Sad for my friends

Laura and Justin -
Am thinking warm, loving, peaceful thoughts of all four of you.
I'm sorry.
This sucks. Hard.
I'm so sorry.

A smile while pulling my hair out

Lovely Lisa'burgher tagged me. What a nice break from hell. Thanks!
No really, it was kind of neat to look back and see what was going on in my world at the time.

My 23rd post was titled "My Life as an Axe Murderer", which was almost prophetic .

The fifth sentence stated the obvious: "She is one awesome lady."

I was speaking, of course, about meeting Catherine.

Good times, good times.

So, here are the instructions:

1. Go into your archives.
2. Find your 23rd post.
3. Find the fifth sentence.
4. Post the text of the sentence along with these instructions.
5. Tag five people to do the same.

I honestly can't think of five bloggy buddies who haven't already had this. So, I am leaving this as is, and if you haven't been tagged yet, go for it!

Seeking Counsel

Anyone know a good lawyer?
After reviewing Joshua's written statement, and collecting the statements from the other students present, there have been no determinations yet as to fault.
The other party involved did not show up for the meeting. This did seem to concern the superintendent/principal/vice-principal because the kid was supposed to have been there. Duh.
Here's what knowledge we have gleaned thusfar:
Boy #1, we'll call him "Tim", recently transferred to this class from another. Tim has a folder. Joshua does not. Tim is an asshole. Joshua is not. haha! I'm just kidding. He can be.
Anyway, to stick with the facts, and the facts alone...
Which came first the chicken or the egg. Who started it? Who knows, really? End result: teacher stepped in, got shoved into a door, thus breaking her nose, which requires plastic surgery.
School district says they will get the bill first, but SOMEONE is going to be responsible for it in the end, and they WILL NOT HESITATE taking it to court to settle the matter. Add in the police involvement for 1) disorderly conduct and 2) reckless endangerment - charges which I have been informed should only be "summary offenses", since The Boy is a minor, granting him a clean slate after age 18.
I really do feel bad for the teacher. She was merely a sub who didn't even want to be there that day, but they begged her to come. And I do agree that someone should pay for her medical treatment. What concerns me, however, is that this could very easily escalate into her suing the school district for failing to ensure a safe working environment, her seeking other damages, money for time lost from work, emotional distress, pain, suffering, halitosis and hangnails.
And, Joshua was indeed "involved" in one form or another. Most of the statements indicated that Josh was pushed/shoved/slammed backwards into the teacher, which should mean that the kid doing the pushing is to blame. Right? At this point, I wouldn't mind just settling for half of the medical bills and admitting half-fault. But that is not an option. The district has slipped into CYA mode*, and is steadfastly determined that their lawyers will be "Working diligently to make this fair for everybody". Right on.
I do know a good defense attorney and if the last case I was a juror on serves as any indication of his ability, I would pay this man in blood to represent us. I'm broke as it is. I just need to protect our rights (assets), in case this woman AND the school starts getting greedy. If the other party involved, Tim, gets to shoulder the bulk of the blame, then that would be okay.
I never thought I would ever be involved in something like this.
This is so "Jerry Spr!nger", and I can't stand it. As much as I joke around about bitterness, anger, and violent behavior, we are NOT those kind of people, I swear on a stack of Poise pads. It is embarrassing, and I am ashamed.
Pardon me while I go cry again.

*edited to explain:
I suppose when discussing juvenile offenders, one should not throw random phrases around to further confuse the matter. For those of you who may have been confused, "CYA" in this case was meants as "Cover Your Ass", not Children and Youth, as some may have thought. Now, excuse me while I try to bake a file in a cake.

Smell you later

Ok, so maybe morning sickness isn't completely kicking my ass, but i guess I do have some symptoms.
For what it's worth, I do gag while brushing my teeth. I have learned to brush before I get dressed, thus avoiding the change-of-panties routine.
I am lightheaded. Dizzy, the husband tell me. But I am not blonde. Ever mindful of my blood pressures, I may have to discontinue the labetalol until I am farther along and reaching precariously higher values.
But the aromas around me! Oh my, the scents in the world. How curiously intense.
My dogs stink. Really, I had never noticed this before. They're dogs. With B.O. Wet dogs are even more odiferous.
Something in my basement smells like dirt. Not filth, mind you, just dirt. And not the fresh-from-the-farm fertilizer either. Just fresh, moist, rich earth. Sort of like potatoes. A paper bag full of freshly dug russet potatoes.
Not altogether unpleasant. Until it makes me think of worms, and then I get a little creeped out. Large squiggly piles of slimy worms is just gross.

