner with a dear friend in the evening. But while we were riding the train at the zoo…

Mr. MLACS was shocked by his defibrillator.

He was sitting in the seat in front of me so I didn’t see his face, but I heard a loud crack and saw him fly back in his seat–I knew instantly that he’d been shocked…but I thought it was static electricity or a loose wire on the train…it didn’t even occur to me it was his ICD (pacemaker/defibrillator device implanted on his heart). He was in shock but he didn’t lose consciousness. I figured out what had happened and a wave of panic started in the pit of my stomach but BG was right next to me so I couldn’t react. I stayed eerily calm (which is how I am in these situations–I become automated). No one else knew anything was wrong and since Mr. MLACS was conscious I didn’t feel the need to call for help–I mean what could anyone do? I didn’t know what to do–the cardiologist never gave me any instructions.

So I sat there in shock, rubbing his back until we got off the train. Mr. MLACS was not feeling well but he could walk. We had promised BG to get her something at the gift shop and it was about to close so we ran in there and suddenly I knew I had to call his cardiologist and figure out what to do next. So I did that, and they said take him to an emergency room to be looked at. And I had to make a choice–go directly to an ER in the city *or* drive the 2hrs back to my hometown where the hospital has his previous records from his initial heart failure and drop him at the ER and take BG back to the hotel (because ER’s are no place for children or pregnant women). So I chose option 2 and just tried to stay calm. Mr. MLACS was floored. And blaming himself–asking “What did I do wrong?” It was heartbreaking.

So luckily BG fell asleep on the ride and I didnt have to explain why we were dropping Mr. MLACS at the hospital. While he got checked out, I started googling…and now I am PISSED at his cardiologist. Because *this guy* acted like the goal was for Mr. MLACS not yo have any more episodes. But from what I read, even the youngest and healthiest individuals with an ICD are shocked *1-2 times per year on average*. Mr. MLACS has been shocked twice this year, and both times we thought it was a crisis situation and that it wasn’t supposed to happen and I blamed myself–maybe he is too stressed and he needs less expectations and responsibilities, while Mr. MLACS agonizes over what he did wrong.

But the truth is, that his heart randomly malfunctions. The ER found nothing in his bloodwork. Nothing in his EKG. Nothing in his x-ray. His heartrate was perfectly normal (he was sitting peacefully on the train) and for no apparent reason he went into V-fib (a dangerous arrythmia). His heartrate went from 60bpm to 324bpm in an instant, his ICD device shocked him once on the lowest setting, and his heartrate returned to 60bpm as if nothing had even happened.

There was nothing we could do to prevent it. There is nothing we can do to stop it from happening again at this point. Mr. MLACS is dilligently losing weight so he can qualify for a surgery that will try to pinpoint the part of his heart that malfunctions to cause the arrythmia and have it ablazed (burnt so it quits wreaking havoc). But there are no guarantees.

I take solace in statistics–he is statistically likely to survive 10 more years. He could live decades–he’s young and most of the people with ICD’s are 60+ years old, so they skew the statistics. But I hate that we have to live in fear of the next “episode”. I hate how much pain/frustration/anxiety/guilt it causes Mr. MLACS. I hate that I need to teach BG how to dial 911 as soon as possible. I hate that I worry when he is alone with her or when he puts her on his shoulders–that she could be traumatized by witnessing an event or hurt because he fell while carrying her. I hate that I worry about Mr. MLACS driving and that I really don’t want him driving our girls–could I ever forgive myself if I allowed it and something happened to my babies while he was driving?

This is a heavy burden. All this fear.

But we have to keep living. We can’t let fear dictate our lives. Yes, we have to be dilligent and cautious, but we don’t have to be consumed by fear.

So I exhale and keep going.

XOXO,

MLACS

 

 

 

Trying To Keep Calm and Carry On

I had a hard time getting to sleep last night, after googling “melanoma” and desperately searching for “benign growths that look like melanoma” and coming up with nothing–just pics of melanoma–so either people don’t post their “I thought it was melanoma but it was just an XYZ!” photos, or, anything that looks like melanoma IS melanoma.

I used to go to tanning beds and the beach. Often. And I’d cover up my face because my parents had skin cancer on their faces (around the nose and mouth) and had scars where these were removed. I didn’t want scars on my face. But skin cancer didn’t seem like such a big deal.

I was so stupid.

God I hope I raise BG to be smarter than me, to make better decisions than me.

I mean I hope I get to raise her period, but what if I don’t? What if I die while she’s still a child? While she still needs me? What if it’s because I didn’t wear sunscreen and went to tanning beds?! What if she thinks I’m awful for screwing up her childhood with my cancer treatment? A kid shouldn’t have the burden of worrying about her parents dying…

Mr. MLACS had a bad Cardiology appointment recently. I didn’t even blog about it but I had BG with us because it was just a check-up. Then they told us he had been shocked by his pacemaker on March 24th–his heart rate was 300bpm (I didn’t know that 300bpm was even possible). We had no idea. And then at the appointment his BP was 150/110 and his heartbeat was irregular. I went numb. We had no clue he was in distress. The color drained from both of us. We were panic-stricken. Mr. MLACS cried. And BG was fully aware that something was very wrong. Kids are very sensitive and intuitive. She had flashbacks of when he was hospitalized. And we were at the appointment for 3 hours. Doc said Mr. MLACS *must* lose 100lbs as quickly as possible (he has been slowly losing weight but not very regimented). He is 6’6″ and about 415lbs, and he needs to be closer to 300lbs to qualify for surgery to find the part of his heart that is malfunctioning and causing arrhythmias. Or if he needed a heart transplant he doesn’t qualify because of his weight. This appointment was April 22nd and since then Mr. MLACS has been working on his diet. We dropped $1,000 and he is getting a nutrition/exercise plan from an excellent trainer friend of mine.

So you see I’m already riddled with anxiety. My dad just died–both my parents are deceased. I’m stressed dealing with the estate (my sister). I am just 6 months out from having had my total colectomy and still learning to live as an ostomate. One of my good friends just had his big toe amputated due to melanoma.

And now I have this large, inexplicable black growth on my leg. I literally want to dig it out myself, I loathe it so much right now. I’m so freaked.

But instead…

I slept in (because Mr. MLACS knew I was up fretting about this melanoma thing). We went to home depot. I took BG over to play with the neighbor girls on their blow-up waterslide. I fed her lunch and put her down for nap. I’m trying to “keep calm and carry on”.

I’m trying So. F*ing. Hard.

I don’t want to alarm BG. And I don’t want to taint her life with my fear/anxiety/depression. Which is very difficult, since we are together 24/7.

I’m calling the dermatologist and being seen first thing in the morning, and no matter what they say I’m having this thing removed and biopsied.

But in between, I am trying to live, laugh, and love. I love my family SO much. I love my BG with everything I am. And if it’s cancer, I’ll fight. 20180417_095910_Film1.jpg

XOXO,

MLACS