Low salt girl

I awoke yesterday morning to ankles the size of ...well, maybe not tree trunks but definitely branches. Thick branches. Or what we call in nurse's lingo "pitting edema". In other words, if you press on the swollen spot, it stays indented. Not much, but enough.
I showed them to one of the girls at work and she flipped out. My pressure was 134/77, which is fine but a touch high for me, who usually runs between 110-120/65-70. Anyway, I called my OB's office. They shocked me and actually had Dr Delivery himself call me back at work! I spoke to the Man, not a mere flunky. Anyway, the Man was concerned. First he reassured me it was not preeclampsia because it just doesn't happen this early in pregnancy (15.5 weeks) in singleton pregnancies. HUGE sigh of relief.

But I now am on orders to 1)Cut back the salt. 2)Drink 3-4 liters of water a day. I already drink 2-3. He nicely said in a stern voice "we recommend FOUR". *sigh*. Four it is. Like I'm not in the bathroom enough. And 3) elevate feet whenever possible. Did I mention CUT BACK THE SALT. No prepared foods. No *sob* cheeses. No *sob* pickles. Those are two staples of my diet these days. I mean, pickles of all varieties - tomato pickles, pickled carrots, beets, cucumbers ... I'm an equal opportunity pickle eater. I won't even get started on the cheese thing. Let me just say "low fat feta". *sigh*.

So I am officially a low salt girl. And my manager has really been trying to help me out by not having me stand a lot, which is nice (and almost unheard of in nursing).

It's not gonna be easy so wish me luck. And my ankles look a lot better this morning.
Argh.

PS- the bunny is brownish-black. I know he looks mutant purple but he is brown. Sorry. It would be nice to have a purple bunny.

I told you it was huge ...

the evil bunny makes an appearance

Hear me ramble

all over the goddamned place.

Last night I attempted to write this but had no Internet connection. It was odd - the other day, Internet service had been out (we have cable modem) and last night when I returned home I noticed it had come back up (ie, I had emails) but was back out. The Internet service clueless techie assured me it was my computer, not the connection at that point. I had rebooted multiple times, disconnected the modem and router, etc etc etc. I restored back several points. I rebooted again. I disconnected the router. But nada. Clueless Techie's comment seemed to be backed up by the fact that John's old decrepit computer was coming online, but mine wasn't. *sigh*

So, I called Dell. The PC is now 2 years old (pretty much obsolete in computer terms) but I've never had a problem with it till now. So, the nice tech in India (!!!)and I went through a bunch of stuff together - it was easier when he realized that I wasn't a mouth breather and stopped spelling every damned thing - and after nearly 2 hours - nada. We pinged. We netsocked. We winsocked. We restored. We regedited. Zip. Zero. Not working. So he tells me "we're going to have to reinstall the o/s (operating system. IOW, Windows). Oy!! I was not pleased, considering all the p0rnbaby stuff I have on my computer, including family pics and other fun things one files away. India tech and I made a date for tonight, with my plan to burn all my data to CDs so we could reinstall the o/s.

Well, it all sounded very drastic to me. I've been online for years and years and never had this problem with Win95a or b or even 97. Yes, Windows can suck but still. So I tried multiple more reboots and disconnected the modem and router one more time. And behold ... ping. There was my homepage. Can I add that most of this occurred during 24? Which, btw, the last few weeks has strained my credulity greatly. I mean, really. As IF a top Chinese security officer would be allowed NEAR a top-secret government/spy agency, especially during a possible nuclear disaster. Ain't gonna happen. Just ain't. He wouldn't be allowed in there on a regular day. Please. Don't insult my intelligence. And then, once inside, be allowed to question random people without anyone saying anything or trying to stop him? Please.


And while I'm on stupid TV, can I just growl at the paternalistic episode of CSI, where Willows makes out with some guy in a bar who then becomes a murder suspect? Because Gil Grissom's character really needs to get his daddy impulses under control. Do you hear me, CSI writers? I get very tired of the "shady background threatens Willow's career" storyline. Yeah, she was an exotic dancer, whatever. Yeah, she let her guard down and made a bad choice. It happens to all of us in real life too. But in episodes where male characters have fucked up, Grissom was always understanding and "I'm giving you another chance". This time it's "bad Catherine, bad girl. Daddy doesn't like it when you act that way, you slut". Interestingly, no one seemed to raise an eyebrow or curl a lip when Grissom got involved with a Dominatrix. I'm just saying. Enough already.

I really don't watch much TV. Deadwood (that show ROCKS! And the characters swear more than I do, which is saying something). 24. CSI, sometimes. Oh and the new Kojak. I lurve Ving Rhames. Anyway. I told you this was rambling.

One of the docs at work brought me a baby name book as his wife is scheduled for c-section today and they no longer need it. My quibble? It doesn't have my name in it. Now given, my name is not one you hear in every playground but it's not that rare. It's more common than "Kinnebrew". Or "shaquiquiana". Or "oogogolaoo". I am not making those up. To top it off, pretty much any name that's listed with Hebrew as its source means "gracious". Ok, enough with that. I am fluent in Hebrew and unless these are derived from multiple archaic forms of that word that I've never heard before, that book is full of shit.

Can you tell I've been storing this up?

My stepson has been absolutely impossible lately. Rude, passive-aggressive and disrespectful one moment, sun-shiny and sweet and asking for my help the next. Teenage boy behaviour, I'm guessing. It seems to be worse each time he returns from the biothing's house. He didn't get me a Mother's Day card, which stung a lot more than I care to admit. Didn't even wish me a happy Mother's Day (he was at the biothing's house that day but came home that evening). I asked John about it and his response was "I had to force him to buy a card for his *mother. Besides, I thought my card covered it." I informed him that it did not. It was the only fly in a very lovely Mother's day, otherwise.

I called my Mom to wish her a happy day and both she and my father got on the phone and wished me a happy "prospective" Mother's day. I was so blown away that I started crying. I've been a stepmom for nigh on 5 years now and they've never said anything about Mother's day before. I know that doesn't sound right, but that's just my parents. They are who they are. But for them to acknowledge this pregnancy, to treat me as if finally - finally, this is for real ... well, it meant more than my meagre writing skills can summon up to explain. Enough said.

John was a sweetheart to me all weekend long. He usually is, but more so. He catered to my incessant harping about planting a vegetable garden and we finally did so on Mother's day. It felt right. We surrounded the garden with rabbit wire as there have been many bunnies noted in the neighbourhood. One in particular, that we think belonged to someone around here (probably the previous owners of our house) and has been hanging around. It came up and snuffled my foot one day and I, blithely raking and unaware, screamed. Cold wet nose, warm sandled foot, unsuspecting woman. Yes, I screamed. I admit it, I'm not proud. This morning I looked for him to take a picture and show you, my loyal readers, but he is hiding of course. That is one BIG bunny. He'd take my cat in a fair fight.


the garden

Anyway, we planted all different kinds of tomatoes, some peppers, some cucs and squash, onions and even a cantaloupe. Today I'm going to look and see if I can find some watermelon. I love watermelon, I do. We have no idea what we're doing with this garden, we just hope we get something out of it.


more garden porn

Later that afternoon, we drove out to Wheaton to Max's kosher deli where we had the best shwarma I've had since leaving Israel. And that's saying something. It was good to just be with John, talk, laugh and share time. I am one lucky woman. I was pretty concerned about his reaction to this pregnancy - he had been a bit (ok, more than a bit) ambivalent about fertility treatments and the whole mess that is/was my subfertility, but his obvious delight in this pregnancy has been palpable. I'm the ambivalent one now, it seems. I keep telling him that what he's seeing is merely fat. He just laughs and walks away, shaking his head. A wise man.

Oh and Deb? Stay way from Utz's S&V chips. Heartburn city. Believe me. Mind you, it could have been the sheer volume of consumption, but still. Don't say I didn't warn you.


*his word, not mine.

I know I've been MIA

... but I've been very tired and feeling kind of ...well, hibernatorial. If that isn't a word, it is now.
I'm much more energized then the first trimester but by the time I get home after 10 hours on my feet, I am exhausted. I am trying to eat healthy which isn't easy when I forget to take something out to defrost for dinner. Ah well.

The spectre of the amnio is looming over me ... May 20th. I just want to get it over with so I can move forward. And I feel fat. Not pregnant. Just fat. Oh, and my thyroid panel came back within normal range so Dr Shitty is an asshat.

Ah well, time for another 10 hours of fun.

My tale of woe

I had an appointment with the OB this week. In my OB practice, you don't necessarily see the same one all the time because of their philosophy - you never know who will be on call to deliver your baby. Being a cynic, I think it has more to do with malpractice rates, but that's me.

So I saw Dr S. I thought it would go well - young woman, seemingly nice ...I had high expectations. Especially after meeting with my primary OB who was the epitome of human kindness and patience.

I had a few concerns going into the appointment, especially after the very kind RN had gone through some of the bloodwork results with me (from my first appt, which no one called me about). It seemed that my thyroid (I'm hypothyroid anyway and take Synthroid) was on the low side - T3 was .33 and normal started at .35. My TSH was normal. Also, I was concerned about the ankle swelling and my ..er.... urinary leakage of late ... and most importantly, the risk of incompetent cervix as explained to me by Dr High Risk as I've had multiple d&cs and a recent miscarriage. All legit, right? Nothing too crazy, nothing too demanding?

The nice nurse put me in the sono room just in case there was a need for ultrasound. Being an infertility patient, you *know* at the REs there's always a need for ultrasound. I mean, really. But I wasn't in Oz any longer, so I wasn't sure what they were going to do. At the RE's, it was always "better safe than sorry". But I figured I'd be on my best behaviour and see what happened.