Ya know what gets my goat

I am supposing, assuming, hypothesizing, alleging, imagining, and guessing that if they found nothing wrong with the hubster, that they, in turn, would be unable to treat a non-existent condition.
Along with the no-news-is-good-news mantra, and the assurance that "some guy" was indeed "a doctor" (who did not identify himself or speak to the patient), we are going on the assertion that they surely would have called us (or kept him) if there was a problemo. Si'?
But wait! I did get a call today! It was on the answering machine! I called back immediately! Five hours later! They had no idea why I was calling! Or who had called me! It was almost 4pm. How on earth are they supposed to solve this new mystery when they are packing up for the day? How, indeed. With such a tremendously large office staff, it would be nearly impossible to turn around to the girl behind you and, oh I don't know, ASK.
Turns out, are you ready for this.... they needed to verify our insurance information. Oh yeah. Did they have any information to spare regarding the outcome of the test? Is he actually going to see the doctor again for some treatment? "I can't help you with that information, but if you contact your primary care physician, he should be able to help you out."
Oh yeah, that's right, we don't HAVE a pcp. Why? Because G never gets sick. Hence the no-physicals-or-checkups-even-though-he's-over-40-and-not-the-picture-of-health. And I, having been pregnant for the better part of the last 3 years, utilize my hot OB for everything. Well, almost, dang it. But I digress.
So, we are awaiting a callback from the potential new pcp. And believe me when I tell you that G is actually, truthfully, looking forward to seeing him. I am not kidding. The man is still uncomfortable, and scared. He wants medications. And follow-up. And assurance.
He needs to go back to work, and having been discharged with no activity limitations ("as tolerated"), he feels he has been cleared to go back to work. Which would be fine, if I could be guaranteed that he isn't going to keel over out there.
OHHHHHHHHH, thaaaat's riiiiiight...... there ARE no guarantees in life. How stupid of me to forget. So, to hell with seatbelts and brushing my teeth, I could get bonked on the head by a falling anvil tomorrow! beepbeep!
Ok enough of that.
Want to hear the latest twist in my life?
The Boy. He got involved in an altercation at school. Not his fault. Really, mom, it wasn't. I swear. There are witnesses. This other kid started it. He "ball-tapped" Josh, who in turn, said,"You want summa this??" and proceeded to engage in a shoving match. Somewhere in the tussle, the female substitute teacher was meandering along behind them and got caught in the mix, sustaining an injury to her nose (possibly broken! yah!).
She intends to press charges.
Meeting with the administrators tomorrow morning promptly at 8am. Not happy.
Funny how a string of bad luck just goes pingpingping all at once. We can go numbly along for months on end without anything exciting happening, and all of a sudden---> straight to hell in a handbasket.
Seems like all I ever do on here is complain. Please forgive me. It's that bad karma I'm burning... leaves a nasty stench in the air.

No news is Good news

Hubby went for the treadmill. Didn't see the doctor. "Some guy" was there with the nurse, but he didn't introduce himself. I am assuming he was the cardiologist's associate.
Apparently G passed, because they let him go home. He is under the assumption that someone might call him someday to tell him how it went and what to do next. This is why you don't let them out by themselves. I was not there; however, if I were, I would have played 20 questions and got some damn answers.
So, I am going on the mantra that no news is good news, and all is well.
He still complains of chest tightness, and his pain ranges from 2-4 depending on the activity (it was a nice solid 9 when we went to the ER).
I gave him some Mylanta, just in case it's simply a gassy/heartburn kind of thing which we both really kinda doubt but why not play games trying to diagnose it ourselves when nobody else seems clearly willing to do it blah blah blah.
Tomorrow is another day. We shall see. So far so good, though, really, so I shan't complain. Much.
Thanks for your warm thoughts.

Have a Happy Humpday, everybody!

