I’ve written and re-written this post many times over the last few days, mostly because I couldn’t figure out exactly what I wanted to say and how I wanted to say it.

When last we spoke, Jerrad and I were trying to sort out where we wanted to move.  We’re still trying to sort that out, but some recent events have made some of the answers much clearer.  Although not exactly in the way that I would have liked.

I quit my job last Friday.  It was a very abrupt, but necessary decision.  I decided to just sum it up for you guys like I summed it up in an email to one of my friends:

It’s mostly more of the same – IBS, chronic fatigue, and all the shit growing in my uterus. I was in so much pain when I woke up on Friday that I knew not only could I not go in, I can’t do that kind of shift work at all anymore.

And my girly parts problems are just getting worse and more painful, and I know I’m going to need two different kinds of surgeries. And in October is when we’ve been trying for a year, so then I’ll be infertile, all official-like. Which obviously sucks.

I think I’m overall just really fucking pissed and sad that I have health problems that affect my functioning this much. I just want to be able to do what I used to do. Plus all this crap means I can never, ever let my health insurance lapse.

Which brings me to the next point, which is that now we can’t just pick up and move. We *have* to do it so that he has a job – with benefits – before we can even think about moving.

So, is everybody all caught up now? Basically, I’m “officially” infertile,  my intestines are trying to kill me from the inside out and trolls are now executing their well-planned hostile takeover of my uterus.  Apparently the only treatment for these sorts of trolls is to have yet more sharp pokey metal objects inserted into my girly-parts.  And this troll execution service is insanely expensive and requires me to keep this thing called health insurance.

Do you know what has become my new least favorite phrase?  “pre-existing conditions”  This little phrase means that I can’t be without health insurance ever again in my life.

I’ve spent the last almost week feeling sad, mad, frustrated and helpless.  As has my husband I’m sure.  It can’t be easy to watch your wife be sick and know you can’t make it go away.

I’m really sad about quitting the job, too.  Stop laughing!  I’m totally serious.  Some of you might remember that I had a few concerns about taking the job in the first place because I was worried the shift work wouldn’t fit so well with my health problems, and sure enough I was right.

But aside from that, I really liked the work.  I liked the facility, the kids, my coworkers, the way they ran the program, and being just an on-call helped me detach enough to do (what I hoped was) a good job and then be able to go home and not stress.  In many ways, it was a perfect job.

I’ll stop with that topic for now, because I suspect my feelings about my work future could take up an entire post on their own.  I will say one more slightly emo thing, then I’ll move on.  I realize that quitting the way I did caused an inconvenience, and if there was any way to avoid that, I would have.  But in the numerous messages I left and in the resignation I sent in writing, I made it clear that I was quitting due to a medical crisis and how I wish circumstances had been different because I enjoyed the job so much.

Not one person from there has called or responded to see if I’m alright.  Not one.  (Except for one coworker who’s a facebook friend).  Even though in my messages I could barely be professional because I was in so much pain and so upset.  I suppose I should take that as a good sign, right? My loss wasn’t even noticed, so they must be managing the schedule just fine with one less on-call.  And I should take it as a sign that moving on was the right thing.

Speaking of signs.  Lots of people are reminding me to pray, which I appreciate, but trust me, I have been.  I’m Catholic, so we got that shit down pretty good.  I’m saying rosaries and everything.  AND I’m even doing it all “right”.  Like instead of begging God to just get me the fuck up out of here please before I kill someone, I’m praying for guidance.

What I would prefer to have happen is like to maybe have a nice dream about Jesus where we’re like walking in a field or something and he’s all, “so, this is what’s up” and he tells me exactly what we’re supposed to do.  Also, if he wanted to heal me, I would be totally cool with that.

In all seriousness, we did get the answers we need to figure out the first part of the plan.  The fact that I can’t be without health insurance, and we aren’t about to drain our savings on COBRA payments, means he finds a job, then we move wherever it is that he finds that  job.  As he’s been looking at what’s out there, it’s confirmed a suspicion he already had that if he takes a few months to earn some certifications and try to take on new projects at work, not only will he be more employable, but likely to land a better job with a bigger salary in our new city.

Also, I kind of like the troll execution service I already have, and I wouldn’t mind letting them finish the job.  It could take anywhere from 3-4 months.  Incidentally, that’s about the amount of time it will likely take Jerrad to get his certifications.

And.  Since I can’t work right now, it seems to be as good a time as any to start practicing being  a one-income family.  A spreadsheet fueled budget discussion has determined we can do this as renters in this area. Homeowners, no way.  Renters, yes.

One last point.  Have I mentioned enough in past blogs how much I hate and despise the house we live in? Besides being impossibly tiny and not having a dishwasher, it has so many other issues that if I list them all I’ll start twitching.  Did I mention they recently raised our rent?

A quick internet search has revealed that we can find a bigger, nicer place in this area for the same or less than we are paying now.  The money we’ll pay in deposits will be evened out by the fact that we won’t pay $300 a month in electric bills to freeze our asses off this winter because the insulation in this house is so bad. And there are plenty of month-to-month and 6 month leases available.  I refuse to sign a one year lease.  Like, stomped my foot refused.  Not that he seriously suggested that.

So, to sum up the revised plan.  We are moving into a new place here before October 1.  While here we will have trolls removed and he’ll study for his test thingies.  We can start the first culling of our many belongings so we have less to move to our new city.  And I plan on spending at least the first week making out with the dishwasher.

This health crisis forced us to look at things in a new way, and that’s good.  Although the revised plan isn’t ideally what I wanted, I know it’s the right thing because I feel at peace and happy with the decision.

Tags: infertility, Living With IBS, quitting your job, Relocating

This entry was posted by Cathy on Thursday, September 17th, 2009 at 10:29 am and is filed under Living With IBS, My Former Life, Relocating, Trying To Conceive. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.