Dr S came in and mumbled her name at me. Asked me how I was doing and if I had concerns. I explained my few concerns/questions to her. She obviously hadn't had a chance to look at my chart and started leafing through: "Oh, your bloodwork all came back normal, even the Tay-Sachs." I told her what the RN had said about my thyroid. "Oh, that's nothing to worry about. You're just barely below normal".

Ping... I heard our relationship go from so-so to abysmal in .06 seconds.

At which point I shook my head. I mean ... if I'm below normal NOW ... what is she waiting for? For the level to drop precipitously? When I *know* that thyroid level is extremely important in fetal development/mental development?
But she had already moved on. "As for the incompetent cervix, we can check that when you have your amnio at week 16". At which point I (at week 13)again shook my head but this time words came out too. "I'm not comfortable with that" I said. "I'd rather get checked now and have some peace of mind, especially after my recent miscarriage". She looked at me and although she had good doctor-face on, I could tell she was annoyed.

So she (actually noticed I was allergic to latex)got the abdominal u/s thingie ready and started moving it to and fro on my belly in a joystickesque manner. Now I may be an RN, but u/s is NOT my specialty. If you don't tell me what I'm seeing - especially while moving the wand around - I honestly have no clue, all I see is an indiscriminate blob. So as she's about to zap the Morgons ...er ...anyway, I say to her very timidly "is there a heartbeat?"

And she looks at me and says "Can't you see it moving?? Guess if it's moving there's a heartbeat, huh?".
At which point I reached out and squeezed her neck rapidly while shaking her from side to side. She quietly slid down and expired. My first OB then walked in, looked at her there on the floor, said "good riddance" and continued the ultrasound. He explained everything with great kindness and understanding.

Oops sorry. Fantasy sequence. Pardon me.

And she looks at me and says "Can't you see it moving?? Guess if it's moving there's a heartbeat, huh?".
I said nothing. Because not only was I completely dumbfounded, there was no point. She didn't get it. She had no clue, even though it said "recurrent loss" on my chart. Even though my chart is already 2 inches thick and it's only my second visit. Even though I'm 39, have some obvious problems, am obviously distressed. Even though I'm human and have feelings. Yes, I was in my nurse's uniform but that shouldn't have made the least bit of difference.

Dr Shitty kept trying to zap Morgons on my belly. Finally she gave up trying to see my cervix through my abdomen and decided (Halleluyah! The chorus of angels that is my bladder sang!) to do a transvag, something she should have done from the beginning. She didn't even offer me a picture of my "obviously" moving baby. Bitch. I was burning inside.

Ah, the familiar cooter-cam. I was overjoyed. Well, not really but at least I knew what to do. Something about familiarity. Anyway, my cervix measured 5cm. So she said. I had to ask her if that was good to which she actually laughed (!!!)and told me that I was "above the curve" as normal was 2-4cm. She ok'd me for exercise as long as I keep my heartrate around 140, no higher. She also told me bluntly that there was nothing they could do about my urinary dribbling until after the baby is born. I kind of knew that, but ... oh well. I do Kegels semi-regularly. She then proceeded to argue with me about my blood type which was listed on the chart as O+, when I'm really O-. I have a relatively rare condition called a "weak D" which means that part of my rhesus (that's the + or - part) are positive and part is negative. She didn't actually believe me until I told her that I had received Rhogam post last d&c. Grrrrr.

And then I mentioned my weight to her. She got very upset with me because I've gained too much. I've gained approximately 16 lbs and I know it's not good. Yes, I was on a restricted calorie diet before I got pregnant and the minute I started eating normally the pounds leapt on. Yes, I have a very slow metabolism (thank you O thyroid gland) and normally put on weight easily. Yes, my thyroid may be low (thank you O Dr Shitty) which doesn't help. Yes, all I was able to keep down in first trimester were carbs which definitely pack on pounds in this girl.

My endocrinologist also read me the riot act about my weight gain after I went in to see her because of my lack of confidence (re:low thyroid reading)in Dr Shitty. She is very concerned. Dr Thyroid is also petite and tiny, which made me feel lovely. But she is kind and I at least feel that she gives a hoot. I need to go get punctured again for bloodwork because the OB's office faxed over the thyroid report that Dr Thyroid's office originally sent them in March, not the recent thyroid panel from the OB that I had asked them to send. *sigh*

But now I'm terrified about pre-eclampsia and losing my baby. Note I did not say "alleged baby". Yes, that means you, Stacy.
My blood pressure has measured anywhere from 104/65 to 120/84 which is fine so that helps my state of mind. I know I need to watch what I eat, start to exercise a bit, maybe cut out the carbs as much as possible. But I feel scared, intimidated, worried and a bit like a failure. I don't want to make this pregnancy a bad experience or harm my baby in any way. I want to do what's right. But I am terrified and frozen in place.

So ... if you have thoughts, advice, assvice, concerns, words of kindness ... please share them. And if you can, leave your email address so I can at least thank you.

And know one thing. My next OB appointment is NOT with Dr Shitty. Nor will it ever be again. *sigh* Wanna guess who's going to be on-call when/if I deliver? I just know it.

Things I found out this weekend

That my family is truly overjoyed at our good news.
That my parents are really starting to look their age.
That soon, all of us "kids" are going to be over 40.
That 8 hours in a car and several subsequent hours cooking for Passover cause a certain girl's ankles to swell. Oh yeah. And I mean swell, baby.


The weekend went by far too fast. It seems we had just arrived at my sister's when it was already time to turn around and come back again. Which sucked.
The drive went well - we headed straight up route 15 which took us to NY state, then 390 to the 90 Interstate and up to Canada.
Going took us 8 hours - not bad at all. Of course John didn't let me drive. He never does. So I slept on and off, as we left at midnight. Uneventful except for a teen's snoring in the back seat. Yeesh!

Passover was wonderful. It's my favourite holiday at the worst of times and this was the best. We broke the news to my sister and her husband first - it was kind of hard to hide and she is utterly delighted. After helping her with much Seder preparation, John and I headed out to the mall to see if I could find some clothes that would fit.

I was delighted to find "Thyme Maternity" in Canada and ...score! They had a sale on. I picked up some super-comfy and stylish pants ($59 CDN)a little more than I wanted to spend but the moment they went on, I didn't want them off. Also a couple of nice tops, mostly on sale. Yeah, it wasn't terribly cheap but it wasn't crazy expensive either and I've been desperate to find reasonable and stylish pregnancy clothing. Me, the fashion maven. Please. I can hear the laughter from over there. Anyway, I may have to return some pants to JCPenney now. These others are far more comfortable and wayyyy nicer. Go Canada!

Between the return to my sister's, the last minute cooking, the reading of the Haggadah, much good food, the laughter and many songs, we announced our news to the delight of everyone present, even my infertile sister (who adopted) although her husband had a bit of a sour look on his puss. Ah well. It truly was a special and joyous evening.

Upon retiring to bed, we noticed how swollen my ankles were. Ouch. I elevated them throughout the night and have been doing so periodically since then. It's hard when you're a nurse but I've been trying. I see the OB today and have made a list of things to discuss (oh yeah, he's gonna lurrrvveee me) including aforementioned ankles as well as Dr Risky's concern regarding my possibly dilated cervix. Oh, and did I mention the small thing called the nuchal translucency?

On the drive home from the GWN (Great White North, catch up, would you?), I called the genetic counselor who informed me that our post-test risk went from 1:95 to .... *drumroll* ... 1:781! Yay for us! She was very pleased and while we're still going ahead with amnio, that big sighing sound you all heard early Monday afternoon? Well, that was me. And maybe even John a little bit. We're actually relaxing a little bit, DBTs* and all.

Oh and if anyone ever figures out a way to get a 16 year old boy out of the shower after less than 25 minutes, could you please let me know? Cutting off the water supply is getting old. I need something far more exciting. Heck, I wouldn't want to bore the child.



*DBTs=dead baby thoughts. Stolen shamelessly from the Infertility blogosphere.

Happy Passover!

I went to the Hair Butchery yesterday for a cut. *sigh*. Ah well, what do I expect for $19. At least it looks more tidy. Yeah. What the hell are these layers? Thank heavens I decided not to do colour. I'm going to wait till I'm firmly in my second trimester, roots be damned.

We are heading to Canada (land of the free, home of the brave) for Passover tonight. Yes, we're driving and since John won't ever let me drive, I expect to have a good sleep on the road.

We finally get to tell the family that we're expecting. It's very exciting!!

So - here's wishing everyone a happy and joyous Passover, filled with family, love and good food! And for those without family to go to this year, here's an invitation to the infamous getupgrrl's Infertility Seder
Next year in Jerusalem!

Wow.

warning to infertilinas - much baby and pregnancy talk and pictures to follow.

Let me start off by saying that my Perinatologist is an absolute doll. Kind, soft spoken and thorough - what more can a girl ask for?

I liked the genetic counselor who was quite thorough and seemed more concerned about my risk of breast cancer than anything else. It seems that my risk for passing chromosomal abnormalities is only age-related, nothing else. We discussed my odds - she put them around 1:95 for Trisomy 18 (Downs) and similar odds for other abnormalities. She spoke in layman's terms until I finally broke down and told her I was an RN at which point she stopped babying me a bit. But she was good and very thorough. The one thing she said that I clung to was that if the nuchal didn't look wonderful, there was the option of doing a CVS right there and then. I kept that in mind as a benchmark.

After a long discussion, she took me to what I thought was the cooter cam room. I was about to drop trou when the tech stopped me and told me just to lower my pants a bit, this u/s was done abdominally. Oops. Infertility strikes again!

Anyway, she left me with my pants slightly lowered, displaying my flabby white belly. The peri arrived and seriously, what a nice man. He introduced himself, talked a bit about what we were looking for, tut-tutted over my bad back and got to work. I could see something ... and he said "Ok, we're measuring the crown-rump length (CRL) and you're right on target, 12 weeks and 1 day!" at which point I sort of choked out "is there a heartbeat?"
Dr Risky looked at me with a very kind look, and very softly said "I'm sorry. Let's do this the right way from the beginning, shall we?". I think I fell in love right there and then. And sure enough, there was the heartbeat at 171. I even heard it, loud and clear. Faithful readers will know me well enough to know that I was sobbing at this point. Dr Risky showed me the spine and the stomach, even the bladder. It was quite something!

