Self-Deprecating

I wasn't very nice to myself today.  And it pissed me off.

One of my coworkers asked me today if I am a nurse, too.  I replied, "No, just a social worker."  Just.  A lot of weight is in that one little word.  Just.  As in only.  As in not important.  As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I was disappointed with myself.

There is nothing just about being a social worker.  About all the work I put into becoming a social worker.  About having the kind of personality it takes to be a social worker.

The decision to be a social worker isn't typically one that one just makes.  You either are a social worker or you're not.  It is like a gene, buried somewhere deep inside of you.  It is not something you do, it is something you are.  It is a part of you.

While obtaining a degree in social work may not be the most grueling process in the world, it is not easy, either.  It is a 2-year Masters degree program that includes classes and field placements.  A full-time program encompasses 5 3-credit classes plus a 24-hour per week placement per semester.  It takes commitment.  A lot of reading.  A lot of writing.

Going into the field of social work, while it is something you are inherently destined to do, is still something to seriously consider.  It is exhausting work.  It is emotionally overwhelming.  It is high-stress and low-pay.  We social workers like to say, "We don't do it for the money!" because, um, we'd be crazy if we did.  With a Masters degree, most of us make less than others with Bachelors degrees or even Associates degrees.  "We don't do it for the money," but it'd be nice if we were paid according to our work and stress levels.  My boss is constantly telling us that she wishes she could pay us more, because it kills her to see how low our pay is for all the shit we put up with.

In my position in particular, as a hospital social worker, we are the ones who get yelled at by overwhelmed and frustrated patients.  We are the ones who get blamed with discharges don't happen quickly enough.  We are the ones who take the heat when the nurses aren't happy.  We take the brunt of everyone's unhappiness...and we do it with a smile.

We appear to have thick skins but we have soft hearts.  We put up with all kinds of abuse.  We have conversations with people about death and dying.  We provide support to patients who are scared about their diagnoses.  We reassure families who are feeling guilty about placing their loved ones in nursing homes.  We encourage drug addicts who are looking for sobriety.

There is nothing just about being a social worker.  It is a noble, important, and necessary profession in this crazy world, and I am damn proud to be one.

Sometimes I need to remind myself of that...


*Images from my Pinterest

No, I'm Not Pregnant

Just fat.  But thanks for pointing out my gut. 

I've stopped making excuses to people.  Arguing with them.  I've just started responding that way when they look at my stomach and ask if I'm pregnant.  "Nope, just fat.  But thanks for pointing it out!" 

from google

Look, I am well aware of the fact that I have gained weight.  And that the bulk of that weight is sitting right at my gut.  I am aware that wearing babydoll-style shirts and flouncy maxi dresses also contributes to the appearance of being pregnant.  But I like that style shirt, and I've been wearing flouncy maxi dresses since before Nicole Richie made them cool again.  They are comfortable.  Especially in 90+-degree heat.  And especially now, when I am feeling too self-conscious about my gut to wear the more form-fitting clothes I have worn in the past. 

But I'm not pregnant.  And even if I am, it's not any of your business.  Until I decide to make it your business.  Which I haven't.  Cuz I'm not.

So let's stop talking about how I "look" pregnant.  Cuz all you're really saying is, "Wow, you have a stomach that's pushed out further than normal and we're taking notice!"  Which in turn means, "Hey, Fatty, nice gut."  It really doesn't make me feel good.

I have never been one to believe in "dieting."  It has always been easy for me to alter the way I eat (portion control, healthier foods, etc) and drop weight without much other effort.  Obviously, my body is older and my hormones are different and things have changed.  I need to put more effort into it.  So I've been working out.  I just started the 30 Day Shred, and am hoping that that gets me results.  But I'm only 2 days in.  So right now, I still have a gut and flabby butt and floppy arms.  Can we not discuss it and analyze it to death?   Seriously, I'm sitting at work right now, and I feel like I could cry.  I just walked away from a discussion between 3 nurses about how they all think I'm pregnant.  After a few "Nope, I'm just fat!" comments from me, with a hope that they'd get the point that they're hurting my feelings, I had to walk away.  How do you respond to that? 

Since when is it appropriate or socially acceptable to so openly discuss a woman's body?  Or a woman's choice to bear (or not bear) children?  One of the nurses actually had the audacity to ask me if I would be upset if I was pregnant.  After telling me that I was pregnant and me denying that "fact," she had the nerve to say to me, "But you wouldn't be upset if you were pregnant, would you?"  Like that would be the worst thing in the world.  Maybe I would!  Maybe I don't want to be pregnant.  But how is that any of her business?  Since when do I need to discuss my desire/ability/readiness to have children with her?

