Dad Brog (#084): My health isn’t just my health anymore

For the last two weeks, I’ve had a dreadful cough. It started with sneezing, and then my chest filled with gunk, and since then it’s been a tremendous amount of coughing, scratchy throat, and then more coughing.  At certain times and conditions worse than others, but a noticeable amount of coughing going on.

I chalked it up to a seasonal allergy, since I am susceptible to pollen, and this year’s jizzing by Mother Nature has been particularly bad.  Mythical wife has been tired of hearing me coughing, and suggested I go to a doctor, just to get an antibiotic or something to help rush this shit along.  But being of the typical male who generally avoids going to see doctors, I didn’t, chalking it up to being on the mend and that the phlegm just needs to work itself through my system.

Today, #2 was diagnosed with strep throat.  She hasn’t shown any coughing, sneezing or any of the other typical strep symptoms, but she’s been incredibly fussy and was already headed to the doc for her 9-month checkup.  There, it was noticed her throat was a little red and after a quick test, yep it’s strep.

Now the obvious culprit is that her lousy dad might have had strep and didn’t know it was strep because he didn’t have anything other than a nagging cough, and I still don’t know if it’s strep or not.  But the point remains that the very likely source of my daughter’s sickness is the person I see in the mirror and having a coming to Jesus moment that I really should be taking care of myself better if not just for myself, but for the sake of others, namely my own family and kids.

You’d think after two-plus years of being in a pandemic I would have figured that out already, but 40 years of life haven’t really made it sink in until I really jeopardized the wellbeing of one of the most important lives in my world.  Regardless of if I am the reason is irrelevant, just the possibility that it could’ve been me is enough of a wake up call to where I need to get my head out of my ass and just fucking do better.

It’s things like these that are the most obvious but most invaluable lessons to be learned about parenting, as well as life in general if you have other people in your life. It’s just a shame that I have to feel like a fucking failure in order for it to sink in, but I guess in a Fight Club fashion, it isn’t until you hit bottom that you’re free to do anything, like learn something important.

Forced writing, vol. 745

Over the last few weeks, I’ve actually been in an okay rhythm of writing.  Between my new job having yet to really pick up steam, leading me to have some occasional downtime, trying to get #2 onto a modicum of a sleep schedule, and the fact that there have actually been numerous things that have piqued my interest to write about, I’ve actually felt satisfied with how much brogging I’ve been able to accomplish lately.

At this very moment however, I’m in a position where I wish to continue to ride such momentum and keep on writing, however my motivation to write is basically nonexistent today.  It’s not for lack of things that I know I could brog about, from the Royal Rumble, a Bengals vs. Rams Super Bowl, Tom Brady’s retirement, or the spoiled surprise of the Washington Redskins Commanders new team name.  Or social commentary about how despite the threat of coronavirus being no lower now than it was two years ago, people are going out and about all the time, and other sicknesses are spreading like wildfires, leading to situations like earlier this week where I had to go two straight days without a nanny, while on the clock, wrangling two kids.

No, I don’t much feel like writing right now.  And I hate to make it seem like I’m never not in a bad place, but right now I’m not in a particularly good place.  However, I’ve said it several times in the past, it’s times like this when I don’t feel like writing, is exactly when I should be writing, even if I am forcing it.  I have the capacity to do so, and short of dicking around on YouTube or doing surveys on my phone, there’s still no better way to spend available time than writing for me.

I just received confirmation from the vet that my dog is very much not a good candidate for surgery, due to the development and spread of cancer in his little body, and at (roughly) 16 years old, it’s probably best to just do whatever necessary to make his life comfortable, but for all intents and purposes, dog has cancer, who knows how much longer there’s left, but it’s probably not much.

I’ve touched on it before, but #2 has been regressing hard in terms of sleep, in spite of the training we’ve been trying to implement.  For the most part, both of my kids have been polar opposites of each other when it comes to sleeping, and for how great my oldest sleeps, #2 is an absolute nightmare when it comes to the topic of sleep.  Over the last few days, she’s been waking up multiple times in the night screaming bloody murder, and nothing short of plowing her with bottle after bottle seems to be capable of bringing her back down and getting her to sleep.  For another 54 minutes, before it all seems to repeat itself.

Mythical wife and I have been basically getting no more than an hour of sleep at a time before it repeats itself, and it might be just fatigue rate, but seriously, this shit is ruining my life right now.  I loathed teething and sleep regressions from my first go-around, but there’s nothing saying we’re not hitting both at the same time with #2, but it absolutely sucks balls, and I can’t even look forward to going to bed anymore, because of the expectation that shit will repeatedly hit the fan while asleep.