Then he went to measure the neck fold and the bambino was squirming away. I mean ... the bean was doing the mambo. It was tough for Dr Risky to get a measurement at first but eventually he got 1.4mm, which put me well below the 50th percentile for abnormalities. Of course, that's all contingent on the bloodwork, but no one suggested the CVS, which made me breathe easier.

And then ... and then ... he switched the ultrasound to 3D. And for an instant, just an instant, I saw my baby's face. Not this amorphous blob that kept wriggling, but a baby. With a face and a body ... a real baby. My baby.

For the first time this is starting to come home to me. I've been relatively ambivalent about this pregnancy up till this point. And now ... I - we - may actually have a baby to show for all the turmoil, pain and heartache of the last couple of years. I'm over-joyed, afraid and ... slightly less terrified than I was up till now.

12 weeks. Wow.

And here s/he is ...


the blob!


a view from the rear


3D ... and sucking his/her thumb

Just when you thought it was safe ...

I didn't sleep much last night. Not just nerves but back pain too. Yeah. Sciatica.

John and I went out to get topsoil for the garden that he tilled (by hand!) and we were getting it all ready and mixing the soil and mulch and making rows and chasing away the very large bunny that wants to check it out already ...

...and ping! I felt something give in my back. I hadn't really done much, I believe I was raking. Nothing strenuous. *sigh*. It's gotta be the extra weight I've put on. And believe me, 99% of it is "extra".

Between that and the heartburn, I didn't get much sleep last night. Doctor's list says no ibuprofen. I don't even have Tylenol in the house, it does so little. And I'm worried about using Icy Hot or something like that. Yeah, just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not out to get you.

May I please add that constipation and gas pains are also no fun when your sciatic hurts?

My nuchal is today. That's going to be SO much fun. And John won't be with me.

The last time he wasn't with me for a test we got bad news. I hope it's not a trend.

So, I need your good thoughts. 1)That the nuchal is ok and 2) I get through this pain without killing something. Like a certain bunny.

I really don't want to take time off work. I'm hoarding every precious hour. My mother in Toronto was horrified when I told her yesterday that there is no mandatory paid maternity leave in the United States of America. I do believe it's the only "civilized" country that doesn't have it.

So much for "family values".

But I digress. Please send good thoughts my way today? Thank you.

PS - did I mention the new girl at work who, while trying to "bond" with me (my most recent loss seems to be a topic of office conversation), felt it necessary to tell me about her miscarriage at 12 weeks? A very nice girl, but ... please.

Guess which week I'm in?

Oy.

"You'll be fine"

It's Saturday morning and the house is empty but for me and two cats. John is off golfing and Jr is at the biothing's. The cats are jonzing for food and being cute, nothing new there.

I vaguely remember last night; I came home from work, chewed on some Tums, lay down on the couch cause I was tired and not feeling wonderful ... next I know, John is taking me upstairs somehow and I am following compliantly. I remember going to the bathroom and him helping me undress. That's all I remember till this morning when my bladder woke me. Wow. 12 hours of sleep.

I didn't eat dinner so I awoke absolutely ravenous this morning and have already wolfed down a sesame seed bagel (toasted) with light cream cheese. Thoughts of food are dancing in my head - it's all I seem to think about lately. Well, that and that little thing called the nuchal translucency test.

Yeah, that. Now I am a worrier by nature and even I know that worrying about this does nothing, so I've been trying not to think about it but it's hard. As it stands, my chance of carrying a Downs baby is 1:100. Them ain't great odds, yanno.

At work everyone says "you'll be fine, you'll see!". How do they know? How on earth do they have the confidence to say that to someone? I would never do that, never tell a person "oh, you'll be fine" when I don't know for a fact that it's true. I say that as a person and as a nurse. But then again, the people at work have never understood what I've been through, or the emotional pain of being infertile or even subfertile. I believe that they think since I got pregnant without IVF treatment that I am absolutely fine. They remind me of Paula. Please go and read Emily's most excellent diatribe.

And I may be fine, I guess. Sure I needed surgery and much testing, yes I went through emotional (and to an extent) physical hell, yes I suffered loss(es), but hey ... I got pregnant the good ol fashioned way, so what am I kvetching about?
In truth, I think that too sometimes.

Then I give my head a shake. And hear nothing. Alas.

I just want this damned test to come back ok. Yes, I am scared. And nervous. And John won't be with me. I wish I could say "it'll be fine" but something inside me won't let me.

So I'm going to go immerse myself in gardening and possibly, eating. Because John tilled (by hand) the garden that I couldn't do and because we had a frost last night. I fell asleep before I could cover my nice new plants.

Ooops.

The *cough domestic cough* diva

Thanks for bearing with me as I got the vitriol out of my system. I just get so darned bitter about the whole step-parenting thing sometimes - all the work, none of the credit. Yes, I know. I know that "one day he'll realize how much you did and he'll thank you for it" ... but that's right up there with that lovely homily "oh just relax and you'll get pregnant! It worked for my mother's brother's sister's cousin's half-step uncle!"

If you know what I mean.

It's a beautiful Monday morning and I've been outside gardening. Or pretending to do so. It's my day off and I couldn't have picked nicer weather. Saturday we stopped at Walmart and I picked up a bunch of plants. I realize that it's too soon and that we could still have a killing frost, but ... tulips were 50 cents each. And there were snapdragons. And violas. And other things whose names I may not remember but they were darn pretty.

I planted a big pot full of them and it looks very lovely. I have no idea if they're compatible with each other or if I even did it right, but ... I'm giving it a good shot. I even spread mulch on the gardens. I also planted the remainder of the plants in various places in our garden - including a hydrangea. I'm just hoping it'll get enough sun where it is. What do I know?

The vegetable garden plot is now marked off. John didn't want me using a tiller by myself without him here. You know, in case I cut off my foot or something. I told him that technically, cutting off my foot wouldn't hurt the (alleged)baby, but he was not to be dissuaded. Whatever did I do before I met him and had to use power tools? By myself. With no one around at all ... *sigh*. Some things are just not worth arguing about.
Instead I have been hacked at the grass with a hoe and now have an impressive blister. I would use that excuse so not to make dinner tonight, but I already have the slow cooker going. Ah well. I even baked sugar cookies yesterday. Oy.

It's definitely too early to plant veggies, but I do want to get things going, including a bunny-proof chicken wire doohickie, as there are bunnies galore around here.
Oh, and for those few who do read this and have some gardening expertise ... PLEASE feel free to give pointers, advice, assvice, whatever. I can use all the help I can get!

I've never done this before. Never had a home of my own. Never had a garden of my own. Never started a vegetable garden from scratch. Never been pregnant this long. Never been in love like this. Lots of firsts and I am quite happy.

The nuchal is the 18th. 18 in Judaism is the numeric equivalent of "life" and is considered a good luck number. Considering what we're looking at, I'm hoping it's a good omen that the appointment is on the 18th.
But as my friend Stacy said yesterday ... "they're all good luck numbers. Just relax."
Her, I believe. She showed up yesterday with her 3 kids, 2 of which are ART babies. She's convincing that way.

I tried to take pictures of the flowerpot and garden but my dig cam is foobared and acting temperamental. I managed to snap a couple shots before it decided to go on strike - then when I uploaded the pics, there were some old and unexpected shots there somehow. So you get one of those too. Who doesn't want to see cute kitty pics, anyway?

flowerpot


lame flowerpot picture. I hate my camera.


anyone need insulin?

Dinner and a rant.

Last night we went out for dinner. Just the two of us, Jr is at the biothing's house. Before you wonder about the title "biothing", let me explain.

WARNING! BITTER STEP-PARENT RANT AHEAD!

First of all, the female in question is a miracle of "oops" pregnancies, reason enough to loathe her. 4 husbands, 4 kids. Two of which were taken away and custody given to the fathers, not an easy task in the state of Maryland. One of those kids is Jr.

She pays us next to nothing in child support. I'm serious. For nearly 16 years, she's paid the absolute minimum Maryland requires and each time John has spoken to her about raising it a bit, she quits whatever pathetic job she has. She raises huge stinks about contributing to buying him luxuries like ... glasses and clothing. And thinks nothing of buying him. I mean that, that's no typo, she'll buy him a flat screen TV for his bedroom, a new Playstation, an mp3 player. But glasses? She's supposed to pay 50% of all medical expenses. The last time we bought him glasses and rec specs, it was more than 400 bucks (he has a special Rx). We're still waiting for her half and that was nearly 3 years ago.

Let me just add (since I'm on the topic and feeling particularly bitter this morning for some reason) that John took custody when Jr was around two and a half. She had been catting about while John worked 2 full time jobs because she wanted to be a "stay at home mom" and she had 2 other kids - well, one really, because one was with the father. She filled that time screwing other men and in general neglecting Jr. John didn't know - at first - about the former.

And I say she neglected Jr because when John,who had no experience raising children or any idea of what was developmentally "on target" and who was working constantly, took Jr to daycare at close to 3 years old, he realized that Jr had almost no vocabulary, in comparison to other kids his age. Sure, he had realized that the baby was constantly dirty, as he was doing almost all the childcare when he was home and rumours from neighbours about the older daughter being left alone with Jr circulated, but my husband is a good man and loathe to think poorly of others.