I'm absolutely appalled by the audacity of these women.  I would never dream of asking a woman if she was pregnant if I was absolutely 100% sure that she was.  And if I was so rude as to ask that of a woman who then tells me she's not pregnant, I would certainly not continue discussing the matter and insisting that she was!  Who does that?  In what way is that ok?

I am already terribly self-conscious about the weight I've gained.  Having people discuss it doesn't help.  I wish it were as happy an occasion as me being pregnant.  But unfortunately, it's just as simple as me gaining weight.  So let's move on, please.  You are not helping my already delfated self image. 

High School Besties

This weekend I'm getting together with my high school besties (many of whom were in my wedding party).  I am so excited to see them - I haven't seen most of them since our wedding, and the others I haven't seen since a year ago!  Wow!  Friday night the plan is to go to the Hotel Hershey for jazz on the veranda.  Then on Saturday we're having a big brunch with all our moms and kids (except, unfortunately, for my mom, who is away for a work conference - boo!).

We've all been friends since high school, which means that our moms have watched us all grow up, go to college, get jobs, get married, have kids...all that good stuff.  They've supported us and loved us and laughed with us and cried with us.  But - how do I put this delicatly - some of them have done that better than others. 

6 years ago, when our friend Abriel got married, my parents and our friend Tina's parents were invited to her wedding.  Our friend Mel's parents weren't.  It caused a little bit of tension, but everyone kind of got over it.  There's a lot of history there, that I don't really want to get into.  Nonetheless, for our wedding, we invited Abriel's mom and stepdad and Tina's parents.  Mel's parents were not invited.

So imagine my surprise when we were dismissing our guests after the wedding ceremony, and I was suddenly face-to-face with Mel's mom.  I didn't even know what to say to her.  I almost couldn't even face her.  I mean, I get it - technically, a wedding is a church service and open to the public.  Any stranger off the street could walk in and attend.  That's not the point.  The point is, she knew she wasn't invited, she probably knew that at least Abriel's were, and yet she showed up anyway.  I had to hug her and say thanks for coming.  It was awkward.  At the moment, I was too distracted and busy to really bother with feeling anything about it, but afterwards, I was pissed.  Who does that?  She had to know it would make me feel bad.

Anyway, she will obviously be there on Saturday and I'm a little anxious about it.  The best thing, I know, is to just ignore it and pretend it never happened.  But I have never liked this woman, and this makes me like her less.  I know it's awful to say that, but, like I said, there's a lot of history there, both in the way she's treated Mel and the way she's treated me.  It's hard for me to blow this off.  Thoughts?

Hold on Tight

Alternate title: Why Social Work Will Take You on the Ride of Your Life...Every Day

I mentioned that Friday was a crazy day, right?  There are many reasons why a day in the life of a hospital social worker can be crazy.  But Friday was a particularly special kind of crazy. 

Not only did I have multiple discharges to arrange (which means making referrals, finding an accepting facility, getting insurance authorization, setting up transportation, and communicating all of the above to the patient and family), but I also had a patient who refused to do anything without my "permission" (more on that in a minute), and a psych placement.  With out-of-area insurance.  Who was refusing to go to inpatient treatment, despite the fact that she was under involuntary committment and therefore legally couldn't refuse.  It's unnerving to have to tell someone, "I'm sorry, but, um, tough shit, you're going to get on that ambulance stretcher and go to treatment."  Legal committment or not, it's not pleasant to force someone into treatment.  We actually had to call security at one point because she threatened to walk out.  I had to stand there and have a discussion with her about the fact that she was being committed against her will and she had absolutely no choice in the matter.  Not. Fun.

But that's not the part that made my day so roller-coaster-y.  (Yep that's totally a word).  I had another patient who, when he first came into the hospital, you could not have a rational conversation with him.  He was delusional and paranoid.  I know, it sounds like I work on a psych floor, doesn't it?  I promise, I don't.  He was delusional due to a medication toxicity - he'd accidentally/unknowingly overdosed on one of his home medications, and it caused him to go a little wacky for a bit.  Once his toxicity level came down, he calmed down and was able to have a real, meaningful, purposeful conversation. 