Lessons in inefficiency

I don't have any news yet, folks. Yesterday was a complete waste of time and energy, what with trying to get things scheduled and sitting by the phone. I can go into more detail at another time, if you're really really interested, but I'll try to keep this short.
Today, at 7:30am, he is to be having that damn stress test. Which I am sure he will pass (after dealing with all the bullshit yesterday). Will post results later.

In other news, I finally decided to do a quickie rune reading. I never could get the one to work that the lovely Jill posted, so I went in search of my own, and found this site.
It tells you to concentrate on an issue, not a question. Instead of asking "Will this baby be born healthy?", I thought "A healthy baby is important". Then, you click on a rune from the layout. This was my result:
(the site won't let me copy and paste, so I have to type it out)

Jera

Harvest

One Year

This Rune often announces a fertile season, a happy coming to term.

Jera is the Rune of beneficial results relating to any activity or interest that concerns you at this moment of your life. You have prepared the ground and planted the seed, and now you must cultivate it. Jera offers an incentive towards success.

Don't expect fast results, however. As with a harvest, a cultivation cycle or maturing process is needed to finally be able to recollect the fruits of your labor. You have done a good job, and now Jera advises you to persevere and be patient.

Pretty cool. I want to do another one just for fun, but I don't want to jinx anything. I guess these things, as with horoscopes and fortune cookies, can be read any way you want to believe, but I just thought this one was kinda nifty.

You suck and that's sad

Stupid things people say and do... somewhere there has to be a compilation in book form, sort of a "How to annoy others and get away with it" manual. And if there is, surely my inlaws have it in paperback, purchased from the bargain bin at the dented can store.
Why didn't you make him go in sooner?
He's stubborn like his dad, but you need to put your foot down.
You need to start cooking healthier meals.
Do you serve salads? You should keep a big bowl of lettuce and some chopped tomatoes in the fridge so he can snack on that.
It's a shame his stress level is so high.
Maybe if he didn't have to work so hard in order to make ends meet.
This is why he needs his free time to unwind.
Were you guys having a fight?
Why hasn't he been going in for regular checkups?
You should know that by age 40, men need to have a physical.
He just needs to relax.

{Sure worked for me. heh}

But your hiney is so cute in that backless number

He's home! Due to some scheduling difficulties, the stress test will be done 'sometime' on Monday. They actually thought they might keep him there over the weekend because

• they could continue to monitor him
• he's a flight risk
• the doctor would rather be in a new Lexus, because his Infiniti is so last year

The hubster, however, made it more than clear that he'd be happier resting at home, and that his anal-retentive wifeypoo would surely monitor him just as well, for free. The cardiologist said OK, but the pcp took about 5 hours to get to the floor and discharge him. That was a stress test in itself. But, in the end, we are home. He is exhausted and weak, and enjoying the extra attention like you couldn't imagine. He walked away with only an order for baby aspirin. Presumably, some magic elf will be calling us on Monday to tell him when to come in for the treadmill. If he passes this, great! If not, they will do a cardiac catheterization. I have not yet explained this option to him. Why, you might ask? See the second bulleted item above.

On the ride home, The Boy was detailing his oh-so-pleasant day on the greens. G said, hey, maybe I'll come along tomorrow. I shot him a look. He'd be getting a cart, of course. I glared harder. Steam was wafting from my left nostril. I think I blew a vessel in my eye. G laughed. "I'm just kidding! Hee hee!". I told him if he was feeling better, the grass could be mowed. "Are you nuts, woman? Pittsburgh's playing the Pats tomorrow! I ain't gettin' off the couch!" The guy's chants of "Here we go Steelers, here we go! (Whoop, whoop!)" filled the air until Big G took a deep breath, leaned his head back, and said "Uhhm... Yeah, I'm staying on the sofa. When is my test?" Sigh.

But, all in all, he's home, he's alright (better than he was), and I'm glad. I'm feeling assured that the test(s) will be somewhat okay (mild angina, not something major), and he'll be put on some old-people medicine (his words, not mine). Then, we wait for the next big thing.

Thank you lovely folks for your kind words and hopeful thoughts. You're good people. Hugs!

An open letter to the Universe (not baby related)

Yo, Universe. Up your nose with a rubber hose.
You do realize, of course, that I didn't need further proof that "you are in charge", and "I am a big fat nothing who deserves to be messed with on an almost daily basis". WTF?
Bite me. That is all.