So when baby isn’t sleeping, parents aren’t sleeping, and we’re miserable and ornery and exhausted, more so than when she was a tiny newborn.  And this impacts my work life, which is actually now important now that I’m a new guy in a new place, and it’s critical that I make positive first impressions of how hardworking and reliable I am, but I haven’t really been able to, because of kid duties, and I’m concerned about having those that hired me think they got a dud, instead of the stud I know I’m capable of being when I’m normal, engaged and not distracted.

Of course, this, like most soul-sucking, sanity-testing tribulations of parenthood, will pass, but it’s just a matter of when.  It feels like a speedbump that never will end, and it’s so, so hard on a daily basis to operate in the routine I’m in.  It’s a waiting game with no definitive expected target date in sight, and frankly that’s feeling like the case with anything and everything these days.  From small shit like waiting for an email response from customer service, to waiting on some merchandise I’m interesting to drop when they said it was going to drop, to bigger things like the aforementioned wait for my daughter to get her sleep shit together so that my household can actually get some rest and improve the quality of our lives.

I am, not in a very good place right now.  I’m trying my best to keep my head above water, and trying to find happiness and small wins in the little things, like the explosion of growth and development from my first child, and the general daytime happiness and smiles from #2 at any other time outside of the night when she should be sleeping.  But when it comes to the big picture, there are a lot of things that are bogging me down, and I hope that the strings cut and they fall off sooner rather than later, because I’m just so over so much, and I need, just a little bit of time to catch my breath and not feel like I’m so underwater all the time.

I don’t want to be an emotional vampire

Since starting my new job, things haven’t been easy.  I was provided the wrong laptop from the very start, which inhibited my ability to do the core of my work functions from the onset.  My household also (likely) contracted the ‘Rona, which I’ve already said my piece about multiple times already, but I didn’t want to bring that up just when I was starting my new job, fortunately everything’s been remote still to this point.

Then, there was the bullet I realized that I had avoided from the old job with numerous of my former colleagues and reports getting axed that fucked my head up, because I’ve come to the realization that my shitty old boss knew this was coming and had been planning for this for a while, and I just so happened to have gotten out before the hammer fell, but it doesn’t change the fact that I have survivor’s guilt as well as feel like some of my old reports are accusing me of knowing it was coming and not telling them, which couldn’t be any further from the truth.

More recently, I’ve found out that my dog has cancer, and until I get an ultrasound, won’t really know the full extent of what we’re dealing with, but given the fact that he’s like 16 years old, things aren’t looking too optimistic right now.

All while my second child is still a living nightmare when it comes to sleeping, as it’s feeling nigh impossible to put her down for naps while I’m on the clock at work, and I can’t expect my nanny to handle the two under two remotely competently without compromising the care on one of them.

Needless to say, things have been pretty rough on my side, while I’m on the clock, but the difference now is that I’m the new guy at a job I’ve just started, versus being the guy on his way out of a job I couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of.  My flakiness now, I give a shit about, and feel like shit that I’m being flaky, because my head’s not on straight because of all the bullshit going on and/or my youngest being a gargantuan cockblock for my ability to work, because there’s no way I can concentrate on work when she’s screaming bloody murder instead of taking a fucking nap.

My new boss is chill, and probably would be understanding to some of the shit I’m going through, seeing as she has children and dogs, and clearly isn’t the micromanager that has it out for me in the first place.  But at the same time, I don’t want to unload all this baggage when I haven’t even completed my first month with the company.

Although I’m sure I would be okay and probably get some leniency and empathy, I just don’t want to be like the emotional vampire from What We Do In the Shadows, the girl who was Colin Robinson’s office rival-then-fling, who always had some unfortunate shit happening to her, so she could siphon off the emotional energy of all the people in the office.  Because that’s what I feel like I would be, if I would make too much of my bullshit known, and I don’t want to give that off, when I’m still in the stage where I’m still making first impressions everywhere I go.

But it really does suck just how inhibited I am sometimes while I’m on the clock, because I really do want to hit the ground running and do better than I feel I’m doing now.  Ironically, as much as I don’t want to go back in to the office, I feel like my productivity has a ceiling while I’m at home, and if I really want to shine at new job, I think I’m going to eventually have to embrace the need to go back.

My boy isn’t well

Today, I found out that my dog basically has cancer.  I kind of knew this was going to be the case, because when things like a hard lump that kind of grew out of nowhere are in play, the conclusion seems kind of forgone, but it doesn’t make it suck any less when the vet tells you it’s a tumor, and the real question really being just how bad of a cancer we’re dealing with here.

It’s funny, because I had the new vet at my clinic, the one with the least tenure there, which explains why she has the Saturday afternoon shift, but I was just glad that I was able to take my dog in at all today to get checked out in the first place.  But she’s pretty young, I imagine she doesn’t have the experience as some of the other doctors at the clinic do, so when she’s explaining things to me, she’s using a lot of technical and medical terminology, and seemingly avoiding use of the dreaded C-word.

