Do you have any coffee? No? It’s because I’ve taken possession of All The Coffee. I drink it all day long, now, instead of just my usual mug in the morning. You know that song Smoke Two Joints by Bob Marley? That’s me and coffee, now. I drink two cups in the morning, I drink two cups at night! I drink two cups before I drink two cups, then I drink two more!
Unlike the song, however, it doesn’t “make me feel alright.” It makes me feel… less like death. But still very sleepy.
Monkey was kind enough to come down with some sort of cold this week (step right up, come see the miracle boy with no immune system as he catches every virus in town!), which means that he’s been sleeping in, which means that I’ve been dragging my sorry butt out of bed at o’dark thirty to fix Chickadee’s breakfast and pack lunches, and then after she and Otto leave for school I go back to sleep until Monkey gets up. That part is handy, but the part where we’re both cranky after we get up is not so great.
I went back to the specialist who is prescribing me the medication that’s making me so tired and explained that I can barely stay awake, but at least on the up side of things, I still hate everyone.
Doc: Oh, you don’t really hate everyone. Do you?
Me: Kind of. Well… yes. I think I do.
Doc: Okay, well is that normal for you?
Me: Sure. I mean, I have a certain baseline level of hatred of people in general that is normal for me, yes. But this may go beyond that.
Doc: Do you hate the people who live in your house? Or just other people?
Me: Mostly other people. But I’m not so fond of even the ones in my house lately. That seems… bad?
Doc: I tell you what. Let’s try increasing the dosage one more time.
Me: Really? But I’m already practically comatose.
Doc: Pushing the dosage may not change that, but it might help with the hating everyone thing. Let’s try it for a week.
Doc: If you’re still exhausted in a week, we’ll move on to Plan B.
Me: Which is what?
Doc: Something else.
Me: Oh. Okay. Starting to hate you a little, too.
Doc: I can work with that. Just give it another week.
Me: Whatever you say. Your couch looks comfy. Can I take a nap here?
Doc: Also I’m going to send you to another specialist for some more testing. Here’s his name, find out if he’s in-network and if you need a referral and let me know if you do.
So I agreed to everything because I was too sleepy to argue, and now I’m taking more of the comatose-making medication and sleeping all the time, except when I’m drinking a lot of coffee or trying to get Monkey to do his schoolwork.
As for the second specialist, my handy-dandy look-up-in-network-doctors website from my health insurance assured me that he exists and that he takes some forms of their insurance, but not the plan I’m actually on. So I called the insurance to figure out if that was true, and after a roundabout of who’s-in-first proportions, they located the doctor in their database and told me that no, it was okay, I was allowed to see him.
Except I need a referral, and it has to come from my primary doctor, not from another specialist.
So I called my primary doctor, who is out of the office for a week. Of course.
Then I drank some more coffee.
This week for his literature class, Monkey has an assignment to cast a Nathaniel Hawthorne short story as a movie with “well-known modern-day actors,” explaining his reasoning behind the casting “beyond how they look.” The only thing better than being so sleepy I can barely keep my eyes open is having to deal with a face-blind, completely literal, very-little-screen-watching Aspie as he tries to figure out if he can use the cast of The Big Bang Theory to populate this assignment. Guess what! He can’t. Because “there weren’t any physicists during the Salem Witch Trials, I don’t think.” Also we had a 20-minute-long argument about whether he could cast an actress in her 30s for the part of the “new, young wife” when women were married off back then at around age 14. The argument finally ended when I realized he didn’t have anyone in mind, anyway, he just thought it was “creepy” that girls got married so young.
The teacher was kind enough to give him an alternate assignment where, instead, he rewrites the ending of the story. He’s working on it now. $5 says it involves a spaceship landing in Salem. I hope his teacher is prepared for that.
Otto and I haven’t been so good about having quality couple time, lately, mostly because I am asleep. So yesterday he put two dates on my calendar for us for this weekend, one for the movies and one for apple-picking. It’s because he wants to nurture our relationship. (I couldn’t even type that with a straight face. It’s because there’s a movie he’s dying to see, and he likes apples.) I told him I might fall asleep at the movies and he tried really hard to look disappointed, but I think as long as I wait until we’re seated in the theater it’ll be okay.
When I questioned him about the apple picking, the following chat ensued:
Me: I don’t know if I’m up for apple picking or not. Monkey is still sickly and I’m still mostly asleep.
Otto: We can figure that out Sunday morning, I suppose.
Otto: Doesn’t take a lot of planning.
Otto: Step 1: Get in car.
Otto: Step 2: Drive towards mountains.
Me: I am telling you now because I think you often get disappointed by this stuff.
Otto: Step 3: Stop driving when it smells good.
Me: And I am trying to avoid that.
Otto: Step 4: Hunt for apples.
Otto: Step 5: Tell kids to stop complaining.
Me: Step 6: Break hand.
Otto: Step 6: Shove fruit pies in their faces.
Otto: Step 7: Drive home.
Otto: Step 8: Stop the dog from eating a bushel of apples.
Otto: Step 9: … wait …
Otto: Step 0.5: Throw away the apple corer.
It makes me feel all warm and fuzzy to have him looking out for me like that, I tell you what.