Before ya'll get worried about the little butter bean, we're okay. Thank you for your concern. It is the husband who is not well.
Around mid-day, he called me from his cell phone, complaining of chest pain. My hubby is one who could probably lop off a finger or two and not really gripe too much. After quickly reviewing all the common signs/symptoms and whatnot, I asked him where he was. He was driving, of course! Perhaps you should pull over, honey. I can come and get you. "No, no. Just stay on the phone with me, because I'm scared". Guess what that did to me? Shit. A lot of good it will do either of us to be chatting on the phone while he's driving with excrutiating chest pain that led him to call me in the first place when he needs to get his ass to the hospital and I don't even know where he's at and if he passes out (or has a wreck because he's talking on the cell phone while driving in pain) I won't know what to do and oh my god what should I do...::breathe:: ACK!
And then we lost the signal.
Five minutes is a long damn time when you don't know what's going on.
Long story short, he made it home, I gave him aspirin and made him lay down. Diastolic pressure was a wee bit high, he was sweaty and flushed, had a headache and the chills. And that left arm numbness? Eh... he's had worse. In an ordinary situation, one might consider calling the doc or getting looked at, yes?
No.
H-E-Double-Toothpicks NO.
He went about his business, pausing on occasion to take a breath, clutch his chest, or catch his balance. You know, like we all do, every day. Normal. He would not listen to me and I could not physically get him to the car. Short of calling an ambulance crew equipped with a tranquilizer dart, Big G wasn't goin' NOWHERE, baby. And that's that.
Tried a little "Tough Love". I am, after all, a whopping seven weeks pregnant and tired, so what would I rather be doing? Napping! Booyah! I told him I was done playing these goddamn games, I didn't need the stress, and I was going to go lay down. Call me if you need me, or rather, if you'll actually let me help you, you big baby. Why the hell would you get me all worked up and worried if you're so "fine"? You'd better watch the crying wolf business, because I've had it. Good.Night.
And of course... about an hour later, he's sitting next to me, gasping, looking like hell on wheels, saying maybe I should take him in. You know, just to get checked. Better safe than sorry, and all that horseshit. "But I'm not wearing one of those gowns". Yuppers. Allrightythen.
Oh, but I did say "to make a long story short", didn't I? Huh. Imagine your surprise.
We spent about 3 days in the ER waiting room (after a quick triage, of course, where he denied any problems whatsoever and the nurse looked at me as if I was completely delusional). Finally, we got back to a cubicle and they did all the necessary stuff. Doc says, did you have plans this weekend? Why no, good doctor, what did you have in mind? Observation and tests, my dear patient! Your preliminary EKG looks slightly abnormal, and you just don't look so good. Here are some meds (nitro!), and your room key; we've booked you the private suite on the telemetry unit for the weekend. Here you will enjoy continual monitoring, fresh IV fluids, blood draws every 6 hours (x24h), and an echocardiogram and stress test in the morning. Hope you enjoy your stay. Fresh towels and sponge baths are complimentary. Ta Ta!
I chuckled quietly to myself when the admitting nurse on the floor asked him the routine questions. At 42, he is easily the youngest person there tonight. "Do you use any assistive devices? Do you require a cane, or walker? Do you get meals on wheels or any sort of activity transportation that needs to be notified? Any dentures or hearing aids? List the meds you take on a regular basis. Any dietary restrictions? Do you have a designated POA, living will, or advanced directives? Would you like your clergy person to be notified?"
We spent the evening watching Animal Planet and discussing what he would be getting for breakfast. (Egg Beaters and dry toast with decaf coffee. yummy)
I could have stayed with him, but he insisted I come home to be with The Boy (who, by the way, is also worried, yet sleeping soundly at the moment).
It is going to be a long day tomorrow.
Why is it that any one single day can have such extreme ups and downs? Yes, the baby's heartbeat is good. But the daddy's is not?
Why?

u/s pics!

