Pity Party Over

I am fairly certain that yesterday I was given a big sign that I need to stop being sad/mad/depressed/devestated/heart broken about another BFN.

I am going to preface this story with the fact that I was in an incredible amount of pain, so at least when you are laughing, you also feel a little bad for me.  Warning, it is long. 

We came home from our 8 day vacation to a lawn that was screaming for attention.  Unlike most people that we know in Miami, we take care of the yard and pool on our own.  It's not our favorite thing to do in the summer, but we figure that while we have nothing else to focus our attention on (no kids) we might as well save the money and do those things ourselves.

Mr. Desperate started a new job Monday (so at least there was some happiness and celebration even with our BFN results) and is really excited about it.  He has been talking to people off and on for years... maybe 3??  I have, by the way, changed schools twice since then.  Anyway, I decided to be an amazing wife (perhaps a result of reading Gone Girl) and surprise him by mowing the yard while getting out some of my anger/frustration/devastation by the BFN, which he planned to do on the 4th of July.  I've seen him do it a million times and although it took me about 15 minutes to figure out how to start the dang thing, I got it running and was off.  About half an hour into it, the thing died.  So here I am, with like a fifth of the yard mowed, convinced I have broken the machine.

I thought maybe it was just overheated, so I let it sit for a bit before trying to start it again.  It started (Yay!  I didn't break it!) but literally sounded like it was running on fumes.  Then I realized, "It's running on fumes!"  So, I added some more gasoline and was good to go.  At this point, I am so psyched that I don't have to admit I broke the lawn mower and I am just mowing away, wondering how sore I am going to be tomorrow.  When, all of a sudden, I felt like I smacked my head on a tree branch.  But I realize I am close, but not that close, to our avocado tree.  I stood there for a second until I heard a buzzing in my ear. 

Holy F^&%!

A BEE!

I walked away from the tree, hoping the bee would let me gracefully disappear from its presence, but (of course) it followed me.  Calm, rash decisions, turn into panic and I literally threw off my gloves, my shoes, my sunglasses and jumped into the pool FULLY CLOTHED to get away from the bee.  My dog was outside with me and she hates the pool, so she started freaking out.  I'm under water, now worrying that the bee is going to go after her.  And go get all of his bee friends and get us both.  So, here I am, holding my breath as long as I can while deciding that we have to go inside.  NOW.  I poke my head out of the water, don't hear the bee, and make a break for the garage, with Brie (my dog) following me.

So, now I'm in my garage soaking wet and in excruciating pain.  I decided that the bee must have stung me, as I am pretty sure I didn't hit my head on anything.  So I strip down in my garage because I don't want to have to mop my floors today and make a beeline (oh, the irony!) for my bathroom.  My head is pounding and my hands are shaking and all I keep thinking about is the movie My Girl.  I text Mr. Desperate and he knows nothing about bees, so I turn to Google, where I learn you have to get the stinger out.  I'm still not even sure I was stung, by if I was how was I supposed to find a stinger (which I assume is black) in my dark brown hair???  So, I do what any idiot does and start pushing where it hurts.  Somehow, I miraculously located something sticking out of my head.  I decided that I was absolutely, without a doubt, stung by a bee and began to try to remove the tiny stinger from my head (I am still amazed that something so small can hurt so bad).  Only my hands were shaking so bad that I couldn't do it and had to call for backup. My friend (the one that went with me to one of my doctor's appointments) came over and saved me, and then laughed her a$$ off.

I took tylonel, benadryl, put ice on my head, and proceeded to sleep for 4 hours.  Mr. Desperate came home, was pissed that I left all the lawn equipment outside, but once he realized that I could not function after taking benadryl he didn't care. He even stopped on the way home to pick me up queso (I was born and raised in Texas)!

It still hurts today, but I think that's my head's way of reminding me NOT to go outside again.  And to look into a bee removal company :) .

So, in all the craziness, I was able to let go of all of my disappointment.  I woke up today without the feeling that the air was weighing me down.  Hopefully, in a few days I will be able to laugh as I tell this story and that I will be able to begin my next cycle with some weight lifted from my shoulders. 

Oh, and the next time someone asks if I'm allergic to bees, I can definitely say no!