Our Thanksgiving was awesome-I truly have so much to be thankful for. The Lord has blessed me beyond words. My mom came with my brothers and we all had a blast-we even busted out the Christmas decorations on Friday and after they went home Sunday morning I finished the entire house. The house looks great and I now have a greater appreciation for all the hard work that Rick puts into getting those lights untangled and strung every year...it really isn't easy.
On Sunday afternoon I began to feel a pain that I have felt before and knew from experience was not a good thing. The fun of Thanksgiving was coming to a screeching halt... It was no surprise to me when I woke up in the middle of the night freezing my buns off and feeling the need to puke. I checked my temp. and it was a little over 103. In case anybody out there wanted to know WAAAAY too much personal information about me, I have been suffering from what medical professionals refer to as a "clogged milk duct". Now let me break down that medical jargon so that all the non-doctors can better understand what that means: excruciating, constant, ceaseless, stark-raving madness-inducing pain in the boob that renders the patient immobile and crying on the bathroom floor for hours until her husband comes home early from work to scoop her up and stick her in bed. It also makes one feel as if they have the flu. All kinds of fun. Rick promised he would come home at 1 o'clock so at 1:10 when the phone hadn't rung yet I called him. I already knew what he was going to say..."I'm stuck here till at least 2." So I tried my best to be a good, strong, understanding wife, but that didn't work out so I sobbed and yelled at him for lying to me and giving me false hope of a reprieve, and shamelessly begged for him to quit his job on the spot. Hey, he can always find another job! When he finally came home (1:52) he brought me my cell phone (I told you I was in bad shape) and I called the midwife to get an antibiotic.
So today I was feeling well enough to shower and put fresh clothes on (yes, it was that bad) and I went to visit the midwife. As I was explaining the severity of my close encounter with death, she stopped me mid-sentence and said, "Yes, but you are improving." Umm, because I no longer wish to die doesn't really count as improving, does it? "Yes, technically I guess I am improving, but the pain is still so bad that I can't move my arm without flinching and..." Her response: "Yes, but you no longer have the fever and you drove here so you are getting better." GGRRRRRRR. So if I had crashed my car on the way here you would take me seriously? "This amount of pain can't be normal-remember you are the one who caught both of my babies--the babies that were labored and delivered naturally-no drugs!-and the second one with PITOCIN!!!" If I'm telling you I'm in infinite amounts of pain, Lady, trust me I AM! So then she went out and got a book with lots of pictures of breasts in it (just in case I'm not familiar with that part of the female anatomy) and showed me a picture of a "healthy" breast and a picture of an "abscessed" breast (very disgusting stuff, folks!). So clearly, according to the pictures, I am fine. Just fine.
As soon as my fake, hallucinated pain goes away I am going out to buy a bunch of picture books so I can charge people insane amounts of money to tell them they are fine...and crazy. But hey, at least I'm not bitter. :)
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