This patient had been (through his perception) abused by the system his entire life.  He was distrusting of everyone in the hospital.  He threw several doctors and nurses out of his room.  The first time I met with him, I had to walk away because he was so abusive.  But somehow, I got through to him and he grew to trust me.  He felt like, for his whole life, he'd been promised things that were never delivered.  I did what I told him I'd do, and I think he felt like he finally had someone on his side.  He needed help at home but refused to sign the paperwork necessary to get the help at home because a) he is illiterate and b) he was afraid they'd take his house (a very common misconception, unfortunately).  Once I explained everything to him, he agreed to have the caseworker come back and to sign the paperwork...only if I was present for the meeting and explained anything he wasn't sure about. 

So I was and he signed everything.  It was kind of a proud moment for me.  As a social worker, it is incredibly fulfilling to know that you gained the trust of a man that so few others could not.  He signed the paperwork.  He agreed to go a nursing facility for rehab ("for one week!"), even though the facility that accepted him was outside the city.  I had everything arranged for him to go on Saturday.  I left work exhausted but feeling like I had done some real social work. 

I came in this morning and received a voicemail from his insurnace company saying that he'd never arrived at the nursing facility.  I called the facility and they told me that they'd received word that he'd left the hospital AMA, meaning Against Medical Advice, before his discharge.  I checked the chart and, indeed, he had signed out AMA. 

I have to admit, I'm a little heartsick over this.  I thought I had done some real work.  I thought I had made progress and made a difference in this man's life.  I thought we had a deal.  The nurse practitioner who was on service the day of his discharge is not here today, nor is the nurse who discharged him, so I can't find out what exactly went down until later in the week.  I ended last week on such a high, and this is a pretty major blow.

In my heart of hearts, I know that I do good in my job.  But things like this make it hard to see the forest for the trees.

Rant

Do you ever have one of those days/weeks where everything and everyone just seems to be out to piss you off?  Maybe this is one of those weeks for me.  Or maybe I'm just feeling extra-sensitive - it's a full moon and I have my period.  The two most wacktastic times of the month are in full alignment for me this month, and it ain't pretty.  I feel cranky, tired, annoyed, and fat. 

The way things are set up in my hospital is that the social workers are in the department of Clinical Resource Management.  This means that we are in the same department as the nurse case managers, who do the insurance reviews to make sure the hospital gets paid.  When I first started here, over 4 years ago, the social workers did all the discharge planning - set up home care, ordered equipment, arranged placements, setting up transportation, ordering medications...it was a lot, and things fell through the cracks.  We were totally overwhelmed.  About 3 years ago, the set up changed a little bit in that the home needs fell to the nurse case managers, so now they do the insurance reviews plus arrange home care and order equipment.  The theory behind this was that it would provide the social workers more time to do what we're trained for - to provide supportive counseling for patients and families.  It hasn't done that, but it was a nice thought.

Anyway.  Where I'm really going with this is that it can be very difficult to be paired with someone whose job is basically about the bottom line.  The case manager's job is to make sure we - the hospital - is getting paid.  Which means they have to find reasons to prove to the insurance companies that the patient needs to be in the hospital.  If the patient no longer meets "hospital level of care," it's time for him/her to go.  They also have to make sure that the patient's discharge plan is "safe," which sounds very altruistic and lovely, but really, it just means they need to make sure we're doing everything we can to keep the patient from getting readmitted, because if a patient comes back to the hospital within 30 days for the same reason, we (the hospital) don't get paid. 

While I understand that making sure the hospital is getting paid is important (I'd like to keep getting a steady paycheck, too), my first priority is to see that the patient's rights are being respected and upheld.  And this is where the social workers and the nurse case managers fall off the same page.  And me and my nurse case manager?  We may as well be in different books.  Social workers operate based on a core code of ethics and values.  The biggest one of those is to support the patient/client's right to self-determination.  And I take that value very seriously.  I feel like it is my job to advocate for the patient's right to make her own decision (so long as the patient has the mental capacity to do so).  If the doctors recommend placement for a patient, I am happy to discuss it with her.  But if she tells me that he wants to go home, that's her choice.  My job is to provide patients with the knowledge and choices to make an informed decision.  After that, it's up to the patient.  And we have to respect that, whether or not we agree with it.  Everyone has the right to fail.  But at least they failed with their dignity in tact. 