But when he found out about the infidelities, he took Jr and sued for custody. By that point, Jr had been tested and found to need speech therapy (big shock!!) and a therapist was coming 2-3 times a week to John's mom's house, where they were staying. John worked heavily with Jr, leaving work early, working on speech therapy every day, making sure Jr was getting what he needed.
The biothing showed up for one session. One. And that was right before the custody hearing. She lived 5 minutes away.
She showed up to the custody hearing sans lawyer and 7 months pregnant with another man's baby. John and her were still married at the time.

Yes, I say that judgementally. I am biased, certainly, but John is a good and kind man. He is devoted to his son - and to me. He has become extraordinarily gentle around me since this alleged pregnancy, pretty much doting on me. I know that he must have been much the same way with the biobitch, who screwed him over.
I don't forgive crap like that, not even slightly.

Needless to say, that amongst other things made the judge give John full custody. Not joint, not shared. FULL custody. Which he still has. Yet my husband bends over backwards to insure that Jr has time with the biothing. When we lived closer to her, John would drive Jr to her house and back (!!!) so Jr could spend time with her. Not that she would lift a finger, of course. Now that we live farther away, he still drives halfway, a good 45 minutes in either direction. And she bitches about that. I don't know any other custodial parent who does what John does.

She does absolutely no parenting of Jr. Nothing. Which shows in the way he talks about her and treats her, she complains about his tone with her. When he spent most of 7th grade at her house because of poor school districts (PG county, for those that know) where we were living, she never made sure his homework was done, never ever went to parent-teachers, never ever made sure he was staying on track with his schooling.
As a result, Jr entered the 8th grade missing the all-important basics in math/algebra and English and he struggled mightily. We disconnected the Playstation and made him sit and do work. I bought him workbooks. By the end of 8th grade, we had made up a lot of the missing links but decided to put him in pre-algebra in 9th grade and made him do extra work in the summer. He was bitter, oh yes he was.
Smartest thing we could have done, the kid is acing algebra and geometry now. Yeah, his English leaves a lot to be desired but he really is a typical boy. Just not interested, would rather be outside playing sports. Despite that, his grades are excellent after much hard work from John, Jr and me.

Not to mention her treatment of me. I've been in the picture 5 years and she has gone to great effort to badmouth me to Jr. Calling me names, badmouthing me. When she found out I was Jewish, she hurried out and bought Jr a crucifix and made him go to church the weekends he was there. That lasted all of 3 weeks, because she didn't go to church before. When we made wedding plans, she decided that her and husband number 4 needed to have a "renewal of vows". Right before our wedding. It was pretty funny, actually. She has consistently tried to poison Jr's mind against us and even told him that John had "girlfriends" while they were married. It goes on and on. Whenever Jr comes home from a weekend there, we hear the not-so-subtly planted vitriol that she's shared with him. Because to her, it's not about the kid. It's about her.

Oh, and I've only shared the tip of the iceberg, honestly. I could go on, but there's no need. I feel much better now. On to what I was actually going to talk about.
{/end rant}

Anyway, so Jr is over there this weekend and we have a kid-free weekend. We went out to a Mediterranean restaurant, as I was craving some home-style food ( I grew up in Israel) and it was pretty decent. Tabouleh, hummus, kibbeh, dolmades, fool medames. And shwarma, which was so-so. The salads made up for it. It's a strange place - looks like a full service restaurant, but you order and pay at the counter and then sit down and wait for someone to bring you your food. Kind of odd. But tasty and it satisfied my craving to the point that I over-ate. It just tasted so good!

And the main reason I mention all this? I wore jeans.

Maternity jeans.

Nothing else fits.

Ack.

The segue post. Sorry.

I wish I had something scintillating and hip to say, but I'll leave that to the actual writers amongst us, check out my links list for their sites.
I have to say, I'm very very flattered that I'm being linked to by women I admire a great deal - it feels a bit like high school and being accepted into the "cool" clique. Are you gals just waiting to play a trick on me ala Heathers?

Only I never was accepted in real life, for fun or for real. Hah.

I was abysmally uncool all through my school years. In grade school I was an over-achiever who'd rather have her head in a book than anywhere else. That may have had something to do with the nearly-complete hearing loss in my left ear that remained undiscovered till the age of 8-ish. OK, ready for the segue?

My mother loves to tell the story of how an active, bright and babbling baby - wasn't. She grew very worried and called the doc, who was out of town on vacation. Instead, Dr Young (yes, that was his name) showed up at our house - after all, this was the 60s and housecalls were not a big deal - and examined me carefully. I was lying on the couch, completely lethargic. Mom says he then took a brightly coloured rattle and dropped it in front of my eyes - I didn't budge, track or do anything. At which point, the good doctor stood and said "Mrs B, get a blanket (it was winter), wrap your daughter up and follow me - we're going to the hospital now". That man saved my life.
That man - and the doctor who diagnosed me at Children's Hospital in Winnipeg way back then (and later became the head of Children's), who actually figured out that I had a relatively little-known disease.

You see, I had meningitis. Considering that I was a very young infant (the age changes each time my mom tells the story, but I figure around 1-ish) back in the dark ages of medicine, the mid-60s, the fact that I survived it is a miracle.
Back then, no one tested for sequelae - no one really knew.

So, the hearing loss went completely undetected until I was in 3rd grade, at which point my father had surgery on his ear.
In response to that, I took my transistor radio - do you remember the ones that had the white ear piece that you shoved in your ear? - well, I turned it up full-crank and put it in my good ear - and nearly deafened myself completely. Then tried it in my "bad" ear - you see, *I* was aware of the difference, I just figured that was the way it was supposed to be - and heard nothing. Zip. Just some vibration.
Aha! I had solved the mystery! *I* needed surgery too, just like Daddy!!

At which point I went to my mother and unilaterally declared my need for ear surgery, pronto. It was enough to make her hmmm and put a bunch of little things together ... and take me to my father's ear doctor who took no time in determining the hearing loss. 95% neuro-sensori loss. Almost complete left ear deafness.
And nothing you can do about it, either. The nerve is pretty much dead.

A few years back, I was working ICU at Johns Hopkins. We were mostly oncology-based, but we did some other stuff as well. I was caring for a patient who'd had a tumour in his ear removed - the surgery itself is what damaged his hearing, but he had no choice, the tumour had to come out. The ENT (ear nose and throat) surgeon, a personable guy, was talking to him about how they were going to help restore his hearing. My ear (hah)perked.
Afterwards, I pulled Dr Ear aside and asked him if what he had explained to the patient would work for me. Without skipping a beat, he answered that it wouldn't, but he did have something else, a pilot project, something new and relatively untested, that would work beautifully for my kind of hearing loss. A BAHA, or "bone anchored hearing aid".

And sure enough, it went through and I had the surgery, which implanted a titanium pin in my mastoid bone, to which I attach a hearing aid. It works by transmitting the vibrations via the skull (bone) to my good ear, giving me awareness of sound on that side. No, it hasn't cured my hearing, that won't happen until we figure out nerve grafting, probably not until I'm gone and buried. But, when I remember to wear the darned thing, it does help. It also picks up a lot of ambient noise, which is a hassle and gives me headaches.
IOW, I don't wear it much. But it was fun to tell you about. Here's a pic taken not long after the surgery, just to give you an idea.


the pin



the hearing aid on the pin

So the segue won. I guess this post is about my hearing aid, rather than my lack of popularity in school. I'm far too much a "stream of consciousness " writer.
Yes, I was popular with some sub-sections of my jr and high school years, but we won't talk about that this time around.

As for other things, I finally ventured into the baby section at Target. I lasted about 2 minutes before getting completely overwhelmed with all the thousands of strollers, high chairs and swings and backing sloooowwwwwllyyy down an aisle to escape. Only the aisle was filled with classic Pooh Bear stuff, my silly dream/contraband stuff that I've wanted to fill a nursery with for a long time. I promptly burst into tears and ran the hell out of there.

Not yet. I just can't do it yet.

And I still don't have results back on the 12(!!!) vials of blood they drained from me for screening purposes the other day. I'll wait one week. Then I start calling Dr Delivery's office. Yeah, they're going to love me.


PS- someone pointed out that I have pink and blue as the primary colours on my site. IT WAS AN ACCIDENT!!! I swear. It never dawned on me. I'm so dense sometimes.

Double digits

Yeah. I've made it to 10 weeks and to steal from grrl, NBHHY. Or, for those unfamiliar, "nothing bad has happened yet". It took me a while to figure that one out. I'm not the sharpest knife in the butcher block, yanno. BTW, go read grrl while you're at it, assuming you never have. She says it a lot better than I ever could.

Yes, I'm pretty overwhelmed today. The whole double digits thing has me going. And, I'm starting to "look" pregnant, even to me. Sure, I'm not exactly svelte to begin with, but ... there's a definite change to my body. Thicker, somehow. And I can't suck my stomach in any more. Freaky. I won't even talk about my boobs, which have suddenly seemed to develop a fondness for Madonna's cone look. Jesus Murphy.

I'm freaked out for any number of reasons, the first being "holy shit, I may actually have to birth this child", while others are slightly more pedestrian. Such as "ummm, you've changed a total of maybe 2 diapers in your life", "how the hell do I bathe a baby" and the ever-popular "what the hell am I going to do with said (alleged) baby once it gets here??"

And the more mundane "what if the testing shows something bad??". Yeah, ever the optimist. That's me, alright.

It's difficult, because no one seems to understand that there's a dark cloud that is always hovering on the horizon. Sure, it's gorgeous outside, the sun is shining and all looks well, but there's that damned cloud ... again. At work everyone expects me to be happy and bubbly about this pregnancy - so I try my best because I don't want to hear another damned lecture about pessimism. Damnit, I have GOOD reason to be pessimitic!!!

I'm Jewish!

Not to mention all the other crap I've been through. Yeah, that.

So, I'm going off to donate multiple vials of blood to my OB shortly, and I'm truly in a good mood ... just a tad frightened and trepidatious. And wondering when I'll be able to relax and just enjoy this. Probably not till after the amnio, huh? If all goes well.

