Confessions of a hypochondriac

"It's no longer a question of staying healthy. It's a question of finding a sickness you like." -- Jackie Mason

I have a true confession. I've secretly been worried that my breast cancer is back. I've been feeling so off for the last few weeks. I've been tired - very tired. I've also had terrible vertigo and these consistantly nagging headaches. I'm not a headachy person. That's what has really been scaring me.

The vertigo has been ba-a-a-d. I've been nearly falling every time I get up from a laying down. And the world spins for 20-30 seconds each time. That's a really long time. It's a total flashback to my partying days... without all the fun and, well, partying. Add to that the dull occipital (lower skull) headache and a 90% cancer reoccurance risk... Shall we just say that my stress level has been topping out lately. I have even seen my wonder chiropractor several times already. His diagnosis of a "jacked up neck" was the only thing that kept me from mentally writing my obituary.

Well, the long and the short of it is this: I woke up this morning without vertigo and no headache!!! All sorts of kudos to Dr. Dana (the wonder chiro) and his magic... but I can really only credit this to one thing...

My stress level was so high when I left Dr. Dana's yesterday that I could barely stand it. We had agreed that if the headaches didn't go away by the end of the week I'd call my oncologist for a CT scan. OMG! Not again! I only finished treatment 7 months ago! So, on the way home, I did the only thing I could do. I prayed. I gave it all to God. He has a plan. I know he does. It's the best plan regardless of my limited view of the situation. I'll go with His plan and not stress about it. Everything will be ok.

And this morning, no headache. Isn't life, isn't God, grand?

New balls for old...

Yesterday I wanted a do-over. I was rethinking my decision to have children. It's a bit too late for that, I know. Too bad.

The dynamics of our household have morphed into some sort of hellish kiddie cruise where I serve as Head Chef, Cleaning Staff and Entertainment Director while D is Captain. Far too many hours are spent attempting to appease the fickle, unformed desires of a toddler with a ball addiction and a gift for the tantrum. I hate it. Seriously. Hate. It.

For the last couple of weeks it seems there is no pleasing the smallest member of the family. He's a tyrant. He wants a ball. The green ball. Not that ball. The blue ball. No, the green ball. All the balls. But not those balls. Get them away from him. He kicks angrily and all the balls run for cover. Then he screams and thrashes and grunts his gutteral grunt-scream of intense displeasure at being ball-less and surrounded by adults that can't. seem. to. under. stand. What is the matter with us?

Did I mention D is blind? While normally this is not a big issue in our house - lately it's been a colossal pain in the ass. Mostly because of the ball addiction. Balls, by their very nature, roll. Why, oh, why, can't he be hooked on something like blocks? Something that won't roll away from him. Something, anything else. Really. We're looking for a 12-step program.

We never used to have issues with discipline. B never got away with temper tantrums like this. The tried and true methods used with child number one have been worthless on child number two. Worse than worthless. No matter what we try he just screams right through it. He can't hear us. We can't even hear us. The entire universe is reduced to the loud screaming rant of a toddler. Ears bleed from the noise. Cats and balls run. The wailing doesn't stop. We have yet to make it to his breaking point.

We've lost our parental balls... and I know just who's got them.