Yippee Skippy rah rah rah

Bloglandia, we have a heartbeat! Huge sigh of relief.
My favorite wandmonkey found it immediately, and hooked up the sound so I could hear it whooshing.
See, last time I had one this early (with Nick), I was bleeding badly, and it was hard to visualize. This time, knock on wood, it was so clear and spacious (how'd my ute get so huge??) that you could see EVERYTHING. Even the yolk sac, about two inches above the little lima bean. Which, of course, I had to ask - is that a second baby? Now, my favorite wandmonkey, you see, is excellent at her job, really she is. But she has the bedside manner of a menopausal Bea Arthur wearing an underwire thong backward. She incredulously inquired "What are you talking about?" as I tried to point out to her the rather obvious bleb on the screen. I swear to Joe Pesci that she rolled her eyes as she said, through gritted teeth, "That is the YOLK SAC". Umm. Okay, sorry chief. Didn't mean to get all interactive and shit.
But anyway. Then I had to go sit in a room with the intake nurse and relive every minute detail of my last pregnancy. (Hint: just read the damn chart, mmmkay?) Finally, I was whisked over to vampira who swiftly and actually rather painlessly took FIVE TUBES OF BLOOD. Naturally, I was feeling a mite peckish after all the fun and games, so I hit McDooDoos on the way home.
So, here, for your viewing pleasure, is the newest occupant measuring a strong 7 weeks (6w6d):


[groan. i have been trying for about an hour to get my pic to load. i'll keep trying and edit this later. trust me though, it's one cute little lima bean!]

Tick. Tock.

I'm just trying to bide my time while waiting for my appointment. Sure, I could be sleeping, but, um, well, nah.
A word about signs, and good luck charms. I totally stole this from Lisa, but I wanted to share the fortunes I have collected since we buried Nick. I only kept the good ones, of course, I mean, really - has anyone ever gotten a negative fortune cookie? Sure hope not.
First words of wisdom:
Your determination will bring you much success.
Next:
Now is the time to try something new.
And, lastly:
All your hard work will soon pay off.
That last one should have been Gerry's, because he's the one who worked up a sweat.
But, I digress.
Remember the wishbone I used in my cryptic announcement to Mr. Dense? I "won". We left it laying on the nightstand, and apparently Big Dawg ate it. I guess that's okay, though. Not like he choked on it or anything, I suppose that might be construed as a bad sign.
I have saved wishbones for as long as I can remember. My dad used to do it. I carried over the tradition, and added a few twists of my own. We save the Thanksgiving turkey's wb until New Years eve, and "make a wish" with it on or near the strike of midnight. Let me tell you right now, I don't think it really works. But, anyway. Some other New Year good-luck-timewasters:
Growing up in the south, we always thought black-eyed peas (the vegetable, not the group) were lucky. When I moved to western PA, imagine my horror that 1) several of my inlaws had NEVER EATEN beps; and 2) you were SUPPOSED to eat kolbasi and kraut. Who knew? Being the industrious sort, I now thoughtfully prepare both dishes, so we can be assured of a gassy January 1st. Lucky or not, them's some good eatin'.
I had more little gems to share, but I am now drawing a blank. Go figure. It's just as well, what with 3 hours left to wait and all I probably should fashioning a stylish topiary or at least shave my legs.
Next dispatch: How the dildocam rocks my world. Film at 11.

27 hours until the u/s.

It was on 2/23/05 that my last u/s showed Nick had died.

...

Getting Leid

Yesterday, the hospital had a Hawaiian Picnic. Because, what says the tropics best like potato salad and franks & beans?
Posted at various entrances to the party zone were several members of the Excess Revenue Committee, handing out cheap plastic leis. And, I might add, donned in fake grass skirts, their business suits really screamed out for pity.
"The Pina Colada Song" and some assorted Jimmy Buffet tunes were jamming in the background whilst I awaited my turn at the hamburger pile.
I still have TPCS running through my head. Make it stop!
Well, okay, that song, and Sammy John's "Chevy Van". And that's alright with me.
I get home, and tell G how I got leid at lunch.
He was not impressed.
He did, however, point out something I had not paid any mind to before.
They had a dozen or so colors to chose from, and while I was wanting (?) a teal lei for myself, when it was my turn, the lady eyed me up and down, and said "You need some pink", and handed me - you guessed it - a pink one.
This was, G says, "a sign". Because, you know, he thinks we're having a girl. Uh huh.
Oh yeah, he's optimistic. Gotta love him for it, though.

Intermission

On the advice of those who love me, I am interrupting my regularly scheduled whining to offer you this:
Kerry's speech at Brown University.

You TOLD me to find something else to think about.