My case manager and I butt heads on this a lot.  And I get very frustrated with her very quickly.  She is constantly trying to get involved in cases that I am working on.  If I have established a relationship with a patient or family and am working with them to help them make a decision about home care services or rehab placement or (and this is my pet peeve!) hospice services, but the family is not deciding fast enough, she gets involved and puts pressure on me and on the family.  It's completely inappropriate and it makes me really angry.  I have discussed it with her and with our boss, but it never corrects.  It's her personality and unfortunately, my personality is the complete opposite.  We do not work well together and it's very difficult.  I am currently in discussions with my boss, who has just hired someone new, to change up the assignments a bit and put a new nurse case manager on my floor.  It's not a healthy work environment for either of us, and I fear that we do a disservice to our patients because we're so frustrated with each other.  But I worry that because she's so busy undermining me and then I'm trying to clean up the mess she inevitably causes, we're just confusing and frustrating the patients.  And as far as I'm concerned, it's ok to piss me off, but when you start affecting my patients, then it's not cool anymore.  I am here, as a social worker, to fight for my patients and to support their wants and needs.  If someone is interfering with that, it offends me. 

There are many other things about our working relationship that frustrate me.  She sends me emails throughout the day, telling me things about my patients that I already know because I've already established a relationship with them!  She makes inappropriate remarks about our patients.  She tries to drag me into situations where I do not need to be.  She tries to pawn work off on me.  She tries to make me feel guilty when she stays late and I leave (relatively) on time [somehow the fact that she sits around and gossips with other staff rather than getting her work done means I should be helping her out].  Luckily, my frustration (and let's face it, disdain) with her does not outwardly show, thank goodness (I asked a friend of mine who used to be a floor nurse on our unit). 

What do you think?  How do you deal with coworkers who you just cannot seem to mesh with?

Bad Week

(source)

This has been a rough week for me.  Emotionally, Iv'e been kind of all over the map.  Some pretty high highs, and some pretty low lows.  And yeah, it's only Thursday.

I have this patient.  25 years old.  Came in for drug withdrawal.  Had a seizure in the ER due to drug withdrawal.  He has a pretty extensive medical and surgical history.  He was taking LOTS of pain medication (all prescribed by a "doctor" who should be fired and then shot, IMHO).  Said "doctor" made him an addict.  When his most recent prescription ran out, he couldn't fill it.  He went into detox.  Rapid, unsafe, and painful detox.  So his family brought him to our hospital.

He's tired of being addicted.  He wants help.  He wants to go to detox and drug rehab.  He's a really sweet kid who got mistreated by a "doctor" who wanted his money.  His family is supportive and also wants him to get the right tratment.  So I contacted his insurance company (well, the county funding agency, since he has no insurance).  They tell me that the county will not pay for detox for him because it'll take too long.  They'll send him to rehab with a methadone maintenence program (MMP).  I explain (nay, insist) that he doesn't want maintenance, he wants to be done with it.  Completely.  I'm basically told "tough shit."  Oh, and get him off the benzos before you call us back.  Bottom Hit #1.

So we tapered his benzos.  In the meantime, the family is getting more and more anxious.  I keep reassuring them that once he's medically stable, we'll do everything we can to get him into a good rehab program.  They're not crazy about the MMP but they'll take what they can get.

Benzo taper done.  I call his insurance back.  I'm told, "Why didn't you call us when you started to detox him?"  I reply, "Uh, I did.  Last week.  And you told me to get him off the benzos and you'd help me send him to rehab.  We did that.  He's ready to go."  I'm told, "He has to go to [x-facility]."  I reply, "He went to [x-facility] 2 years ago and was worse coming out than he was going in."  I'm basically told "tough shit."  Bottom Hit #2. 

Also, they require ID to approve the transfer.  His wife can't find his driver's license, but his mom has a copy of his passport.  I'm told, "That's not good enough - it has to be a state-issued photo ID with his adress on it."  I say, "Can't we use his passport and a utility bill?  They can't find his wallet!"  I'm basically told "tough shit."  I'm also told, "You'll have to discharge him and he'll have to go to the DMV tomorrow to get a driver's license then call me."  Aaaaan Bottom Hit #3.