*sigh*.

What's that old Carly Simon song ...?

...Constipation. Cooooooonnnstipaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaationnnn ...
There's the single reason I haven't given up (all)of my coffee intake.

Oh wait. I think that may have been the Jr High version of her song. Works for me.

I've learned the hard way (ha ha) that if I don't drink one cup of coffee per day, I am completely miserable. It seems like a small thing to bear in order to be able to go ... and all the research I've read says that 1-2 cups of coffee a day aren't a bad thing. So I'm forging ahead with the coffee drinking because - well, I just feel so much better.

I won't really mention the terrible gas. Let it suffice to say that the other day, John told me that when he had come to bed the previous night and lifted the covers, he nearly passed out. He then said excitedly "hey, now you know what it's like to be a guy!". Oy.

During the OB visit, Dr Delivery told me that he considered me high risk. Not just because of my age - I have a few other fun risk factors it seems. Ah well. Then he offered me a choice of himself doing the nuchal translucency, or sending me to a perinatologist for it. Now I really did want to see a peri, but I didn't want to insult the man. Yeah, I'm a nurse but those authority figures still have a grip on me. Luckily, my schedule just doesn't work with his availability, so I ended up having to set up an appointment with a peri this April 18th.

When I called, they also advised me that I would have a genetic counseling session prior to the appointment and that I would need a full bladder for the screening. I must have sounded hesitant because she reassured me that I'd be able to fill up during the counseling appointment. Whew! I can just imagine ... sitting through an hour long counseling session with a full bladder. Uh-huh.

The difference between a nuchal translucency test and an amniocentesis is that one is a screening test and the other is diagnostic. In other words, the former will give you the odds of you having a certain disorder, while the later will give you a factual yes/no answer. While a nuchal will give us a pretty good idea if there is something wrong, I'm pretty sure we'll go ahead with the amnio anyway. Thoughts, concerns and other info is appreciated, if anyone has experience and wants to comment. I'd love all input on this.

I realize it's a very personal choice. I will be honest and forthcoming - if the baby I am allegedly carrying has some form of either a fatal or disabling genetic disorder, it is most likely that we would choose to terminate. We have talked about this at great length and examined the pros and cons and it is the right choice for us. I hope that this is never something we have to deal with, but considering my age, it is a possibility and we are as prepared for it as anyone can be, I believe.

Hence, all input on screening, diagnostics and testing is appreciated. You're welcome to voice your own perspective on this, but please play nice. I am very pro-choice and I respect other's views, please do the same.

Ah, such a downer on a rainy Saturday morning. The nice thing is that we should have that first round of testing out of the way and done by the time we leave to Canada for Passover. If everything is well, we will be announcing to the family, as I'll be out of my first trimester by then. Nothing to see here! Keep moving ... and time for my second cup of coffee.

In which I discover that yes, I may actually be pregnant for real

First OB appointment was today. It was hard to manage as if it was just another day - I was nervous and miserable and lay in bed reading for most of it. I tried to focus on everything but the appointment and failed. It was nerve-wracking.

John came home and off we went and after filling out much paperwork, we still had to wait over an hour to see the doc. But we finally did get in and he is a gem. A really nice guy who took his time explaining everything, particularly about screening. And for now, we've decided on a nuchal translucency in 2 weeks and then amnio, if necessary. I'm also going to be screened for pretty much everything else under the sun, including Tay Sachs, etc. Dr Delivery is very into screening, and while he did push the CVS a bit, the miscarriage rate is rather high, 1:100, higher than the amnio rate which he quoted at 1:300 to 1:600. That's a lot less than what I've read, but this guy has been in the biz for a long time. I doubt he's going to mislead us for no good reason. Ah, I'm such a trusting soul.

And then we went into the sonogram room. My cell phone rang just as I was changing - my dear friend Stacy who said "not that I'm freaking or anything!". I told her about the late start of the appointment and promised to call her back with any and all news. Babe- you KNOW I would have called you as soon as I got out. Oh ye of little faith!

John held my hand as Dr Delivery first did a breast exam (arghhhhackowwwwwwwwwwww) and then the pap, etc. Yes, he tormented me and made me wait till near the end for the cooter-cam. As he examined me, he said "everything feels right, excellent" and then he grabbed the wand himself and off we went ... and there it was. Way bigger then last time, way more developed. I started to panic because I couldn't see the heartbeat and choked out "is there a heartbeat?" in a strangled voice, to which he replied heartily "Oh yes! There it is ... 178bpm! Very very good!" ... and there it was, ticking away mightily. "and there are the arm and leg buds!" he pointed out. At this point I was sobbing and could barely see a thing anyway. John's hand squeezed mine tightly.

And yes, here it is ... and you can definitely see the limb buds and the difference from the previous one at 6.4 weeks. CRL was 25mm or so. Our baby is growing ... and is right on track. OMG. I think I may actually be pregnant for real this time. Really truly.


9 weeks and 3 days, right on target.

More babble

And here's another entry in Kinneret's random stream of consciousness babble.

It's midnight and everyone is asleep. This is a twist on the way things have been lately, where I am sound asleep by nine or ten, sometimes earlier.
It's quiet, other than the furnace working, and a sweet cat is curled up in his basket beside me. He's snoring. I wish I were, too.

I was extremely tired earlier. That seems to have vanished along with the "morning" sickness that started mid-afternoon and persisted till recently. One good thing about going grocery shopping when lightheaded, sick to the stomach and nauseous, is that you tend to buy a whole lot less "adventure" food.

Adventure food is what I call the stuff you see and think "hmmmm, that looks interesting! I bet it tastes great!" with the eventuality that your grocery bill ends up much higher than anticipated. I hardly bought anything today and it was 170 dollars. Seriously. Hardly any meat other than deli. Some fish ... yes, grouper for 3.99 ... I love grouper. ( We were introduced to it in the Bahamas when on our honeymoon and it is delicious.) Some cheese. Canned stuff. Some fruit, veg and juice, because even soda tastes off now. Coffee. Some paper goods. Ice cream, of course. I am a fairly careful shopper, I buy stuff on sale, I clip coupons, the whole nine yards. So much for intellectual pursuits.

My breasts are sore and heavy. I am sick almost every day. And I still worry. I wish the OB appt had come and gone ... I am looking forward to it and dreading it at the same time. I am terrified of hearing bad news, just scared stiff. I don't dwell on it, I try not to. And in truth, few understand why I worry, why I am so pessimistic, why I'm having trouble relaxing.
OK, you certainly could counter with "you're a control freak worry-wort, so what do you expect?" but you wouldn't be helping the situation.

John told me today that he's going to come to the OB appointment. Even typing those words, I noticed that I sighed with relief.
I am luckier than most in my choice of mates (and I know that many feel that way about their spouses, but I have to say my piece). John has been utterly wonderful dealing with my sickness, my moods, my food likes and dislikes. He laughs, he hugs me, he is extraordinarily patient. Upon my return from the grocery store, while I was putting the food away, he asked me how I was doing. I promptly burst into tears and told him I was exhausted and miserable.

I mean, really. Tears? Moi? No excuse for it. But the darned hormones have ensnared me and he laughed it off, dried my tears and held me close. He then ordered me to finish up and go sit on the couch and do nothing. Which I did, gratefully, while munching on some fruits of my labours (Fontina cheese and saltines. Lunch of champions).

Jr is being a pain in the ass. He is truly in full teenage mode these days and pushing buttons as he can. His latest thing is going to sleep in whatever shirt he wore that day. Ick. Teenage boys get very sweaty - they run, they skate, they do NOT sit still. Jr then wonders why he's getting zits all over his back. So, I reiterated to him once again "change your shirt before bed. Remove your dirty socks before bed. THEN get into bed and go to sleep - AFTER brushing your teeth."
You'd think a kid who'd spend 45 minutes in the shower (if we let him)would be more conscientious about his hygiene?
I also told him that if we caught him doing it again (multiple warnings on this one), his mp3 player would be forfeit for a week. I got the "you can't take it, my mom gave it to me!!" to which I responded that I wouldn't be taking it, he just wouldn't be using it, and that no matter what his mother bought for him, our rules are our rules.
Damnit, I hate sounding like a stepmom. And a parent.

He also has a project due when spring break is over - I'm staying out of it. When it comes to English, I have high standards (not that you'd know from my writing) and he doesn't even try to meet them. Which is typical for many teen boys, I know ... especially ones who didn't grow up with a love of reading and books. So, I'm leaving it to him and his father.

This baby - if it ever becomes a baby - will be showered with books and reading. You can bet on it.
(Yes, I admit it. I've been looking at baby crap online. Books. Pooh Bear stuff. Valances. Crap. Yeesh.)

It's weird. Even the parenting thing in my life, is coming out backasswards. First I'm stepmom to a pre-teen boy, raise him through adolescence, etc, get him ready for college ... then I do the infant thing. Maybe.
Typical of my so-called life. Frequently in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hey, it's gotta be what makes me so utterly unique.
Heh.

Three more days till the OB appointment. I can make it. And they better have a cooter cam waiting. I'm just sayin'.

Hey, I may actually be tired now. I better hurry before I wake up. Bedtime.

On hunger and love

Wow. A day without "morning" sickness. Who knew? It was lovely and enjoyable. I did have some "low blood sugar" moments ... if you know that feeling where you feel like you better eat something soon? And when I got home, even though I had snacked all day, I was utterly ravenous and cajoled John into ordering pizza. I snacked on (light)nacho chips and olives until the 'za arrived ... oh, and the Greek salad I ordered, too. MMMmmmmm feta cheese.

Pizza toppings were as follows: Canadian bacon (of course!), tomatoes, black olives, mushrooms and feta cheese. Usually I order onions too but I didn't want to push my luck.

