One Week Update: August 9

I know that I’ve been MIA for a week or so. I have had a couple of migraines, which I still get, despite my surgeries. Migraines are separate from Chiari, despite the fact that I get both types of headache concurrently, often. In case anyone is curious, my migraines, as a separate disorder, have been pretty well controlled lately, by the following regiment:

 

Preventative:

  • Amivog (this is one of the newer, monthly injectable medications)

  • Topamax (300 mg - yes, this is a big dose - mine is broken up into am/pm doses)

  • Botox (every 3 months following the protocol, plus in my jaw)

 

Abortive:

  • Imitrex (100 mg dose)

  • Frovatriptan (not WITH the Imitrex, duh - to every pharmacist out there who tells me, and will tell me)

  • Fiorcet (not the one with Codeine)

  • Zofran, when needed

 

As for the Amivog, it comes in two doses, a small and large. My neurologist just switched me to the larger dose, because she wants me to ultimately taper down on the Topamax. If the Amivog is successful, it has fewer side effects, and she wants to rely more heavily on that as a preventative. However, Tricare is not as reliable at delivering that medication, so I have to consider that. For example, I wasn’t able to get it this month, because they randomly switched pharmacies from which they will allow us to get it, meaning when I went to pick it up at Walgreen’s, from which I should have had no co-pay, it was, suddenly, $585. Ummm…no.

As for the Topamax; it’s a drug that’s been on the market for years. They renewed their patent recently by making an XR version called Trokendi. Many people don’t react well to either one. It has a long adjustment period. I’ve been on it since I was in my 20’s, at varying doses, sometimes as high as 800 mg! I’m not saying that was a great doctor. I’ve tried to taper down, or off before, and it seems like anytime I get below the 300 mg threshold, all hell breaks loose. We shall see, if when the Amivog is in place, the same holds true.

Anyway, I’m always curious what other patients have in their toolbox. That’s not all my daily meds, of course, just those for migraine. I’m actually not on that many meds any more. I’ve gotten them pretty weened down, and I’m glad for that. If only I could take nothing. Ah what a dream!

 

One of my favorite images of me and Collin. He’s always comforted me when I have been sick in bed with headaches. Here he is, as a toddler, crawling into bed with me, being his goofy self. it’s such a “Collin” pic, for anyone who knows him. For those who don’t, it’s just a goofy kid, and an adorable shot. He’s always a comfort, and as he’s gotten older, a sweet, caring force. He’s always there when I need him.   Notice the red spot on my temple…I often get mild frostbite on my temples when i have a particularly bed headache, from direct contact with ice, for extended periods on end. It heals, but, I usually lose a few layers of skin first.

One of my favorite images of me and Collin. He’s always comforted me when I have been sick in bed with headaches. Here he is, as a toddler, crawling into bed with me, being his goofy self. it’s such a “Collin” pic, for anyone who knows him. For those who don’t, it’s just a goofy kid, and an adorable shot. He’s always a comfort, and as he’s gotten older, a sweet, caring force. He’s always there when I need him.

Notice the red spot on my temple…I often get mild frostbite on my temples when i have a particularly bed headache, from direct contact with ice, for extended periods on end. It heals, but, I usually lose a few layers of skin first.

So, I know I’ve been absentee, but I thought I’d throw a random update your way about what’s been happening around here, and get you up to speed on Rachel-ville, in no particular order:

 

Registration for Fall Classes


I had to register for the Fall Semester. I hate registering when you are at the bottom of the heap for students. It means you register last, as you watch classes fill up, until your appointed time. Thankfully, I got the classes I wanted. One of those classes is, wait for it, “Creative Writing: The Young Adult Novel.” I have no clue what I’m going to write about. But, not to fear, I dreamt that I had a great idea, last night. And, furthermore, I dreamt that great idea included a grizzly bear. Surely, I’ll be all set. As you can tell, I’m even nervous about this in my subconscious.

One Halloween, Collin went dressed as a monkey (note the banana sewn to his hand). Every house we went trick or treating to asked him to growl, because they thought he was a bear. It was super annoying. Plus, he had no idea what they were talking about. He had a fucking banana, and a long. monkey tail. Maybe my idea had something to do with this costume?

One Halloween, Collin went dressed as a monkey (note the banana sewn to his hand). Every house we went trick or treating to asked him to growl, because they thought he was a bear. It was super annoying. Plus, he had no idea what they were talking about. He had a fucking banana, and a long. monkey tail. Maybe my idea had something to do with this costume?

