Posted in boys, family, My Son, parenting

To My Dad (not the good, sectioned, in order version. That would require more than a phone.)

(UPDATE, October 2016:

In September 2016, there was a bombing near my dad’s apartment. I knew he was physically ok, but I sent him an email titled, “Are You OK?”. His response caused major anxiety and panic attacks and I wrote a draft response. I also went iver his email point by point, but there are only so many times one can insert the word, “Bullshit”. My dad has been rewriting history for a while. I’m aware that he does not like the Real Me, but I find it odd that, when rewriting history, he doesn’t make me into someone that he likes — or loves. Instead I am made out to be worse than I ever was, which confuses me. Why not make me into the child he always wanted me to be? I posted the email responses but quickly took it down. My father needs psychological help and I felt posting would have “gone to far”. But in going through my Drafts, I found this. Maybe he’ll see it, most likely he won’t, but these memes are as close as I can get to letting him know how I feel.)

I love my dad but, as you will soon see, he has hurt me again. I had a great set up but an accidental click on “trash” ruined it. So here are the memes in no special order. (I hate WordPress on my phone but my grandma refuses to listen to what my son and I need and goes with what my dad, aka, The Favorite, says, and we wind up with a bigger Netflix screen. Thanks, dad. Big help. My son can show his teachers YouTube instead of a science project!)

Notice the name here, dad:

Aaand of course some are missing and they’re not divided but that’s what happens when you don’t have a compiter or laptop — glad you ignored the last list of ten and chose one to watch Netflix on, Dad, but we needed one so my kid wouldn’t have to skip lunch and stay late to use the school computer. (And if you start in on his weight, I’ll remind you how you called me “fat” when Playboy asked me to pose for them. Or how you pointed at me and an unnamed Doorman, telling us if we didn’t lose weight we’d get diabetes a week before you fell into your first diabetic coma. Or I’ll poke your belly. Arse.)

Posted in family, Life, My Son, parenting

I’M NOT IGNORING YOU :)

To those who have been concerned about my lack of online time these past two weeks:

My son has had a cold. He’s given me two since school started, but apparently I passed on his latest: sore throat, coughing, mild fever at night. He was in bed all weekend and I kept him home on Monday.

I know. No Big Deal. I’ve always been over-protective. But there’s something I’ve failed to mention.

N was born in early November, so that’s when he gets his yearly check-up. Two years ago there was a minor problem, and it was there last year. This led to a follow-up visit in January for a second blood test. A few months later he was called in for a sonogram of his kidneys.

At the beginning of summer break we were told that one of his kidneys was smaller than the other. Not a big deal, it’s possible to live with one kidney, but his larger kidney wasn’t covering for his smaller kidney. I was referred to a specialist, but after waiting 6 weeks, debating whether to tell my son, he freaked out at the specialists office. And we lost the appointment.

We did get blood taken again and, with the sonogram, it looks like my son — as of now — should be able to make it through his teens before needing a new kidney. This is ideal as I’m not a match and if his kidneys are adult-sized, he has more of a chance of finding a doner.

Ideally, his larger kidney will kick in and do it’s fucking job.

Realistically, his smaller kidney will be removed and he’ll need a healthy kidney to make up for what his larger kidney is not doing.

Worst case, he’ll need a kidney sooner. Meaning his smaller kidney will be removed and he’ll be on dialysis waiting for a doner since the larger kidney is a fuck-up… Like me.

So meds are a problem for my son. Even for a stupid cold. My son knows some but not all — not even most — of this. He thinks it’s No Big Deal. But it is.

Sorry.

Not ignoring. Just wallowing in self-pity.

— Dee / Kat