Where's the high, you ask?  This kid seriously wants help.  Like, seriously.  Do you have any idea how rare that is?  Usually patients like this want "help" because they need a place to stay.  Not him.  He's done with the methadone.  Over it.  And that makes me happy.  For him.  For his wife.  For his family.  Also, his family brought me this huge beautiful bouquet of roses yesterday.  I cannot tell you how much that meant to me.  It is extremely rare that we get thanked, let alone shown appreciation.  I'm not trying to play the martyr here, it's just a fact.  I knew that going into this profession - it's a thankless, exhausting, frustrating job.  But when you get a bouquet of roses and hugs from your patients...it makes all the other bullshit totally worth it.  So today?  I felt like giving those roses back.  I feel like I completely let this patient and his family.  I feel like a failure.

So...yeah.  Rough week.  St. Patrick's Day is usually when I knock back a Guinness or two.  Tonight, I'm thinking Bailey's on the rocks is sounding more my speed.  [I'd say Jameson, but I'm an enormous liquor weenie]  What are your plans for St. Patrick's Day?  Celebrating the Luck o'the Irish, or drowning your sorrows (like a true Irishman)?

Frustrated

I have a question for the world: Why is it that if you are a woman of child-bearing age and newly married, everyone and their sister thinks they have a right to discuss your baby-making plans? 

(source)

It annoys the shit out of me.  I feel like pregnancy is the most intimate decision a couple makes together.  Why do people feel it's their business to know these things?  Maybe Matt and I don't want to have kids (we do).  Maybe one of us can't have kids (as far as we know, we can).  Sometimes I just want to tell people we can't, just to make them feel bad.  But I'm superstitious and don't want to jinx us.  Nor do I want to make light of that situation, because I would imagine that it's absolutely heartbreaking.  But I've been tempted just to make people feel really terrible about putting me in that position.

I kind of lost it the other day.  On facebook, of all things.  Yeah, I was that girl  *sheepishly raises hand*  I posted something about feeling pukey.  Immediately, I had comments of "Are you pregnant?" and "What are you doing in 9 months?"  I initially replied "Not popping out a kid."  But people kept pushing.  And Matt's cousin, who is always overly-involved in everything everyone in the family is doing, asked me "Why not?"  So I finally posted, "How about this?  I'll start thinking about getting pregnant when everyone stops asking me when I'm getting pregnant.  At this rate, I'll be pregnant when I'm 70.  But don't worry, I'll be sure to discuss it with all of you, openly and on facebook, before I discuss it with my husband."  Not a word since. 

It really grates my nerves that people think they can just openly discuss my marriage and sex life like that.  So I'm trying to come up with a firm, but not mean, way of saying "F off."  Thoughts?

Officially Stressed

Ok.  I'm there now.  The Stress Zone.  Little things are built up in my head to be big things.  Sleep is a distant memory.  And here's a funny one: I usually under-eat when I'm stressed, but it seems that wedding stress is causing me to put anything I can find in my mouth (mind out of the gutter, you!).  So when I got on the scale this morning and had GAINED weight, I lost it.  I cried the whole way to the gym, and then proceeded to run for 25 minutes straight - a personal record.  [Yes, I am completely aware at how pathetic 25 minutes is to many of you, but for me, that's freaking awesome.  Remember?  Exercise is against my religion.]  That was kind of cathartic, though.  I plan to do it again tomorrow, hopefully Thursday I'll be able to squeeze something in (not likely, but hopefully), and I plan to bring some workout clothes home in case I'm really not sleeping and think a run would help ease the tension.


My phone rings and my heart starts to beat furiously.  What went wrong?  Who's not coming?  Which vendor isn't showing up?  Why can't people leave me alone?! 


I am off work starting Thursday.  Here is what Thursday looks like for me:  I have to get up early to drive Matt to work so that I'll have the car (I sold mine 2 years ago to save money).  Then I have to drive back home (Matt works 45 minutes from home), pick up the pretzels and TastyCakes for the OOTs, finish packing, double-and-triple check the packing, set timers for the lights in the house, complete/print the day-of timelines, complete/print the contact lists, go pick Matt up at work, drive to Hershey, drop off stuff at my mom's, go for final fitting, pick up my boudoir album from Megan, go back home, enjoy dinner/socializing with various members of the family, put together the OOTs, wrap the bridesmaids gifts, and wrap Matt's gift.


Friday: Get up at 7:30, eat breakfast, drive out to Camp Hill (45 minutes) to drop my Grandma's ring off at JDK because like a dummy I forgot to give it to David at our last meeting, drive back to Hershey, drop off the OOTs at the hotel, go home, eat, go to the Spa, relax and get pampered for 3 hours (ahhhh....), go home, shower and get ready for rehearsal dinner, rehearse, eat, shmooze with our friends/family who join us for drinks, get to bed at a somewhat-normal hour and try to sleep!