It isn’t until I explain to her that a lot of the terminology is going over my head, and I couldn’t help but notice the seemingly deliberate avoidance of using the word “cancer,” and that I would really appreciate a little more dumbed down explanation of what’s going on.  The tech leaves the room at this point for some reason, and the doc is a little more clearer with the explanation, and I feel like I have a little more understanding of the situation to where I can at least brog about it.

The lump is definitely a tumor, but the clinic doesn’t have the on-site resources to do anything beyond a cursory examination, and sending out slides is really the only way we’re all going to get some more accurate clarity to what we’re dealing with.  Given the circumstances of how it appeared to have appeared and grown fairly rapidly over the span of the last two months, things don’t appear to be very optimistic, but again, never going to know until we get some more concrete evidence.

It doesn’t help the fact that my boy is anywhere from 15-17 years old, which is well at or past life expectancy for his general breed, and the fact that he also has a grade-4 heart murmur.  Adding cancer on top of it is like a fucked up cherry on top, but him being the goodest boy on the face of the planet, is still acting fairly normal, his behavior and temperament are still his usual cheerful self, and he’s eating, drinking, pooping and peeing as a normal dog would.  Even the girl doing clean-up in the lobby was astounded to hear that he’s (estimated) 16 years old.

But that’s where we’re at right now.  My good boy is not doing well, in spite of the pep he continues to exhibit.  Regardless of what the full diagnosis is going to be, the options are not many, nor are they even likely to work, if they’re even possible at all.  At his age, it’s not lost on me that we’re definitely in the final act of his expected lifespan, but it never doesn’t suck for pet owners to come to grips with the mortality of their companions, and all I can really think about are all the things I feel guilty to him about not being a better owner; like an asshole, thinking about myself, when he’s the one dealing with fucking cancer, and no-selling it like Hercules vs. Sid because he’s the best dog there is and he’s showing way more strength than I am, and doesn’t even realize it.

But he’s not gone yet, and hopefully my life can get its shit together enough to make the even more likely limited time I have with him somewhat better and rewarding.  Two years ago, I had concerns on whether or not he’d last long enough to get a picture with my first daughter with a shirt that had a dog that looked a lot like him on it.  Not only did we get a good picture, there’s now second daughter in the equation, and here’s hoping that we can repeat that history with her.

Undefeated, no longer

One of the many things I hate about very likely having COVID is whenever anyone insinuates that it’s remotely close to okay, because the infection numbers are so rampant that it’s almost inevitable that everyone will have caught a variant of it at some point.

My response to that is that a loss is a loss, and there’s no wiping a loss from your record, no matter how successful you are afterward.

Because I’m me, everything is an analogy to sports or wrestling, and the way I see it, everyone who has managed to evade COVID as long as I and my household had, was basically undefeated. 

Fewer things in competition are as hallowed as undefeated streaks, and there’s little more frequent narrative of a streak to inevitably break, with it growing more and more value the longer it goes unbroken. 

The ‘72 Dolphins. DiMaggio’s 56-game hit streak. Ripken’s 2,632 consecutive game streak.  The Oakland A’s 20-game win streak. The Cleveland Indians’ 22-game win streak. Goldberg’s 173-0 streak. Asuka’s 914-day undefeated streak. The Undertaker’s 21-0 Wrestlemania streak.

And in my head, every single person who has managed to go without COVID since it came into existence, y’all are also undefeated.  And up until a week ago, my wife was.  Up until more recently, so was I. 

But now, (very, very likely) not anymore. 

No, it isn’t the end of the world. My wife will recover. I will recover. We could thrive afterward. But it’s still a loss on our records, and that will never go away.  And I fucking hate it.

Back in like 1995, I was playing a season NBA Live ‘95. I wanted to have a season where the Orlando Magic went undefeated with my Penny Hardaway having 100% field goal percentage and averaging like 169 points a game and a triple-double.  I put a lot of time into it, but after about 30 games, the game apparently didn’t like such unrealistic conditions, and next thing I knew, I had a loss to the Seattle SuperSonics on my record and my Hardaway’s numbers were all tarnished. 

I quit the game.  That and-1 was a loss that I couldn’t expunge no matter if I won every single game afterward.  It ruined the ultimate goal.

Having the ‘Rona brought into my home and infecting my household makes me feel like the 2007 Patriots.  We were doing so well, only to be derailed and defeated by an unlikely party.  And the worst part is, I highly doubt the offending party realizes just how much they’ve fucked us.

Whereas they can go home to a childless environment with nobody but themselves to care to recover over, or any real demanding jobs to go to, mythical wife and I have two young kids to be mindful of, boatloads of duties that still have to get done no matter how addled we are; on top of our respective jobs.