Speaking of Dreams

For the last three, count them, three, nights in a row, I have also had nightmares that were about my parents. Nothing says healthy and healed from childhood trauma more than your parents not only showing up in your nightmares, but causing you to wake up crying, right?

 

Manicures

I have started, in my 40s, these past few weeks, to get regular manicures. Before this, the only manicure I’d ever gotten, was for my wedding. I know, weird. I’m loving it! I had no idea how pretty my hands could look! Here’s my problems though: how do you talk to the women doing your nails? They are always talking to one another in what I think is Korean. I feel so awkward interrupting them, but I also feel awkward not talking to them. Well, I feel more awkward than usual. The girl I had last week didn’t do a great job. When I show up this week, if they put me with her, can I ask for a different girl, without seeming like a bitch? I’ve always gone by the adage that, in service industries, tip, and tip well; if I keep tipping well, will they like waiting on me, remember me, and do a good job for me?


Peri-menopause

Ugh, speaking of 40s. My periods have been acting wonky for a few months now. This month, it appears that it may not show up at all. NO, I’m NOT pregnant. For the past six weeks, sex has been the farthest thing from my mind, as my leg was so painful, I had considered amputating it. Plus, even if Bryon had caught me in an amorous moment, he’s had a vasectomy; and, he sent his little swimmers back for the six-week check afterward, all deadzo. Alas, I’m well over a week late. I’m perfectly okay sliding into that stage in life. I’ve been begging for a hysterectomy for years. I do not understand why insurance and doctors make this such a difficult procedure for women to get. I understand that it’s major surgery; but, the reasoning is always that, as women, we might change our minds regarding our fertility. Collin’s twelve; I’ve never doubted my decision for only one…in twelve years.

Hot flashes anyone? Just me? Okay.

Hot flashes anyone? Just me? Okay.

Kids…and Lice

Speaking of kids, they bring home lice. Collin was infested with lice by the time we figured out that’s what it was. I could see bugs crawling in and out of his hair, and I was picking them out, regularly, for days! Don’t judge my stupidity! I swear, I thought they were gnats. I kept looking at them, and thinking they had wings. I was sure they weren’t lice. I kept Googling what kind of bugs could infest your hair that weren’t lice. Try that search sometime. Know what the answer is? Lice. It was frustrating. Finally, we shaved his head to a buzz cut, because we were accusing him of just not washing well, and that’s why he kept getting these darn bugs. He ran his hand over his freshly cut head, and tons of bugs fell out. It was…gross. They were definitely lice. It was very obvious at that point what they looked like. That’s when the bells went off. For some reason, they looked different to me, at that point. Yes, I had it too. Yes, it was everywhere. Yes, I’m an idiot. No, I have no idea what I was thinking. I’d have sworn they had wings, staked my life on it. I believe the lice are all gone now. Thankfully, we have a very clean house, and it didn’t take much to disinfect it!

The worst part, to be honest, is that my hair is now past my belly button. Thanks to an irrational fear of cutting it. Getting that damn nit comb through that was a nightmare!

 

---But man-alive did it feel disgusting for a while there!

These are OUR personal lice. These came from Collin’s head and he took a pic while looking at them through his microscope. They are pretty gross little fellas, aren’t they?

These are OUR personal lice. These came from Collin’s head and he took a pic while looking at them through his microscope. They are pretty gross little fellas, aren’t they?

 

Kids…and Middle School

Is it any wonder that my little one was looking forward to riding Peter Pan’s Flight at Disneyland? This costume came with a little dagger (wait, no, it cost extra - but, we had it). The dagger made a little “shwing” noise. He carried it around, stuffed in his pants, for three years. He was obsessed with it!

Is it any wonder that my little one was looking forward to riding Peter Pan’s Flight at Disneyland? This costume came with a little dagger (wait, no, it cost extra - but, we had it). The dagger made a little “shwing” noise. He carried it around, stuffed in his pants, for three years. He was obsessed with it!