Debbie Downer

Not much to say.
Busy. Worried. Bored.
Am either getting used to the symptoms, or they've pretty much stopped.
Still checking the paper, and questioning every little crampy/gassy type twinge I feel.
Appointment is this coming Friday, the 23rd.
That is quite too long to have to wait.
I am impatient.
I truly do feel that we won't see anything viable.
I am steadfastly refusing to go the natural route this time.
My last m/c took 6 weeks, and was still incomplete. I was miserable.
I am intending to plan the medical intervention(s) around my midterm school break if nothing happens on its own by then.
Assuming, of course, that we don't see a heartbeat. Which we probably won't. But if we do, then I'll feel happy, if not stupid (for assuming the worst).
Then again, I may spend the next two or three days in utter misery wondering why I complained about "no symptoms" in the first place.
I hate not being in control.

Driving me crazy

Well, folks, I did it. I let the little buttmunch get his permit. For those of you having the misfortune of reading my blog from the not-so-distant past, you will recall the little buttmunch is my hulking, sulking, burly, surly, hairy, smelly teenage son. "The Boy", who is now a whopping 16.5 years old, and almost bigger than dad.
Soooo... he is now legal to drive with my accompaniment. What the fuck did I agree to?
I've let him drive now and then (off the record) just for practice. And he's done well. His father has taken him out, his uncle and grandpa have let him drive, he's been doing it for years.
Just not in oncoming traffic. Lest the grammar police attempt to fine me for improper use of a preposition, allow me to explain.
We're cruising along a twisty two lane road at the posted speed limit, when>>>
Suddenly!His cellphone rings!It's that girl!He forgot!He was waiting for her call!OMG!
And then... he reaches for his phone.
Before I have a chance to advise him AGAINST reaching for it, it is too late. He looks down whilst stuffing his hand into his back pocket, contorting his body at an odd angle as the steering wheel is neglected and the careening vehicle is heading toward the wall of rocks on my side. Reacting to my bloodcurdling screams, he over-corrects, thrusting us into the path of northbound traffic, and he again over-corrects us toward the side of the mountain.
That was the start of our lesson for the day. Being ever so cautious and responsible, I of course allowed him to keep trying. He ran a stop sign. I admonished him for it, but it "was" in a quiet residential area where, luckily, there was no cross traffic. Okay. So then what about the pulling-out-in-front-of-a-speeding-car-without-really-looking? "I looked, I thought his blinker was on". Oh REALLY? Is that why, when I said no, wait... you said "I think I can make it" and burned rubber on the corner?
I allowed him one last trip to the drugstore so I could stock up on aspirin, hair color, and Depends.
His dad is now the official trainer, as I am retiring early.

A Real Timewaster

If you find yourself bored sometime, might I suggest checking out this site:

Where the Worthwhile Worship

There are a ton of links and associated pages to keep you busy for hours, if not days. Funny shit.

I've had this in my favorites for a while now. I forgot about it! For shame.

Humpday

Hey, guess what? I figured out a little secret.
If you accidentally buy really crappy tasting coffee because it was cheaper, you won't want to drink it as much, thus weaning yourself from the evil caffeine addiction.
Sort of an accidental discovery, but perhaps it will work.
------
I think I have narcolepsy.
------
We actually put up all of our clean laundry for the past two weekends. I can't find half of my things.
------
Gerry might take of work next Friday to come to the u/s appointment. Maybe. I told him that I'd hate for him to miss a day of work if there's no heartbeat. He said what if it's too early to see a heartbeat? That would suck, too. I'm confident that IF there's one to be seen, it should be seen, because we saw Nick's at 6-7 weeks, and the doc obviously thinks we should detect one (or else he wouldn't have scheduled me for then, right?). Imagine them not seeing one , "yet", and telling me to come back in a couple of weeks to recheck. I.Would.Freak.
------
Was feeling forlorn yesterday that I wasn't feeling very pregnant. Then 5pm hit and all my non-existent symptoms reared up and kicked my ass. All right, already. I get it!
------
I saw a picture of Dr. Wonderful the other day. Other than his amazing blue eyes and his sexy accent, he's really not as hot as I remembered. His wanding skills, on the other hand... well, it's worth it. {teeheehee}
------
I have this overwhelming desire to adopt a kitten. The husband, he would not be pleased.
------
My vehicle was due for tags and inspection 15 days ago.
------
My underarms refuse to submit to the powers of antiperspirant. I, too, have succumbed to Laura's swampititis.
------
My hair is falling out in large clumps as I brush my mane each morning. There is, however, no shortage of stubble on my chin, upper lip, and toes. And just how often should I shave my legs, anyway? Cripes.
------
I am seriously toying with the thought of playing hookey today. Wonder if I should risk it. On the one hand, I could get alot done here at home. On the other hand, what if I end up needing time off in the upcoming weeks/months? And on the other hand, oh yeah, I don't have another hand. But that would be cool.

