It was not actually my intention to wander away for most of a week, leaving you considering whether or not I had managed to get through that treatment planning meeting without vomiting. Whoops. Sorry! I suck.
In my defense, now that the Great Zucchini Invasion of 2012 is winding down, it’s gone all Attack of the Yummy Tomatoes ’round these parts. And although we all know I’ve been a little weird about my garden pretty much forever, the whole ZOMG-there-is-so-much-I-cannot-control-right-now-and-it-makes-my-tender-pink-middle-feel-uncomfy thing means that I am committed to my stupid garden in a way that borders on pathological. Because things GROW and DAMMIT, we are going to EAT THEM. I will not waste a single item! I will process tomatoes until the kitchen looks like a crime scene! If everything needs to get put on hold while I make tomato sauce, SO BE IT. Make the sauce, save the world. Or something.
I know. (It’s really, really good sauce, though!)
Anyway. Allow me to elucidate on various and sundry:
Because I know everyone has been on the edge of their seats, I feel obligated to let you know that the kamikaze melon was not, in fact, quite ripe. I waited several days to cut it open, and then I tried to feed it to Monkey and Mario, but it just wasn’t all that sweet. Oh, well. I have about half a dozen more still on the vines, so better luck next time, I suppose. I’m pretty sure the boys had fun spitting the seeds over the fence, at least.
What could be more important than a melon? Heh. I am pleased to report that contrary to what we were told, those of you who doubted the veracity of a girl on Chickie’s unit being both a mother and pregnant were correct. She made it up (the other girl, not Chickadee; she was pretty annoyed to have been lied to). While I am relieved that it’s not true—apparently they had a unit meeting about how this facility does not accept pregnant girls, because so many of them were claiming to be pregnant!—I still worry for all of these babies who think that having babies would somehow be a status symbol. Though I’m also a little pleased to see my kid realizing that this is maybe not the group she wants to be hanging out with permanently.
Also related to that post: The issues with stolen stuff have been resolved, at least for now. The retainer has been replaced (at the hospital’s expense). And early one morning I spent an hour with my friendly neighborhood Social Security representative down at the Second Most Depressing Office On Earth (DFCS still has a lock on first place) to reapply for SSI for Chickadee. It went well this time (last time we didn’t even finish the application because of the whole “she has too much money in her savings account” thing, and were immediately rejected), but did you know that the government can take up to 150 days to make a decision? That’s awesome, because it’s not like people who are applying for SSI and trying to get Medicaid need the help in a hurry or anything. Oh, wait….
[I recommend bringing donuts with you to Social Security, should you ever have occasion to spend some time there. I feel like it was money well spent.]
And finally, the treatment meeting went… okay. I did not puke, so there’s that. I did not feel that Chickadee’s team was particularly encouraging, necessarily, but everyone agreed more treatment time was necessary and so we kind of walked out of there not discussing the fact that after six weeks, we agreed to give them six more weeks, and what if nothing changes?
Basically it was a mixed bag of emotions. We don’t think she’s ready to come home, so it was good to know we weren’t crazy for thinking that. On the other hand, six more weeks away. And no guarantees. And and and and… you know. Had I written about the meeting right after it happened, I probably would’ve characterized my feeling as “mostly neutral, tinged with both faint relief and also mild panic.” The benefit of having been too busy with my stupid tomatoes until now is that NOW I can also tell you something else, and that something else is this: We believe she’s getting better.
When we had the meeting, Chickadee had been on a new medication for just a few days. It’s now been a week and she is definitely, absolutely, no-I-am-not-wishful-thinking-imagining-it improving. Now, let’s all celebrate gingerly, while knocking on available wooden surfaces, because 1) improvement in these things tends not to be linear and 2) the bitch of neuropsychiatric meds is that sometimes they stop working. Still, this is the first significant improvement we’ve seen in a very long time. And we had a great visit yesterday where she smiled and laughed and talked about what she wants to work towards and you can pry this little nugget of hope out of my cold dead hand, okay? Okay.
It’s been a very long seven months or so, and right now I’m okay with making lots and lots of tomato sauce and focusing on the fact that my girl seems to be finding her way back to us. I know there’s no guarantees, but still. (Well, I can probably guarantee more tomatoes. They are really going nuts this year.)