Luckily, my mother spoke to another doctor who finally (cue angelic choir) came up with a treatment plan.
No chemo, just as the good father ordered.
Halle-bleeding-lujah.
My dad's going back to the hospital today.
Meanwhile back in the Nether Lands, I survive in pockets of being.
One is a super-duper happy at work-person, ready to tackle any problem, listen to petty problems, participate in meetings, developer of curricula far and wide, being academically responsible-personality [disorder].
Another is a/an (im)patient mother and wife, cooker of dinners, washer of dishes, folder of laundry, attender of parent-teacher meetings, fetcher and kisserhugger of children.
Yet another is a good daughter, phoning my parents every day (because I want to, not because I have to), helper-thinker of solutions to our current collective sorrow, hater of all god-like figures of Human Mechanic Quackery that do not tolerate contention of lowly patients (insert guffaw and outrage).
This multiple personality-ness is severed and detached from the mother ship.
It's an odd state of existence.
Meanwhile, the husband and I had a meeting with the school social worker and Son#1's teachers yesterday.
The school social worker seems like a reasonable human being.
The teacher however, flirted with my husband (my husband) and then continued to tell us how odd that when, a couple of weeks ago, Son#1 fell from his bike on his way to school, and then proceeded to go to school, having LEFT HIS BIKE AND FLIP-FLOPS ON THE ROAD!!!
Horror of horrors!!!
How do we live with this pathology in our midst???
The leaving behind of the flip-flops was obviously the deciding factor that a number of personality disorders were at work here.
I got angry at this stage.
Must be PMS.
I think I need to get angry more often.
No more of this pussy-footing-ninny-with-no-spine.
Raw anger.
Mean.
Hard.
Heartless.
Growling.
You'd better watch out world, I swipe too.
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