Yup...busy couple of days.  I am running a constant loop in my head of timelines, project deadlines, errands to run, people to see, food to eat (and not eat), and packing lists.  You know how on DVR you can press the "skip" button and jump ahead a few minutes in whatever program you're watching?  I want to do that.  I want to just skip straight to Saturday at 4:30pm. 


Not to mention that work is crazy right now, and I have a feeling that I am going to leave my floor looking like a total nightmare for whoever is going to have to cover for me the next 2 1/2 weeks.  I don't like that feeling.  I usually try to clean up all the loose ends before I go away on vacation, but things have been absolutely nightmarish with a bazillion placements and difficult cases and nasty families, and I hate the idea of dumping all of that on whatever poor soul will have to deal with it for me.

I Love Wedding Planning, But...

Some of this is starting to get a little long in the tooth. 

The inappropriate questions:
"So...when are you going to start having kids?"  Or "Do you think you're going to get pregnant on the honeymoon?"  Or "Did you get special lingerie for the wedding night?"  Why.  Why is that any of your business?  My stock answer from now on when people ask about when we're planning to have kids is, "Whenever you, and everyone else, stop asking me."  What is it about planning a wedding that suddenly makes it acceptable to discuss someone's sex life?  Or family planning?  I find it so unbelievably creepy.  And rude.  So if this is you....stop it.  You're pissing me off.

The stupid questions:
"Are you excited?"  No.  I am completely ambivalent about marrying the man with whom I am completely head over heels in love.  I could not care less.  I mean, c'mon, what kind of question is that?  Do I really need to answer?  Do you really need me to jump up and down?  Of course I'm excited.  But I am a human being, and I have other emotions, and other things going on in my life that may also be effecting my mood at the moment.  I am not a wedding machine.  Just know that I am thrilled.  And stop asking.  Dummy.

Equally as stupid:
"Are you ready?"  Nope.  10 months have gone by and I haven't done a damn thing.  None of this wedding is planned.  It's going to be one big chaotic nightmare.  Hello?!  Do you know me at all?  I was born ready for this day.  I am organized, prepared for [almost] anything, and ready to marry the love of my life.  Am I ready...psh!

The "I'm-going-to-smack-you-in-the-face" statements:
"Dude, I'm gonna get so hammered at your wedding!"  Or "You thought I was bad at so-and-so's wedding?  That's nothing compared to yours!"  Seriously.  I wish that I had the right, as the bride, to kick people out who get obnoxiously drunk and make Matt and I look like assholes because they can't control themselves (family or not).  You are not 21.  It is no longer "funny" to get wasted and drop your pants and hump the cake table.  And it is especially not funny to "warn" me about it.  Don't be stupid.  Don't piss off the bride.  It won't be pretty. 

The "What-are-you-gonna-do-about-it" questions:
"So, what all do you have left to do?"  Why?  Are you gonna help me with it?  No.  You're not.  Go away.

The "I-shouldn't-be-annoyed-but-I-am" questions:
"What does your dress look like?"  I don't know why this bothers me.  Maybe because I like having that as my little secret.  It's my wedding dress, you know?  If you're invited to the wedding, you'll see it then.  If you're not, I'm sure you'll see pictures.  I want to keep this one close to the chest, though.  Maybe it's because I'm not really sure how to describe my dress.  It's not a typical "bridal" gown.  I really have a hard time describing it that doesn't make it sound weird.  So I'd rather not try.  Cool?  What also annoys me?  When I tell you you have to wait until the wedding day to see my dress, and for the next 9 months I hear, "Well, since you won't tell me about your dress..."  Like I'm breaking some sort of law by not telling you.  It's my choice and my right.  Don't try to make me feel guilty about it. 

Honestly, though, this makes me sound totally miserable.  But really, I have loved, loved, loved planning our wedding.  I've had so much fun.  I've really enjoyed seeing how involved Matt has gotten.  I've had a great time making plans with my mom.  Sharing things with my girls.  Dance lessons with my dad.  Meeting with our amazing vendors.  Putting together a vision in my head that will hopefully translate well to the real world.  But I'm ready to stop getting all these stupid questions/statements.  I'm ready for the day to be here.  I want it to be 8am on the morning of Saturday 10/23, and I'm waking up on the morning of my wedding.  I'm ready.  I need the next 5 days to hurry up!