Ask any parent how it feels to have to deny their kids an embrace that they want, and tell me that it’s still “fine” that “everyone’s going to get it eventually.”  Don’t try and calm me down with that bullshit reassurance that everyone will get it or that Omicron isn’t as lethal, because I will tell you to go fuck yourselves.

Life is already very difficult as it is right now, but to throw fucking coronavirus into our mix, sounds like a pretty crushing loss and way to end an undefeated streak in a terrible fashion.  I will always resent it, and unlike a video game, this loss on the record is permanent and there’s no turning off and quitting it.

How today should be versus how it is

Today is my last day with *Fortune 50 company redacted*.  I’ve been here for a hair under six years, and this is the longest job I’ve ever had.  As much of a stressor and source of frustration the job had turned into over the last two years, under normal circumstances today really should be a bittersweet one, because there are still a lot of good people there, I’ve made a lot of good relationships, as I close this chapter of my career.

Instead I’m just bitter, at all the life’s circumstances that are swirling around in play right now, and I’m having a very difficult time letting go of all this anger and frustration I’m feeling. It’s tarnishing absolutely everything around in my life right now, and I’m fully aware of it and how calm people always wax poetic about how it’s never good to hold onto anger, but I can’t help it because my entire household has been compromised by one fucking person who thinks vaccination means they can resume living life like it were 2018 again and going into crowds and picking up plagues to spread unto others.

I should be excited about my new job starting up soon, but I’m not.  I haven’t even worked a day, but I’m already dreading it, because my home is still fucked with COVID, and in spite of me originally thinking I may have been asymptomatic, I’m feeling shit in my throat that is saying otherwise and I’m 99% sure I too now have dropped off the list of the undefeated but I can’t know definitively because the America is too full of stupid fucks, the disease is everywhere and I can’t get tested because all sites are slammed to oblivion and and all home tests are sold out everywhere until like 2025.

Instead of embarking on my new career path full of optimism and hope eternal, it’ll more than likely be just like a day like today: me on double duty with my girls because we can’t bring in help because of COVID and mythical wife still having to go to work because the school system is more fucked up than Heaven’s Gate and they’re more than willing to turn a blind eye to someone with a very recent exposure as long as they don’t have to go get a substitute teacher.  So I’m quadruple stressed out because I probably have the ‘Rona, I’m still on the clock with my last day of work, I’m worried for my wife, and dealing with both kids.

All because one person brought the fucking plague into my home.

I should be coasting to the finish line and feeling melancholy as I bid adieu.  I should be excited about my new job coming up. 

I should be in good spirits.

But I’m not.  I’m angry, frustrated, disappointed and disgusted.  Brain full of bile, throat full of phlegm, feeling bitter and resentful and helpless because there’s absolutely jack shit that can really be done about any of this but wait it out.Have to power through orientation and day 1 of new job while putting up a facade that everything is fine.  Have to wait out 10-14 days to hope that this Omicron bullshit works its way through my house’s residents.  Have to eventually find somewhere to test or have to pay for fucking home tests if they can even be found.

Have to keep life in fucking hold stasis for even longer, because of the conduct of someone outside my home.

Today should be a good day.  But it’s fucking not.  I can get over me getting sick, but my wife and my innocent children getting sick, is inexcusable.  It’s not fucking fair, and this is anger that I will be incapable of letting go of, for a long time. 

Among the list of reasons why I’m leaving my job

As I wind down my tenure at *Fortune 50 company redacted* I’ve actually been feeling not nearly as sentimental as I thought I might.  The constant struggling of parenthood, living in the pandemic world where the exposure has actually succeeded at getting into my home, and the lack of general farewell tour that most long-time associates of my company get have put me in a position to where I’m burning down my candle very quietly and discreetly, while the rest of my team solders forward preparing for another year of likely tumult and aggravation.

It suits me fine though, because as I’m winding down my list of things I’m trying to accomplish before I leave, one of them was to resolve the matter of my company stock that I have.  I know very little about stocks, in spite of my general fascination with the culture from movies like Boiler Room and The Wolf of Wall Street, but I figured it would be a good idea to partake in the employee stock purchasing capabilities I was privy to once I was promoted into my managerial position. 

Additionally, employees in my position are awarded vesting shares on an annual basis, to which my understanding is kind of like a loaded gun to hold at your head that only pays out once you’ve been with the company for 24-36 months, with the maturation being full at 36, but still eligible for some payout at 24.  Seeing as how I’ve been with the company for a few years, I’ve received my cut of vesting shares, and since I’m on my way out, I wanted to see just how much I’d be able to cash out, and just how much I’ll be forfeiting.

Of course, this wouldn’t be a brog post if it wasn’t some tragic failure or example of irony, and there’s little better subject of a post than things fucking up in my life, and this is a prime example of it, and feeds to the general frustration and disenchantment and serves as a reminder at just why I’m leaving this job.

Continue reading “Among the list of reasons why I’m leaving my job”