Collin promised me when he was very small, that he would stop growing once he was tall enough to ride the Peter Pan ride at Disneyland. He was quite sincere when he made the promise, as if he’d intended to keep it. That’s how little he was, young enough to believe his own words. I constantly remind him that he broke his promise about growing up. Now that he has clearly broken it, and he keeps getting older, and bigger, I sometimes wish he’d get on with the whole growing up bit, and reach 18, so he’d get through puberty already, because it’s making us crazy. Of course, I know that the days are long, but the years are short, and I’ll miss him when he’s out of here, making memories somewhere else, but someone, anyone, come tell me how to make my son care about schoolwork? His middle school orientation is next week. I can’t believe it. A few days ago, he was starting kindergarten, and now, he’s going to have a locker, be awkward, and go to dances. Time marches on.

i couldn’t resist this other pic of him at Disneyland from roughly the same age. Look at that little face. Pure joy. I miss those smiles that take up his whole face. Somewhere around 10, it’s like those smiles disappear and regular smiles come on, the ones that our normal faces have. I’m sure I’m as happy as can be in this picture, seeing glee on my son’s face, and i don’t look like him. I miss his full-smile face.

i couldn’t resist this other pic of him at Disneyland from roughly the same age. Look at that little face. Pure joy. I miss those smiles that take up his whole face. Somewhere around 10, it’s like those smiles disappear and regular smiles come on, the ones that our normal faces have. I’m sure I’m as happy as can be in this picture, seeing glee on my son’s face, and i don’t look like him. I miss his full-smile face.

Time Does March On

And on, and on, and on. I have physical therapy for my knee for another full YEAR. Can you imagine that. A year! Sure, they didn’t want to see me for over a week now, due to the whole crawling insects in my hair thing. They were even willing to waive the cancellation fees because they were the ones who were refusing to see me. I was willing to come in, but they didn’t want an infestation; something about all the pillows, sheets, towels and blankets they have there. I get it, I really do. But, I have a full year of sessions to make up for missing this last week. A few weeks ago, I had a session that made me cry, literal tears, all over the place. So, I’m not looking forward to my return, after such an absence. I’m sure it will suck, terribly. I have two therapists: one, whose personality I love, but who is cruel to my knee; one who’s gentle, but who has the personality of a wet blanket. It’s a great combination.

Time marches on, indeed…my baby 10 years ago. Can you tell that I’m feeling nostalgic this week, as my baby prepares to start middle school?

Time marches on, indeed…my baby 10 years ago. Can you tell that I’m feeling nostalgic this week, as my baby prepares to start middle school?

My Knee

Which leads me to an update on my knee. I can now bend it greater than 90-degrees. This is pretty good progress. I am “allowed” to go without my brace, but I “should” put it on if it feels “funny,” or “weak.” How’s that for vague?” I’m allowed to start walking for exercise, something I tried on our treadmill this morning, and I could only handle for about ten minutes before my knee said, “well, that’s enough of that, little missy!” My knee is still very delicate; I tried vacuuming the other day, and I had to sit, for three straight days afterward, doing nothing but icing it. Apparently, all the pivoting involved with vacuuming was something I was not prepared for. I’m going to see Billy Idol/Bryon Adams next week (I know, be jealous); the concert venue has about nineteen billion stairs, so I’m a little nervous how my knee (braced or not) is going to handle that little doozie! Plus, I mean, how does one not dance?

tenor.gif

I think that’s about all I can update you on…wait, except that I got an A as my final grade in my class. I am so proud of that! I was so nervous when I enrolled into this program. I didn’t trust my brain. What if it couldn’t handle thinking at that level again, or anymore. Academia is one thing. Harvard is quite another. I was terrified. I almost backed out. I’m so glad I stuck with the idea and proved to myself that my twice-operated brain could handle it. Sure, I have to proofread my stuff a lot more heavily, because I spell phonetically when I type, Sure, I have to take a lot more notes than I used to. I sometimes read a little more slowly. But damnit if I don’t love it as much as I used to. I’m reading academic articles again, for fun, academic texts, and more. I love school. I love learning, and I love what I’m doing. I feel alive again, and I’m so glad I took the risk.

P.S. Thanks for strolling down memory lane with me, enjoying all the pics of my boy when he was small and perfect. He’s still perfect now, he’s just not as squishy-cheeked and cherubic.

How to Be a Shit Mom: Lesson 1

I keep forgetting to post about this insanely embarrassing, and ridiculously hilarious episode that happened, well, several weeks ago now. I’m always good for a humiliating tidbit, right? I’ve been lax on the blog of late. I’ll try harder!

My son, as we all know, has autism. This means that he relates to the world in a way that is different than you or I might. Like any other kid, just when you think you have something figured out about him though, he goes and pulls something out of his sleeve and says, “Just kidding! You know nothing! NOTHING!”

