I’m on my phone, but I had to post: this week had been hell. Monday I had counseling, which was rough, last night DH was taken to the ER from an abnormal ekg, and today we are trying to take care of his health.
Thank God we aren’t ttc this month. I don’t think we’d be able to afford it.
I’ll post more properly later on today, but we’ve been up since 4 am. We are just waiting for offices to open at this point.
What use do I have for optimism? Every time I think I’ve reached my limit, my breaking point, something comes along to remind me that it can and will get worse.
When I was driving to the ER, all I could think of is how long I would get for bereavement leave at work. It wad line I was sent right back to January, when I’d wake DH up in the middle of the night to check and see if he was still alive.
It’s seven am here, and I’m already exhausted and have a headache. I’m worried about me, I’m worried about DH, I’m worried about insurance.
I hate self pity, but I’m wallowing in it today.