Humira and My Psoriasis- First Injection Debacle

I am going through an overwhelming emotional breakdown. After tons of screw ups by the insurance company and the pharmacy, I finally had my Humira starter kit for psoriasis. I worked up the courage to take it (I’ve injected insulin before without a problem). I set it up, hit the button, but my arm INVOLUNTARILY pulled the needle from my leg. 😦 So then, I immediately burst into tears at the shock of it going so badly. But wait, it gets worse…

So the second shot… I am all upset and I think to myself, I will have my mother come over and do it. But I can’t reach her. She is doing remodeling and is living in the cellphone badlands of Home Depot. I am upset. I decide to have my husband do the shot because I have left the shot sitting outside of the refrigerator for some time now, and if I don’t do it now, it will be ruined. I give it to him, trying to be brave, but the tears keep coming. I am upset and scared and overwhelmed. Just then, I hear a bump upstairs. It sounds like my four year old daughter has possibly fallen. I yell up to her, “Are you ok?!” NO answer. I tell my husband, “Well, go check on her!” He starts to run off with the pen, but that isn’t safe! I take it from him and do the dumbest thing ever- I try to cap it, and succeed in releasing the dose across my living room. “[Insert loud swearing here]” My husband comes running to see what happened and finds me absolutely bawling my eyes out with a pen that is shooting liquid onto our sliding glass door and curtains.

I am a mess and I am out of TWO doses.

I called Humira and they are sending replacements, a visiting nurse to help me with injection instructions, and more. My mother calls and she comes to give me the two remaining doses I have. I do them, and it hurts. I am now stressed beyond belief. I don’t know if I can do this on my own. I don’t know that I can continue this treatment. Part of me wants it to work and rid my of my psoriasis forever. Another part of me hopes it doesn’t… because I don’t want to go through this all of the time. 😦

I have had the injections. It is ten minutes out and I am feeling nauseous, dizzy, tired and disoriented. I am sure ti’s more the stress than anything else. My legs don’t hurt anymore.  I definitely feel out of sorts though. I need some tea, I think. Some knitting and some tea. I will keep this up to date.



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Making My Therapist Laugh When I Can’t

So I have to wonder how it is that people think laughing is the best therapy. I think that the best type of therapy is making someone else laugh. It’s like a two-fer. I laugh because they laughed. Or maybe a three-fer because I also feel like I accomplished something in the process. I told my couple’s therapist that I have no marketable skills and therefore cannot get out of my (at the moment) unhappy marriage/life. I was so depressed I actually made a list of things to do before I killed myself. Yeah, luckily for me and everyone else, I knew the moment would pass, but a writer writes. ALWAYS. Right?

[Anyway, I am better now so don’t get all emotional or I may have to tell a really bad joke and then you won’t feel so negative about me ending it all.]

I don’t even remember the stupid joke I told her, but she laughed. Now is she REQUIRED to laugh if I am trying to be funny while suicidally lamenting that I am bad at everything? I wonder what the statistics are on stand up comedy suicide. I would think it’s pretty high. Ah, research!

I am right. (As usual). Bah.

So I am supposed to be a stand up comedian?? I liked the fact that I can make my therapist laugh. I have always used comedy as a way of blowing off the reality of life. I am only smart and funny around very specific people. It is so bizarre. So I guess I need to make them my sidekick. Like Conan has.

In the very moment I told that stupid (obviously forget-able) joke I was cured. I had proved myself wrong. I highly recommend that when you are feeling down that you DON’T go in search of a funny movie. It is WAY better to crack some joke-whip at someone else. No friends? Go to therapy. 😉

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Bloggoli Doesn’t Taste Like Chicken…

Hi. Yeah. I’m losing my “B” card… I am doing something I thought I would never have time for… (if you haven’t yet figured out what that is, you need to move along…).

I haven’t journaled in a long time. BC (before children), I would write almost daily in these composition books. I would write all over them, in crazy directions, taping in funny magazine clippings, Bazooka Joe comics and ALL of my fortunes from oodles of chinese take out orders. I still save all of my fortunes. I find them floating around like mini hoarder-trash.

I insist that maybe when my children are old enough (but not old enough to give me grandchildren to take up my time) I will spend a day (or a week) actually tending to this hobby. My older daughter (B) occasionally tries to steal the ones she finds lying around the house, but I grab them away like a toddler and say, “Nope!” (Childish, I know…) My second child (A) is only interested in eating the fortune cookie itself. She could care less if it has her “lucky number” or the meaning of life written on it. She lives in the here and now. I wish I could live in the “here and now”, but I am too busy tending to my children’s “here and now”. (Which I am so lucky to be able to do!)

I read an article (you know, “THE Article” in TIME that was released last week to a firestorm of controversy?) and I thought about what the author (a shrewish girl with low standards, who quite apparently has no children of her own) thought about the way I choose to parent. My husband brought home the magazine from his work the day it came in (he knew I’d want to see it). For a whole week it sat, untouched, on my desk. I (finally) got the irritation out of my head long enough to read it with an open mind. I was really dreading reading it because I had a strong suspicion that it would vilify attachment parenting, breastfeeding, and Dr. Bill Sears (whom I have so much respect for). Of course, I was mostly right to dread the article. Though she made small attempts at devil’s advocacy, her overall tone was scornful and sarcastic.

While it is true that the “Mommy Wars” can get absurdly out of hand, I still have to say that I love the idea that we are doing what WE feel is best for our children- and yes, this includes our partners. (Co-sleeping is my husbands’ choice too!) We do a combination of cloth diapering and disposable diapers that are biodegradable. Yes, we try to feed our family organic/whole foods whenever possible. My youngest (who is just over two) is still breastfeeding and will not be stopped before she is ready. We try to let her walk whenever possible, but we use slings and soft structured carriers when she gets tired. Do we sometimes use a stroller? Sure. Do we occasionally allow our children “junk food”? Sure. Do our children watch TV from time to time? Sure.

I think the problem is the over-thinking that people do. As one web commenter on WNYR’s coverage of the piece put it, “…he just wouldn’t stay in the crib at my brother’s house….so I let him sleep in bed next to me. What a revelation.” She went on to say that she realized that her motherly instincts were so honed on the safety of her baby that, even in sleep, she sensed his presence and knew that she would never roll over onto him- it JUST WASN’T POSSIBLE. You see, it was a natural LOGICAL solution to her problem. The child was uncomfortable, so he went in her bed. When she realized that it wasn’t the horror story everyone said it was, she could breathe a sigh of relief and ENJOY the bonding with her child.

I also want to point out to all the nay-sayers that in spite of attachment parenting, there are PLENTY of multi-child families running around. I bring this up to dismiss the rumors that are floating around that you “will never have sex again” if you attachment parent. This should put those people to rest… If you can’t find a way to have sex in this co-sleeping situation, then you are either not terribly creative or you need me to email you the name of a few divorce attorneys…

Lastly, ATTACHMENT PARENTING IS NOT A SYMPTOM OF BREASTFEEDING!! (Notice when I type the WORD breastfeeding I type it as all one word? That is because it isn’t about BREASTS. It’s about breastFEEDING.) Breastfeeding is mutually exclusive from all of the other parenting CHOICES people make. The overall take-away? MIND YOUR OWN BREASTS. Start parenting your OWN children instead of worrying about mine and if you don’t have any children yet? S.T…FRONTDOOR. 😉

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Filed under Breastfeeding, Parenting