Oh, and also, it feels like Collin likes to add, with an imagined evil cackle, "You fools!" just to make us feel even less like we are on top of the whole master-of-anything parenting game. Autism has a way of making you, as a parent, feel like not only are you behind the 8-ball, but that you have no idea where the 8-ball is, that maybe there is no 8-ball, that maybe your child is playing pool, and you are playing shuffle board, or perhaps they ate the pool balls.

For example, a traditional trait of autism is that they tend see the world a very rule-based way. Of course, this doesn’t mean all people with autism do this, just that many do. Collin is very typical in this way, as far as this trait.

He tends to establish, and follow, literally thousands of seemingly arbitrary rules, especially ones that he makes up himself. Once we can figure out what rules he’s established for a situation, we can usually help work with whatever is happening in his head. Often, a seemingly confusing refusal to cooperate may be tied to a rule that he's established in his head that we just haven't figured out, or that he hasn't been able to communicate to us.

We can also usually help control undesirable behaviors, like elopement (a fancy word for running away, that is associated with autism) with rules, which his little brain very much wants to follow. It’s a perk that the autism gods give us parents, in exchange for life-long “tantrums,” affectionately called “melt-downs.”

Anyway, Collin loves climbing. He always has. When we lived in Alabama when Bryon did SOS, and Collin was about 15 months old, he was like a Spider Monkey, climbing to the top of the big kid play structures. I stopped caring about the eye rolls from the helicopter moms who thought I should keep him on the ground, which was impossible anyway. The kid was made of suction cup feet and Velcro hands. I don’t think I could’ve knocked him down if I tried. It would’ve been like peeling a price tag off a vase without Goo Gone.

We have a tree in our backyard that is very, for lack of a better word, branchy. It’s especially climb-worthy because we have shitty lawn maintenance service here at Tierra Vista properties. Well, that's not super clear. TVC has a lawn maintenance contract with an outside provider, that takes approximately 2-3 days to mow a set of lawns that could be mowed in one day; but for tree services, they rely on their regular crew, or on additional contracts, which means you have to call management and make a request.

We’ve had half a dozen trees fall this year, in our neighborhood, due to disease, and the maintenance crew that I spoke to about it was very alarmed when they finally came to check out our trees (after six calls to the management to force an inspection). His cries of protest to the management about needing to cut trees before they fall went on deaf ears, because in the management’s opinion, the cost/benefit analysis was simple: it’s cheaper to clean up the mess in the event of a maybe-fall, than to pay for the definite mess of a no-fall. Hmmm….Logic?

I digress.

Back to the branchy tree.

My branchy tree. The window it's up against is my bedroom window. I was clearly sound asleep! And, when I got outside, my son was ABOVE the roof! ABOVE the roof! I almost threw up when I saw him. He was in that bushy part at the top, nearly invisible.

My branchy tree. The window it's up against is my bedroom window. I was clearly sound asleep! And, when I got outside, my son was ABOVE the roof! ABOVE the roof! I almost threw up when I saw him. He was in that bushy part at the top, nearly invisible.

We have a very branchy tree, full of sucker growth. The maintenance manager recommended a serious trim, and said within several years, the tree would fall on the house, being pulled in too many directions. This is a super climb-worthy tree for a Spider Monkey. This means that we have had to establish some rules about how far a boy can climb, without supervision. Unfortunately, this is a vague thing to establish for a little boy, who despite a desire to follow rules, is also equally ruled by Mr. Hyde, who is encouraging him to just “do whatever he wants.” In this case, join Icarus near the sun. So, our rule: climb only to “here,” when we aren’t outside with you, was very easy to ignore, or in Collin’s words, “forget,” or "not understand," or "have a hard time seeing from the ground." 

I was asleep in the house because I’m a negligent mother and I don’t care about my child.

Wait, no. That’s not right.

I was asleep because I had a migraine and I wished for the sweet release of death that never comes with a migraine. I was dressed in footie pajamas, a robe, and two-day old, unwashed hair. I looked so, so pretty. Collin decided to go play in our backyard, and only our backyard, as when I’m not feeling well, he gets the tiny range of about ten feet from our house. Back to that “negligent parent” part, yes?

I don't generally care too much about what people think of what I'm wearing. Wednesday is Wonder Woman Wednesday, for example; I wore this same outfit yesterday to a neurologist's appointment. But, pj's to have my kid rescued from a tree was a little bit pushing the envelope of good decorum.

I don't generally care too much about what people think of what I'm wearing. Wednesday is Wonder Woman Wednesday, for example; I wore this same outfit yesterday to a neurologist's appointment. But, pj's to have my kid rescued from a tree was a little bit pushing the envelope of good decorum.

