It is done. But first, my day yesterday.
I went to Urgent Care to find out if I could maybe please ohgawdhurryup get some elephant-strength antibiotics for my deathcold. After an unnecessary x-ray (they asked me if I was maybe pregnant, and I chortled and mumbled something under my breath about needing eggs and sperm for that), explaining to my ditzy doctor what mastitis is (it is not, as she suspected, an infection of the mastoid bone -- I was stunned by her presumption and in my daze just pointed to my boob and gave her a what-the-fuck look) as well as spelling the name of the drug I was taking for it (blah-blah-blah-acillin), and waiting and waiting and waiting, she told me what I already knew: sinusitis and bronchitis. Augmentin twice daily for about two weeks. Two doses in and I still have a raging fever. I am so tired, y'all. Almost ready for a dirt nap. Oh, and the doctor has a 4-month-old and delighted in telling me how her baby sleeps through the night for 10 hours, and how was mine? Not as much, I said, but getting there. She then asked me (hold back my punching fist, please) if I've started him on rice cereal, because then he'll sleep more. And then she gave me the greatest assvice-ish statement I've been gifted to date: maybe he's nursing at night because he's hungry. Wow. Did you learn that in medical school?
Then last night, while washing/wiping my ass with/spit-shining/sterilizing my pump parts, a little yellow valve went flying and the dog ran in to investigate whether the Meat Fairy or French Fry Fairy might have just dropped in to spread some canine culinary joy. Cause in the dog world, on-the-ground equals fair game, whether edible or not. You see where this is going. KB and I were on our hands and knees looking for this thing and could only conclude...that the dog ate it. Neither KB or I felt great, so I decided I would schlep out to le Target to buy a replacement. Let's just say, there is nothing dignified about standing in line at the checkout counter, face red from a 102-temp, hair a disaster of hobo proportions, sniffling, having uncontrollable spastic coughing fits and furiously ripping open the bag of cough drops hastily grabbed from the checkout-counter-temptation-rack, and then being asked cheerily by the clerk, "How are you this evening?" I felt like busting out in a raucous and rousing rendition of "I Feel Pretty," but I just stared blankly at her with my puffy dead eyes, and she knew I did not want to be offered a Target credit card and did not care if I could save 15% on my first purchase. That was the fastest sale in history. And with the warm weather and melting snow, I'm now kinda tempted to go scour the yard for yellow valve-shaped protrusions in the dog turds. Okay, not really. But wouldn't that make a great story for the next time (if there is a next time, which gods-willing there won't be) I get mastitis? Well, I do steam sterilize the parts, but this one time I fished a valve out of some dog dookie...I think, if the occasion unfortunately arises again, I will say that. For grins.
And then. Today. I gave my two-week notice and emailed a letter of resignation. I feel a weight lifted. They have two more weeks to squeeze blood from this rock and then they can consider themselves taken, and shoved. I feel some uncertainty, but mostly hope that I can start taking better care of myself at no one's expense. I am looking forward to more time with Jackson, working out, maybe rekindling my intimate relationship with my therapist (for a tune-up, since I'm in that mode), and spending some actual quality time with KB, which we both sorely miss and deserve and need. Glory be. Hallelujah.