This morning while I was half-snoring on her floor, Sophie danced around to The Laurie Berkner Band and decorated me with scratch -n sniff stickers. Afterwards, she put a variety of chip clips and twisties in my hair and declared me "perfect...and so BEAU-OOO-TIFUL!" Then she skipped off happily to rearrange the tupperware drawer.
Ah, the sweet spoils of unsupervision.
Lately any.little.activity just wears me out. Anything. Totally. Wiped. Just making hamburger patties tonight provoked a ten minute nap. And I didn't even have to cook them. Or prepare the fixings for them. Russ, sweet man that he is, grilled our dinner and assembled it. While I slept in a little pile on the floor and Sophie redecorated the guest room and added a wing onto the house.
In other news (okay, actually I guess its the same sort of news):
The visit with the ENT (ahem, excuse me, "Vestibular Specialist") this afternoon was useless. At least it felt that way. After the nurse tested my hearing and the doctor came in to chat with me, I started explaining my frustration with this whole mess. I was hovering just this side of a meltdown, saying that it felt like I was just getting passed from person to person, with no real answers...and not even a real PLAN for answers. At least not one with the sort of urgency behind it that I'm feeling. I tossed in how I'm feeling like a bad mom, not being able to properly care for my child, or myself, really, yada yada. And then I ended my sob story with some sort of statement like, "I just don't understand why we aren't getting closer to figuring this thing oooouuut!" (I think, embarrassing enough, the last part came out in kind of a squawk.)
Neat, I know. And not particularly flattering. For me, right?
Apparently not just for me. It seems it was around that time that Dr. Vestibular got offended. Why, I seriously haven't the foggiest clue. After some retrospective time this afternoon, I've decided maybe he thought I was insinuating that he couldn't figure things out. Or maybe my tone didn't reflect the proper amount of appreciation for his field. Maybe it was void of awe and respectful silence. Maybe it made him think that I thought that he wasn't as special as he needed me to think he was.
Or maybe it was the red chip clip still stuck in my hair. Nestled in deep amongst the curls (slash Bird's Nest), lying undiscovered from my time at Sophie's Beauty Salon this morning. (Tee, hee! Fancy!) I don't know. I honestly don't know what his problem was. But it was at that point that he informed me (quote): "Well, I'm good."
Oh, yes, indeedy. He said that. Exactly that. Granted, he looked like he was twelve, bragging to his buddies out by the flagpole at school about his smarts. But, you know, he could have just been using an excellent moisturizer. Kind of like Baby Face. Maybe he was just well-preserved and actually old enough to acquire deep wisdom and such an air of self-importance.
My eyes popped open a bit more, I'm sure, as he went on to say, "When the other ENT's in the area are stumped, they send their patients to me, and I usually figure it out. I'm pretty good at what I do."
I all-but clapped my hands and said, "Well, alrighty, then! Excellent! I certainly could use some figuring out right about now. Fix me. Please."
Long story short...
Dr. Better-Than-The-Other-Ear-Guys-In-Town doesn't think my balance issues are ear related. He thinks they're due to "something else". He said something about it possibly be muscle related, something about my muscles and how they're responding (or not responding) to gravity. Then he wrapped things up by telling me he's "not sure how to treat me yet". But he told me, despite the fact that he doesn't think it's ear related, he wants to do an ear test to make sure it's not ear related...on June 19th, his first opening.
Another really expensive, probably useless test that I can't get done for another two weeks.
I don't know. I'm trying to hold it together. I'm trying not to blurt out a bunch of potty words in the doctor's office. I'm trying to remain patient and respectful. I'm trying! Which is why, instead, I opted to glaze over at that point. Tuned him out completely and redirected my attention to his freakishly large diploma on the wall. (Seriously, it was movie poster-sized! Look where Indiana Jones went to med school!) I decided, rather than weep, to instead focus my efforts on not punching him. And then weep out in my car. ...Mostly because I didn't want to be the Off Balanced Girl Who Cried And Then Punched The Really Important Ear Doctor on the news tonight. Film at 11:00.
It's not his fault. I know it isn't. It's just one of those things. When life is good, it's good. And when it's not, sometimes it's really not. ...Right now it's just not. Clearly, I need to go read my Bible and pray. Find a little calm.
Yes. That much is clear.