He’d asked if he was allowed to climb the tree, which happens to be directly outside my bedroom window, where I was lying down. This seems like a no-brainer permission, right? I told him he could go play, but to, of course, remember the rules about height.

“Of course, Mommy.” Famous last words.

An indistinct amount of time later, I hear my neighbor knocking on my back door, saying that the police are here and that my son is stuck in a tree.

Like a kitten.

The police.

What. The. Fuck.

So, I scramble outside. In my pajamas. Normally, I don’t care about that so much. I've watered plants in my jammies, gotten the mail, read a book on my patio. Whatever. But this felt a little different. Right now, I’m scrambling outside in my pajamas to greet a policeman, who is rescuing my feral child, from a tree. I was, a bit, well, embarrassed. I felt like I should have complimented my ensemble with a Coors Light and maybe a Parliament.

The very next day. Showered. Wet hair, but nonetheless, still clean and dressed. Just in case the cop who helped me sees this. See! I do get dressed....sometimes! I swear!

The very next day. Showered. Wet hair, but nonetheless, still clean and dressed. Just in case the cop who helped me sees this. See! I do get dressed....sometimes! I swear!

After some explanations to the police about why I was in pajamas, given with some nervous laughter, and, spoken over my child, who explained that he’d been yelling for me for “a while” (shut up, Collin! Seriously!), we determined that we needed a ladder to retrieve him. The policeman and I carried my ladder from the garage, rescued my child, and we sheepishly went into the house. The "rescue" part is anticlimactic. Sorry.

And that, my friends, is why Collin is not allowed to climb trees anymore.

New Rule.

So, that is how you embarrass yourself in front of your neighborhood, and how you teach your son not to reach too far beyond his station, all the same time.

Screw Mean Girls - I've Got Another Brain Surgery to Worry About!

I had no idea how important my last few posts would be. I take that back; I had no idea how important they would be to the few people that viewed them nearly 100 times. It’s strange how important you can be to someone, how much you can impact them in one context, but matter so little to them in another. It makes me imagine my “fans” opening my page again and again, making their poor husbands read it, or reading passages aloud, shouting, “can you believe she said THAT!” Poor hubby mumbles, “yes dear, she’s a monster.”

Meanwhile, the amount of angst I’ve spent on this whole thing has been about the equivalent to how bad I feel when I kill a centipede. I hate centipedes. Oddly, I'll rescue every other type of bug, and shoo it outside. I'm a softie for every living thing, except centipedes. Nothing should have that many legs! Nothing!

Don’t get me wrong, I shed my tears over a year ago. I was hurt by mean girls. I had my “why don’t they like me anymore?” moments; and I had my “what did I do?” and I had my “how can they abandon me like this?” times. But that was over long ago. I pretty much had my tear-fest long before my first surgery. It was the last time I saw any of these people, and realized I was “out.”

And here’s why I feel this way: I’m fucking sick! Yesterday, I was reminded of this in a big way. I got word that I am, indeed, facing a second brain surgery, probably before sinus surgery. So, all of this petty bullshit is just that. It’s petty, ridiculous bullshit, which was my point all along. Girls decide they hate you for whatever insane reason they make up in their minds, and they don’t offer their support when your family is literally in the depths of hell. But, they pretend they are smiling and waving. It’s insane. And, it’s a special kind of nonsense that I refuse to allow near my life anymore.

Full on pain, yesterday. I slept for over 18 hours of the 24 yesterday. How did I do this, with a husband out of town for work? People. Kind people. A neighbor played with my son. A different neighbor picked him up from school. Someone else came and helped me with my medication. Kindness. This is what sickness looks like; and it's what kindness looks like. I have been in a bad pain cycle for a few weeks and haven't been able to break out of it. The only thing that helps is pure, unbroken sleep. So, I slept. And slept. And slept some more. Like the pretty ice pack on my head?

Full on pain, yesterday. I slept for over 18 hours of the 24 yesterday. How did I do this, with a husband out of town for work? People. Kind people. A neighbor played with my son. A different neighbor picked him up from school. Someone else came and helped me with my medication. Kindness. This is what sickness looks like; and it's what kindness looks like. I have been in a bad pain cycle for a few weeks and haven't been able to break out of it. The only thing that helps is pure, unbroken sleep. So, I slept. And slept. And slept some more. Like the pretty ice pack on my head?