I got on the scale this morning. Oops. I've already gained about 10 lbs. SHIT! Now I gain weight extremely easily, this is a fact. But still!!! Unfair. Mostly from cutting back on my water intake, drinking lots of soda (ginger ale) and eating all the time, even crackers. *sigh*. Carbs are my downfall. I really don't want to be enormous and definitely don't want gestational diabetes. But it's like I just can't control myself.

Now the only down side of not experiencing "morning" sickness is the fact that I am now worrying that something is wrong. I realize how silly that is ... wait. Actually it's not, not really. It's like every time I talk about the possibility of actually going to term, when I say "if I have this baby" rather than "when". The pregnant girl at work rolls her eyes when I do this. Too bad for her ... I live within my own experiences, within the experiences of other in and subfertiles ... and there is little if anything we take for granted when it comes to pregnancy.
Because anything can ... and has, happened. Because nothing is for sure. Because I *am* 39 years old. Because I've been through miscarriages, an ectopic and even an abortion when I was younger. Because I've survived an abusive and violent relationship. Because my life has taken many twists and turns to get here ... and there's little I'm taking without a guarantee.

Except for John's love. Because amidst any uncertainty, he is the one constant. A wonderful, amazing constant.

MY OLD MAN

My old man
He's a singer in the park
He's a walker in the rain
He's a dancer in the dark
We don't need no piece of paper
From the city hall
Keeping us tied and true
My old man
Keeping away my blues

He's my sunshine in the morning
He's my fireworks at the end of the day
He's the warmest chord I ever heard
Play that warm chord, play and stay baby
We don't need no piece of paper
From the city hall
Keeping us tied and true
My old man
Keeping away my blues

But when he's gone
Me and them lonesome blues collide
The bed's too big
The frying pan's too wide

Then he comes home
And he takes me in his loving arms
And he tells me all his troubles
And he tells me all my charms
We don't need no piece of paper
From the city hall
Keeping us tied and true
No, my old man
Keeping away my blues

But when he's gone
Me and them lonesome blues collide
The bed's too big
The frying pan's too wide

My old man
He's a singer in the park
He's a walker in the rain
He's a dancer in the dark
We don't need no piece of paper
From the city hall
Keeping us tied and true
No, my old man
Keeping away my lonesome blues

J. Mitchell

Another sign of the apocalypse

I guess I'm officially a bad pregnant person. I didn't take my prenatal vitamin last night.
My stomach has been so damned queasy that I decided to forego the pleasure and I do feel slightly better today. It's really been quite something, the all-day sickness thing. Last pregnancy I switched prenates to something less hard on the stomach and it helped. However, I am currently on that same pill that I was switched to. So finding something else ... well, I suppose it's possible. Just not probable.

It's not that I feel like hurling - it's just persistent nausea and a general feeling of grossness. And sadly, the only thing that helps is eating. Once I'm done eating, it usually returns quickly. What the FUCK is that about and how do I unsubscribe from it?
I really don't need to gain enormous amounts of weight. I wasn't tiny to begin with.

And the constipation/diarrhea thing? And the belching/flatulence thing? John just keeps laughing at his dainty and ladylike wife. Right.

At work I was told not to worry (HAH!)about my symptoms, that they're normal and to chill out. They don't get that I'm not worried, I'm just miserable.

The thing is, I'm not exactly the shy and retiring kind. When I walked into work yesterday and was quiet and withdrawn, it alarmed people. Yes, my charge nurse actually came to me and asked if anything bad had happened, which was sweet (I didn't talk much for a few weeks after my miscarriage - always a sign that something is wrong with a chatterbox).

One neat thing I've noticed, now that I'm past (!!!!!) the 8 week mark is that I can feel a sort of protruberance around my pubis. IOW, if I lay my hand gently against the area below my belly button (while adjusting the fat roll there)and press gently, I can feel something hard yet soft, something different. It's pretty wild and it makes me smile.

However, on the "oh no, this could be bad" front, a true sign of the Apocalypse has arisen; Every single nurse at work agreed that the government messed up and should have stayed the hell out of the Terry Schiavo case. My friends, when a goodly number of nurses agree on ANY one concept, you know that screetching sound you heard earlier was the world grinding to a rapid halt.

So, if you wake up tomorrow and the lion and the lamb are lying down together, you find your friends speaking in tongues and your freezer is suddenly stocked with Haagen Daaz*, you'll know. The end is nigh. Turn on CNN and watch our demise.



* freezers being stocked with premium ice cream has to be a sign of the world's end. How else could we enjoy the show? There has to be SOME sort of reward for dealing with doomsday.

Non-sequitur

I'll confess. I am a Canadian living in the USA. John and I met on the Internet some years ago and he persuaded me to come live with him via means of a better job, great sex and love. I didn't need much convincing ... I knew he was the one for me almost from the moment I received and read his first email.

Culture shock hit hard. From downtown Toronto to (at first) scuzzy Laurel Maryland, I was miserable. After a few weeks of being afraid to leave our apartment (there had been several rapes and car thefts in the parking lots adjacent to ours) I demanded we move. And move we did, to a much nicer area of Maryland. My job was interesting, my salary was far better than it had been in Canada and we were in love. Sure, becoming stepmom to a then 11 year old kid was daunting, but it had its rewards, too.

And eventually we bought a home - we are proud home owners and finally getting our heads above water financially. This is all good. I switched nursing jobs so I could actually see my family, no more nights, weekends and holidays. Yeah, I earn less than I did, but I'm far happier. And somewhere amidst all of that, we were ttc.

John and I have been together since 2000. During these years together, we never used birth control, especially after using latex condoms one day with the subsequent result of me literally waddling into the GYN's office, completely swollen and humiliated. We used the "rhythm method", which to most of my friends always was the truest route to parenthood. Nada. John put that down to his superior technique. Ahem. He was in denial, really. Even once we started ttc seriously, he wanted to wait a little, because he didn't want us pregnant right around the wedding. I told him it wouldn't be that easy. He didn't believe me.

After many months of no results, John kind-of believed me. He resisted seeing a reproductive endocrinologist at first, despite my impressing upon him my age and questionable fertility, months of trying, history of ectopic pregnancy and most likely blocked tube, not to mention sister's infertility and history of endometriosis. I went without him to the first RE who wanted to go straight to IVF, didn't really want to do much testing, no point he said, we're wasting time! You could do IUI, but if it fails ... then a year later you're nearly forty and nothing to show for it! said Dr Bowtie. IVF is the way and the truth and the light! I nearly believed him.

And hence fell apart while driving home from Dr Bowtie's when they called me to tell me we had absolutely no IVF coverage- in fact, no fertility coverage of any kind at all.

After that we moved - a new job for me (with some coverage)and a decision to seek help elsewhere took over. Dr Baby's office, so it turned out, was in the building right beside where I worked. It was Bashert (meant to be). Dr Baby took us a different route, which I've written about here before. Obviously the lap for hydrosalpinx pretty much cured whatever ailed me. I say this now. John believed it long before I did, his first hint was the pregnancy that happened the month of the surgery. It took me till this pregnancy to actually concur with him.

And here we are. 8 weeks pregnant. Today the "holy shits" hit me hard, the "what the fuck am I doing, what the hell did I sign up for??", the doubts and self questioning. I know that raising a child is hard but ... ack. What did I get into here?

Which brings me to Terry Schiavo. For me, this is a logical progression. You, on the other hand, may be shocked at the non-sequitur.

I am so sorry for that poor woman. There she lies, in a persistent vegetative state with no hope of recovery, subject to the whims of those around her. And now, it seems, to our wonderful Congress and Senate who want to stick their noses in where they do not belong.

No one here is innocent. Her parents - who really need to figure out who they are doing this for, Terry or themselves. Because I don't believe that what they say is the truth - if Terry knew that there was a chance that she would lie in a persistent vegetative state for years on end, do they honestly believe that she would want to prolong it? Or is it parental guilt speaking?

Her husband, who really needs to figure out who he's doing this for. Maybe he knows her wishes, maybe he doesn't. But his perspective is more understandable to me.

The politicians? We all know who they're doing it for and it isn't Ms Schiavo, those sanctimonious lying fat bastards.

Is that life? Lying in a bed, day after day, unable to care for your most basic bodily functions. Actually, not even aware that you even have bodily functions. No power of thought or speech, no ability to enjoy, hate, love, want. Not even a rudimentary brain wave function other than those that are controlled by the brain's breathing centre. Is that life? Is that really what we want to protect in this country?

I am afraid. I say this without intention of hyperbole or exaggeration, but living here in this political climate has made me fearful. What has happened to common sense? We have moved so far to the right as to alienate ourselves from every other Westernized country in the world. We have people preaching to us about moral values who have no internal idea of what moral values are. George Bush? Tom Delay?? Rick Sanctorum? These are the people who supposedly know what is best for me and this country?

You want "family values"? Why not start where you should ... legislate for the families that do exist! Bring in paid maternity leave so that mothers can actually spend time with their babies and raise them (if they wish to do so). Support those families. Help those who actually want babies - support infertility coverage!

Don't decide for us what a family or marriage is - most of us are capable of doing that for ourselves. Don't tell us where life begins - most of us already have an internal moral clock which serves us just fine. Don't intervene in a personal and painful problem just to score political brownie points. It makes what should be a glorious government seem even more cheap, tawdry and sullied than it already is.

In other words ... keep your laws off my body.

I want to move back to Canada so badly it hurts. This country used to be great - The United States of America was a beacon to the world. But it's truly scaring me now. I don't want to live in fear.
And I know some of those few readers I have may be offended by this and I won't apologize. This is how I feel. This is the world we live in. For the first time, I'm frightened for our future.

Please get a living will and a durable power of attorney. Speak about your wishes with your loved ones. Designate one person to speak for you if it should ever happen that you can't speak for yourself. Protect yourself. And keep the government out of your business. It may save more than just your life.

Want some fruit with that?

