It looks like I'm back.

No, I really didn't abandon the blog because I was stark raving mad over the latest chemical pg, which I'm sure would be a good reason to leave the 'nets for awhile. It's not like I ever think that one day it will actually happen to me someday, anyway. Because it won't.

Let me tell you just how shitty things have been around here-- and they aren't even infertility related.

Let's go to Saturday night, where my husband and I attended our 10 year reunion. (We graduated from the same class.) So, we're the last ones to show up. It was slated for 7 and we showed up at 7:30-ish. Since when did it become unfashionable to be late? I swear everyone gave us a death stare. EVERYONE HAD EATEN ALREADY, FOR GOD'S SAKE. Fuck it, the keg was tapped, and that's what we came for anyway. All the beer. Ok, so we're walking through the tables because Dan wanted to, you know, talk to people. So strange, that one. Everybody we walk past is going, "Hey, Dan, how are you?" "What's up big Dan?" and shit like that. I swear NO ONE said anything to me. I thought I had put myself on the high school visibility map when I was pregnant through the senior year, but I guess no one remembers. Sigh. I wasn't really popular, kwim? Oh, then we sit down next to one of our friends, Robert. And I'm between Dan and our class president, Aimee. Aimee starts talking to me. (!!!) She says something like this, "Oh my God, I swear, I had no idea you and Dan were together! When you walked in together somebody said 'I think they are together' but I didn't really believe it, and then you were walking around together, and I was like, They ARE Together!" And I replied something like this, "Um, yeah, we've been married for 8 and a half years." She was like, "I had NO IDEA!"

So, What The Fuck?

Great way to start off the evening. I wasn't like, white trash or anything back in high school. I swear. Just quiet I guess.

So, a little later, my phone is ringing. I ignored it for a little while, while I talked to my real friends. But it kept ringing. I finally stepped out to answer it. It was my 10 year old girl. She is crying HYSTERICALLY. She just keeps yelling into the phone "I KILLED IT." I finally extract from her that she has just stepped on one of our 4 week old kittens and it died. She of animal love. The "animal whisperer," if you will. I succeeded in calming her down, slightly. I told her to go ahead and let grandpa bury it. It's ok. Of course I'm not mad at you. It was an accident.

(On a side note, my dad told me later that they had a funeral. My son, my daughter, and my 6 year old neice all took turns holding the kitten in a plastic bag and "said a few words" over the grave site in my parents back yard. They were all crying. My dad said thank god it was dark, because the kids didn't see him smiling. Then my son crayoned-up a grave marker that says, and I quote: "Cole The best kitten a boy could have." And they placed a large, rusty nail in the ground to hold the paper in place.)

The rest of the night, after I got my buzz on, went swimmingly.

Then Sunday, she alarmingly tells me she can't find her dog. (Who is a precious beagle.) She spent hours looking for him, and I kept telling her that he always comes back, he's just out having fun. He'll be back by morning. Calm down. She went running outside to look some more and fell down our hard, concrete steps, twisting her foot. I think she sprained something. It never did swell up, nor did it bruise. She just can't walk on it, still. So, she was confined to the recliner with an ice pack, unable to look for her dog. And she is mad about it. I'm all upset, because my poor baby girl has endured enough heartache in the last 24 hours to choke a donkey, or something. And now all the physical pain on top of it. I even went out to drive around and look for the dog. No luck. The next morning, she's still in some pain, and her classroom is up 3 flights of stairs, so I kept her home. Then I promptly took a nap. (I work nights, people.) She woke me up at about 10:45, HYSTERICAL AGAIN. She had painstakingly hobbled outside to call for her dog some more. And she found him. Still alive, but badly, badly hurt from a dog fight that the neighbors conveniently tell her about just then. Apparently this big chow dog from down the street was on our block fighting with their dogs too, on Sunday. Now it's Monday and the neighbors just tell us that our dog had been attacked, yesterday. Yeah, they witnessed it. Yeah, they didn't tell us when we came home from my mom's house, nor did they mention anything when my kid had been out yelling for her dog the night before. They tell her after she finds him, half dead. She had picked him up (all 26 pounds of him, dead weight) and carried him inside. He was bleeding and hardly moving. So, my mom picked us up and we rushed him to the animal hospital. Dr. Eva (our vet) is a sweet, sweet lady. She is also the most expensive vet in town (yes, those things matter) but she's so wonderful with my animals I'd gladly pay the difference. I had a cat emergency about a year ago, and she saved her, so she's hella cool. She prompty looked him over and found 5 or 6 deep puncture wounds and said she didn't think he had any broken bones, but she wanted to keep him for x-rays, IV's, stitches and all that. So we hugged him goodbye and left him there in her hands. She finally called me at 5, saying she had him drugged, and IV's going, and he perked up a bit. Then she knocked him out for the x-rays and stuff. Then she says to me, "It doesn't look good. He's dislocated a hip." I'm a nurse, I know all about popping those things back in. But she goes on to say, "I don't know how long it's been since he was in the fight, but there's a big hematoma in his hip socket, probably from a torn ligament, and I cannot get his hip back in. It won't stay." She goes on to say that he needs surgery. What she'd like to do is go in, and cut off the head of his femur. She says if she doesn't, he will be in pain for the rest of his life, something about arthritis. She also says that the muscles and whatnot will still hold his leg together, and after awhile, you'd never know anything was wrong with him. Somewhere she mentioned three-legged dog as an alternative. In my heart, I know the right thing to do is to let her do her magical surgery so my dog will be normal. I mean, if I tell her to amputate his leg, all the other dogs in the neighborhood will make fun of him. We can't let that be happening. So, I sheepishly ask how much is the surgery. She says around $400, and that's only the surgery. Not to mention anything about ALLLLLL the other things she's done for him. I tell her to go ahead. It's all for my little girl, people. I can't be having all this heartbreak. Not under my roof. And it's only money, right? I'll just make more. My husband, on the other hand, had a different reaction. He was a cruel bastard and said he would rather put him to sleep. He views the problem differently now, after some choice words. So he'll have the surgery.

So how's your week so far?