The news of my next brain surgery has put things in perspective, yet again. It’s why I have no patience for silly girl nonsense, and why it doesn’t matter. My battle isn’t with them, or with any mean girls. My battle is with my own body.

My body is constantly fighting against me. It’s constantly trying to tear me apart. It’s constantly trying to see if it can tear my family apart. My battle is trying to keep my family whole, amidst the storm that is both chronic illness, and brain injury; it’s a storm that wants, so badly, to tear us, and me, apart.

This illness wants, so badly, to force me to miss my son’s school performances. It wants me to lay on the couch, and not be able to play Lego. It wants me to be too weak to engage when he needs correcting, forcing Daddy to be the only disciplinarian and me to be his only source of comfort. It wants me to be too sick to ask my son how his day was, so he feels closer to the neighbor who drives him to school. And, it wants me to be too sick from pain meds to stay awake to hear the answer, when I’m strong enough to ask.

This illness wants me to be too sick to cook dinner more than once a month, leaving my supportive husband to add it to his list of amazing ways he cares for me, without complaint. It wants me to be too sick to shower alone, forcing my husband to not only be my lover and partner, but also my nursemaid, a role he didn’t sign up for. It begs to burden our marriage with far more sickness than health. It threatens our partnership, every day, and forces us to choose to be closer, or to be pushed apart.

So, when I get dealt another blow, knowing that a titanium plate in my head will come with more ICU time, with screws in my skull, and with more of everything awful, all this nonsense about mean girls just reminds me that it’s just that: nonsense. It melts like a snowflake from the first snow, landing on the highway: impotent and meaningless. If some nasty girls choose to be awful to me, and choose to pass the blame buck, choose not to self-reflect, that’s on them. It’s not about me anyway; it’s about them.

I have bigger and more important problems than a few mean girls who got upset about being called out on their behavior. And more importantly than that, I have bigger and more important people in my life than those who are small. I have people whose hearts are larger than life. Those are the people who I will lean on again. Those are the people I will talk about and share about. Those are the people I will see at the hospital, whose words of comfort will carry me on nights filled with pain and illness. Those are the people my son will lean on when he’s afraid his mother will die.

My reason to fight. This is the best I'd felt all day. I got out of bed when he came home from school. We sat together for a few minutes before dinner, and we cuddled on the couch. He told me about how excited he was to get further in his Wii game (a special treat to get to play during the week, but Mama is sick). And, we re-heated a meal that hubby prepped in advance for us. But, I have to keep my head, essentially, frozen, so I have to wear an ice pack, wrapped around my head 24-7, so I can even THINK of moving from bed. Why? Because my brain is swollen. Yes, swollen. I take steroids all the time too, to keep it from swelling too much. But, this is what matters, not some petty nonsense. If it makes silly girls feel better to hate someone whose life consists of this, then more power to them. I hope they enjoy hating me if it gives them a weird version of power.

My reason to fight. This is the best I'd felt all day. I got out of bed when he came home from school. We sat together for a few minutes before dinner, and we cuddled on the couch. He told me about how excited he was to get further in his Wii game (a special treat to get to play during the week, but Mama is sick). And, we re-heated a meal that hubby prepped in advance for us. But, I have to keep my head, essentially, frozen, so I have to wear an ice pack, wrapped around my head 24-7, so I can even THINK of moving from bed. Why? Because my brain is swollen. Yes, swollen. I take steroids all the time too, to keep it from swelling too much. But, this is what matters, not some petty nonsense. If it makes silly girls feel better to hate someone whose life consists of this, then more power to them. I hope they enjoy hating me if it gives them a weird version of power.

Yes, don’t forget that there’s a child here, a child who was (and is) afraid his mother wouldn’t (won't) come home from the hospital. Actually, his biggest fear was that they would cut out the part of my brain that remembered to love him. Imagine, for a second, your child saying these words to you. So, small people whose biggest concern is that they can’t recognize that they are rotten, I’ve got no time for that; I’ve got a baby who I have to comfort.  

Cruelty may hurt, but love and kindness carries. And, I argue, that kindness and kind people are far more prevalent. I see it every day; I only saw cruelty twice. That’s proof enough for me that kindness is the most powerful force in the world, and I continue to believe in it. Furthermore, I believe in it so strongly, that I don't doubt for a moment that, one day, mean girls will one day be kind girls. And when they are, I'll be right here.

This is so cute and so accurate, let's pretend that the person who created it didn't use the wrong "your." It should be "you're." There...I feel better :)