OK, I never really noticed till now that my font colours are blue and pink. Call it subliminal if you wish. Whatevah.

I am on a total fruit kick. Yesterday I made a fruit salad ... an enormous dinner size plate of watermelon (I live and die for good watermelon. Really.), cantaloupe, strawberries, pineapple and cottage cheese. 6 people could have easily dined off this plate - it was my lunch. I also snacked on a banana at some point.
Today I am continuing with raisin bread (hey, there's fruit in that!!) and a half cantaloupe. I have to go to the store for replenishment ... although we got the watermelon at Costco and they confiscated my card. It may be a problem.

Ok, they didn't confiscate my card because I'm a bad person ... honest. I mean, that's debatable, but that's not why they took it. You see, I worked for one of the world's greatest assholes a couple of years back. He can't keep staff because he's a fucked-up, lying, unethical bastard of a doctor. And that's on a good day. But the job had great bennies: 20 vacation days to start, plus a week of sick and 5 days of personal leave! They paid your healthcare premiums. Oh, and one of the fringes was a Costco card which I never used cause I didn't live near one.
Of course, you had to work in that dysfunctional hellhole to get the bennies, which I did for one year and got the hell out (we moved, too) before I lost my nursing license because of him.

Anyway, a few weeks ago, I decided to check out the local Costco and found my old card ... and what do you know? It worked. I hadn't thought that it would, I was all ready to pay my 45 bucks to renew ... and voila. So John and I went back last weekend to the tune of *gulp* 380 dollars and this time my card was flagged. They let us use it for that purchase but it was then taken ... I figure the lying unethical bastard finally cancelled it. He loses so many staff that he probably forgets to change the people on the account! But anyway, there's the long boring story of how I got a seedless and delicious watermelon for $6.99. It might be tough getting a comparable one at the Giant or Safeway.
Maybe if I went in and begged and pleaded and told them that I'm pregnant and I HAVE TO HAVE some watermelon, they'd waive the 45 bucks?

Not likely.

Today I am officially past the bad-awful-terrible day that happened in December. I thought I'd be overjoyed, but I'm not. I'm just quiet and nervous still. Waiting till the 30th is going to be rough, man. They better have a cooter-cam ready, is all I can say. I better go eat more fruit.

Same bat time, same bat channel

Last night I brought home McDonalds for my family. I have never ever in my entire lifetime done that. All I cared about were the fries - The Big Mac was completely incidental and I vaguely remember stuffing it into my maw.

I can't remember the last time I ever ate at McDonalds. They MUST add something addictive to their fries, like maybe nicotine? Interestingly enough, when I said "can you super-size that?" (about MY meal, not my husband's, or Jr's. What, are you kidding??) the young man apologized and told me that the biggest they have is "large". Why thank you so much, Morgan Spurlock! Hmmph.

Anyway, early December of last year ... I was 7.5 weeks and went in for yet another ultrasound because of the "slightly enlarged yolk sac". I was alone that day as John was convinced all would be fine, and he had a tough time getting off work. Besides I work right next door to Dr Baby's office - I could go and then head to work, no problems.

But that little ominous tune from Jaws played in my subconscious mind. I went in there nervous and expecting something not to be right, although I didn't truly expect to hear "I'm sorry, there's no heartbeat".

Today I am 7.5 weeks again. No ultrasound today, not for another week and a half. I'm having cooter-cam withdrawal symptoms. Maybe if I just showed up at Dr Baby's they'd take pity and do another? Hell knows, they know me and all my bits way too well.

I look pregnant to my (and John's) eye. I smell pregnant (yeah, I'm weird that way). I feel pregnant. I'm not as queasy/heartburnish. But am I still pregnant? Is everything ok in there?

Supposedly, the risk of miscarriage drops dramatically once you've seen the heartbeat, even further once you've heard it. I don't know if I buy into all that. I have no symptoms, but I worry constantly about miscarriage. I'm still worried about congenital abnormalities, Downs syndrome, etc. After all, I will be 40 when (if) this baby ever decides to leave the womb in a timely fashion.

We told our parents this past weekend. They are keeping it to themselves and are guardedly optimistic. I could hear my mother smiling over the phone as she told me that she was born (by date) a week after her mother's birthdate, that my one sister was born a week after her ... and if this baby holds true, s/he will be born a week after my own birthdate. Tears welled up immediately and thoughts of "good omen" arose . I can't deny my heritage, after all.

Saying that, I am a worrier by nature and a pessimist (yes, I'm great fun at parties). Today is a big day ... passing this barrier will be enormous for me. Fear is growing smaller, but he's a fiesty bastard. I have a feeling he may shrink greatly after my first OB appointment, if all (HAH!!!) goes well. I really do want to banish him forever. It's unlikely, but it's a great goal. Fear should not have the power to rule my life. I'm working on it ... I really am.

Nightmares

Last night I had a dream. One of those dreams that is so realistic that you wake convinced that what you dreamt was real.

I dreamed that something was terribly wrong with my baby. That the docs told me they could see a dark spot during ultrasound, that it was some sort of weird named thing with hair and teeth, and that there was only a 2% chance that my baby would be normal.

I was remarkably calm and chose to terminate, rather than risk bringing a severely brain-damaged child into the world. The docs showed it to me afterwards and it was exactly how they described, not a normal looking fetus at all. I was angry after, and went around informing everyone on the infertility bulletin board. I remember sadly removing the lilypie ticker from my desktop (yes, I do have one. Laugh if you will). At work, people's main comment was "again?".

I woke up. I camly went to the bathroom and looking at my body sadly, realized that it was only a dream. And finally took a deep breath again. Not before knocking most of my prenate vitamins into the sink, of course.

So it seems Fear is still running around his playground, even though Hope is sitting on the swings, sticking her tongue out at him ...

*gulp*

For some reason, our answering machine isn't working. You know, the one where when you pick up the phone, the dial tone beeps to let you know there's a message?

Because when I got home Friday, caller ID showed me that Dr Baby's office had called but there was no message. When I accessed the voice mail just to check, it told me there was no message.

Today, I noticed my mother had called while John and I were out spending far too much money at Costco (can I just mention that Costco has the BEST raisin bread. Ever!). Unlike my mother not to leave a message ... so I checked again. This time there were 3 messages. The first one was from Dr Baby's nurse ... and I quote: "Once we see the heartbeat, there's no real need for you to come in for another ultrasound, so yes, we're releasing you to your OB! But please keep in touch with me and let me know how it goes. We are so happy for you!"

OMG. I've been "released". No longer under the wing of the ever-concerned RE's office, no longer an "infertile". Who am I now? Where do I go? Ack!! I'm free and I'm not certain I know what to do with this freedom. It's rather daunting.

I am a free being for the next 2 weeks until the OB appointment. Wow. This must be what fertile women feel like when they're pregnant. Like it's no big deal. Kind of mundane and humdrum.
*gulp*

Nothing to see here

It's starting to sink in. Yeah. I'm still a tad leery of rejoicing - ok, a LOT leery, but I'm definitely happier.
Yes, I googled the snot out of "embryonic heartrate, 6.4 weeks" and found that 130 is pretty much a high average, so 124 is nothing to sneeze at, especially as they were marking me two days ahead of my own calculations. Still, those 6 errant beats made my own heart race a little, but ... I still remember the concept of "averages". And yes, I did suck at math. Yes I did. The fact that I earned my degree of "Science" in Nursing still amazes all who know me.

A couple things happened at the appointment that make me realize now, that Dr Baby knew the last pregnancy wasn't going to make it.
1) The cooter-cam tech was actually friendly and wrote a cheesy greeting on the ultrasound pics for us, ie "hi mom and dad from the littlest ...". (No, I don't want you all to know my last name. While I love you all, it's not a stalking kind of love. Deal.)

2)The wand monkey didn't have latex on the wand!

3) I was given a bunch of paperwork, including a full ultrasound report of embryonic measurement, etc. Also, "ways to avoid morning sickness during pregnancy" instructions, which never made it my way last time.

4)John and I were taken to a meeting room, where we actually met with an RN (not mine, she and Dr Baby were not there that day)who offered us congratulations and when to schedule an OB/GYN appointment.

None of those things happened last time. None. Through all three progressively shittier ultrasounds. Things that make you go "hmmmmmmm".

Once the nice nurse offered us congratulations, I turned to her, panic-stricken and asked "are you releasing me???" Because there's just no way that they can be releasing me yet! I'm infertile, goddamnit! I've miscarried before!! No!! They can't!!! No, I didn't say any of those last few things. But I'm sure I looked terrified.

Being a wise woman, she had me scheduled for another ultrasound next week, and told me that if Dr Baby didn't want me for it, they'd call and cancel. No one has called yet and I did leave a couple of panicked messages on my own RN's voice mail. So I'm thinking I'll be riding the cooter-cam one more time (hopefully only one more in that office, omg please) on Tuesday. And I scheduled it with Dr Baby, even if it means leaving work for an hour or so. I'll have to tell my nurse manager. Ick.

And ... *wincing and crossing all crossables* nothing to see here! Go away demons!!! I made an OB/GYN appointment for the end of the month. When I'll allegedly be *gulp* 9 weeks or so.

And now, it's time to prepare for my coworker's baby shower. I'll be making this dip. It rocks, btw. Simple and always a favourite at parties. Like yours truly.

Taco Dip

1 8 oz package (light)cream cheese.
1 c. (light)sour cream
3/4 c. (light)mayo

Mix these three ingredients well, spread on a plate and chill. Then fry:

1 lb ground beef, fry till brown, drain and add:
1 envelope taco seasoning
1 8 oz can tomato sauce
I also add some medium or hot salsa for flavour and a dash of tabasco.

Let the meat mixture cool a bit and chop up some:
iceberg lettuce (the only time I ever buy it)
1-2 ripe tomatoes, chopped
1 can sliced black olives
jalapenos, diced.
2 cups shredded cheese of your choice

Spread cooled meat mixture on cream cheese mixture to cover. Then sprinkle evenly the lettuce, tomato, black olives and jalapenos. Top it all off with the cheese and serve with taco or nacho chips.

It's not Gourmet, but heck - it's tasty and always goes fast!

It looks like ...

They're measuring me at 6 weeks, 4 days, 2 days ahead of schedule. Heartrate was 124, completely on target. I am utterly blown away.
I couldn't look at the screen till I heard the doc say "there's the heartbeat!!" Upon which I started sobbing hysterically. It looks completely different than the old ultrasound pics, completely. I mean, you can see a shape!!

I am on top of the clouds right now. I just wish today was a better day for everyone. I'm so truly sorry, Julia.



It looks like John ...

I guess I can't say that I'm "allegedly" pregnant any more. It's for real this time. OMG. Is. All. I. Can. Say.

Superstition

I refuse to change a single thing on my desk. I won't put anything away, especially anything vaguely (alleged) pregnancy related. The HPTs. The charts. The Weight Watchers stuff (I got pg right after I started last time). The knitting book. The earrings.

Yes, infertility and loss have reduced me into a heaping mess of superstitious bullshit. Which I know is crap. I know that nothing I do, say or cry will alter whatever is going on inside me right now. On a cerebral level - this is ridiculous. I am an extremely well educated woman, I am a Registered Nurse for chrissakes. But I can't help but cling to nonsense just to find peace.

Fortunately, today was a fairly busy day at work, for which I'm thankful. I couldn't dwell on the upcoming ultrasound tomorrow. Instead, I ordered with the rest of the crew from Cheeburger Cheeburger and had a ginormous bacon cheddar burger with sauteed onion, tomato, lettuce and jalapenos, and a small (hah!) order of their best french fries. I ate all of the burger and a goodly portion of the fries. I am officially a porker. I'm happy to say that I also ate dinner when I got home. And yes, I am now queasy and feeling unwell. I believe my pancreas and gallbladder have launched official letters of protest, and my heart ain't happy either. And the grape Fanta I'm enjoying right now is delicious. When the hell did I start liking grape Fanta???

Yeah. I'm frightened. And John is doing his best to make me feel better - that dear man has made dinner every night this week, when I have walked in from my 10 hour shifts absolutely knackered. I mean dinner on the table, steaming hot. Even Jr, whom we have not told of this pregnancy, senses something and has been on his best behaviour.

All I can say is - it better be good news tomorrow. Because I'm tired of gaining and losing these same 8 lbs over and over again. And I honestly think I will lose my mind if something is wrong. Please ... please ... can it be simple for once? Just once? Please?

Now with more queasiness!!

I am officially (in my mind) allegedly 6 weeks pregnant today. And yesterday, as if a little switch turned on, I started getting queasy. Oh no, this isn't "morning" sickness. This is all-day-all-the-time-every-little-thing-you-do-and-I'll-be-there - kind of queasiness. Bloatedness. Heartburn.

I start to eat something - it's delicious! After several bites - no it's not! I've come to the conclusion that garlic (a usual food group to me) is BAD. Bland and milky is GOOD. Salty is GOOD, but I am so darned thirsty all the time anyway. And last night, after I hied myself to bed in an effort to stay awake enough to watch 24, I snuck down to the kitchen and started eating pickles. Yes, pickles. I had ice cream earlier. About an hour earlier. I don't think that quite counts as a cliche.
Yet.

Corn Flakes and milk were from the gods this morning. I packed a lunch of soup and BREAD. And more BREAD. And bland Swiss cheese. And BREAD. John has a similar lunch, only with less bread and more Cheetos. Hmmm. Cheetos. On second thought, I may have to swap those lunches out. Yesterday I nearly ate all of a girlfriend's Cheez-Its. If I had been slightly less falling asleep at the wheel, I would have stopped and bought some last night on the way home.

I've gained back almost all the weight I lost over 2 months in 3 weeks. *sigh*. I'm not gonna be one of those svelte pregnant fashionistas they show in magazines, I'll tell you right now.
Assuming I'm pregnant. Which, while I'm slightly more convinced today, won't be confirmed until Thursday. Even if this morning I did break out the maternity bras I bought last time. Heartburn will do that. Not pregnancy, oh no! It's strictly heartburn related. Begone, demons, nothing to see here!

Off to work. I tell you, it's not easy working in a gastrointestinal clinic when you're a touch queasy. No Siree.
And thank you all for the comments. While I'm writing (mostly) for me, I'm enough of an attention slut to be thankful that this isn't being written in a vacuum. Or however you spell that word.

Better angry than afraid and other miscellany

OK, so my boobs are a little bigger. Fuller, if anything. And the right sided one is definitely larger than the left. Now that's true on an ordinary, non-allegedly pregnant day too, but it's *very* noticeable. At least it is to me. And to John, who keeps laughing at me.

People at work suspect. I've been answering with a "it's possible but not probable". As I work with all nurses and (sadly) all women, it's getting harder to hide the morning queasiness. Leaving crackers on my desk was probably not a bright move, but who the heck was thinking about it? So, my status seems to be a topic of whispering. I've caught any number of glances directed at my stomach. AS IF I'D BE SHOWING AT 5+ WEEKS!! Yeesh! Nosy bitches.

It's hard when you work with an all-female-all-nurse crowd. Everyone knows everything about everybody. And considering they were all aware of our loss last December, they have all taken an avid interest in our fertility (or lack thereof) status. While it's nice that they all care, if I hear one more "it wasn't meant to be" (grrr!) or "just relax" (triple grrrr!) or "my sister's brother's cousin's auntie's niece twice removed had ..." or "which doctor do you see? Cause I heard really good things about X" ... I may have to smack someone. It's even worse because another girl at work is due next month and they're all fussing over her (which is good) but then they turn their attentions to me (which is bad).

I did talk to one of the nurses, one who is closer to me age and who dealt with IF as she has severe endo, etc ... she told me "you know, if you two just relax ..." - and I finally did cut her short. I got quite upset with her and she just kept going!! Finally I told her quite sharply "Listen, relaxing isn't what's going to get me pregnant. Sex will. Hopefully. And if not, the doctor will. But not relaxing, ok?" And I left. She sort of apologized later.

The weirdest part of it seems to be the personal projection ... I mean, if you really think that it's "god's will" then good on ya, but please don't assume that refers to me. Personally, I think this has nothing to do with any god, nothing to do with destiny, nothing to do with karma, nothing to do with having an abortion, nothing to do with anything. Infertility is a disease, just like anything else. Being diabetic isn't from god either, you know? It's just a disease; partially genetic, partially environmental, partially bad luck. It happens.

So, telling me to relax ... well, would you say that to the guy with heart disease? Cause it's apples and apples my friend, not apples and oranges.

Anyway, rant begone. Better to be angry than afraid.

In better and not so controversial news, John and I went up to the furniture place again this weekend, ostensibly to return the blanket we borrowed and to look around. We ended up buying a nice maple veneer kitchen table with 6 chairs for the princely sum of $150 USD. I'll try and upload a pic later. Since no one actually reads this other than me, no one will notice that the pic will go up later anyway.

And if I'm wrong and you are reading this? Please comment, even if just to say hi. Just press the little "comment" thingie beneath this post. Hey, I said "please".

Off to do some cleaning!


the kitchen table

Fighting a losing battle

I think it started in December, that day I was told there was no heartbeat, the day everything went black for a long while. Fear took up residence and never left, snaking his cold tentacles quietly around my heart, and waiting for the opportunity to show himself again.

He gloats, you see. Quietly. You think he's gone, he's left never to return, that you're safe and Joy can reign once again ... until Doubt creeps in.

Doubt is normal. Especially after a long, hard road. But Fear waits, sneaking into the crevices that Doubt has started, widening them and making long inroads. Doubt may come and go, but Fear is here for the count.

Nothing is safe, nothing is simple. Joy is fighting hard to get out but Fear stomps her down each time, his malicious little whispers sending her back to her corner. And as I wait for the ultrasound next Thursday, Fear has been feeding and growing stronger and stronger.

There's nothing I can do but wait. I wish I could kick Fear to the curb, tell him to get lost, there's nothing to see here! But Fear may be here for good reason. And he knows it. I can feel him gloating deep within and it sickens me.

I feel helpless. Nothing to do but wait - and Fear keeps growing.

Oh-so tired

Yes, bonecrunchingly so. I'm very tired. Other than eating, almost all I think about is sleep. I am far more tired than usual - which leads me to believe that I may still be pregnant.
I'm not convinced, mind you. My boobs look pretty normal and other than the odd twinge here and there, they don't look like the pregnancy boobs I had last time. Smells bother me more than they normally do. I pee more frequently. And I seem to be inordinately interested in sex ... if I could only stay awake. Last night I was in bed by 9pm, much to John's chagrin, I'm sure.

So here I sit, waiting for the meatloaf to finish cooking so I can eat and go sleep. Really. I just want to sleep. John is having an evening nap, the lucky dog. I may have to go wake him out of spite.

I think people at work are suspicious. To their inquiries I reply "it's possible but not probable". That has become my mantra.

I'm just not feeling terribly positive about this ... and I won't until I see a decent heartbeat. And then till the 2nd trimester. And then ... I'm sure there will always be something but that first ultrasound is going to be key. I figure we'll be at 6w 2d - I'm hopeful we'll be able to see the heartbeat. We did last time at 6w+ - but look what happened there.
So, I'm not feeling terribly encouraged - not enough signs to convince me that this is actually viable. I realize that each pregnancy is different and that each woman is different but I can't help but remain pessimistic. Most of the time.

Other times I keep thinking of Winnie the Pooh. And the nursery. I usually slap myself around that time and bring myself back to reality ... but I still dream. A little.