With a capital "B"

I have never been described as being perky, overly optimistic, or even downright friendly. Most people tell me I'm quiet, polite, shy, or possibly even sullen. I keep to myself. You leave me alone, I'll leave you alone. Pretty much, I'm a private person.
That's in real life, of course. I feel our alter egos are allowed fresh air when we blog.
Today, I felt my inner bitch unsheathe her claws. It took a good bit of restraint not to tear hunks of smarmy flesh from a woman I know. Actually, a gouging would have been the cherry on top. What I wanted to do, was grab her perfectly little hair-do'd head and smash it into a wall, kicking her squarely in the ribs on her way down. Then, I could tear her to shreds. Oh, it feels so good just to visualize.
----------
I haven't been testing my blood sugar since late May. Everything was fine, back to normal, after the delivery. The doc said to check it once a week or so just to make sure (gestational diabetes can turn into more for some people). I did so, diligently, for a little while. To go from 4x a day testing to stopping cold turkey just didn't seem right, so I slowly weaned myself down until we agreed I was a-ok.
I took it yesterday after coffee (Splenda only)... 99. Sigh. I'll try a fasting test tomorrow morning.
----------
After reading Catherine's post, I got to thinking. How long has it been? I feel like real shit for not keeping track. I stopped counting the weeks, and I guess sometime this summer I must've stopped counting altogether. Not that I will ever, ever forget; not that I will ever be over it; not that anything else has overtaken that grief in my mind, the ache in my heart... I just refer to "February" and leave it at that. I still cry - alot. I feel cheated, and angry, and jealous, sad, mad, bad, guilty, awful, defective, you name it. I still want a reason "why".
And then I think, why lose any sleep over the new one. There's not a damn thing I can do that will make one bit of difference to the outcome. Either it will or it won't. And I hate that.
So I look at the calendar, and count. One day shy of 7 months after losing Nick, I will be getting the first ultrasound on the new one. The new one I imagine that he helped pick out just for me. If one believed in reincarnation, perhaps one could hope he will be returning to me. At the very least, maybe he chose a worthy angel for me. Assuming, of course, that I believe in any of that. Which I can't say that I do, but it sounds all warm and fuzzy, doesn't it?
At the cemetery on Saturday, I told Nick about the one on the way. (Of course, I'm sure he already knew). I gave Josh a big hug, and said "You'll be a big brother one of these days". He said, Mom, I already am. Nick is my brother.
And I thought to myself, that doesn't count. And this is not fair. And I'm *this* close to losing my grip.

Monday, Monday

So twice in as many days I have cracked open an egg with a double yolk. Pretty cool, if you want to dwell on signs and shit (far be it from me to put stock into such fancical things - ha!), but I really think it was just a coincidence. And I need to stop buying eggs from WalMart, because apparently they use mutant non-union chickens.
The smell of bacon makes me need to hurl.
And lunchmeat. And broccoli. And milk, canned peas, my son's room, and Dove soap.
We're enjoying the visionary delight of pregnancy boobs. The husband, however, may look but not touch. I remember when I was expecting Nick, how impressive the bosoms became, and I assumed by nursing time, that I would be sporting a Pamela Anderson-style rack. However, when the milk came in (and of course I was unable to use it), I was left with two unsightly tubesocks with softballs stuffed in them. Not a pretty sight.
Hey, I'm all about the "TMI", you should be used to it by now.
Feeling a little guilty. I was taking a much-needed nap yesterday on the wonderful, wonderful comfy couch. The little kids from the house behind us were making a huge racket on their playset, and woke me up. I was perturbed. Do I really need/want a little kid to be disturbing my sleep and routine for another 18 years? I was just about done with the one I have, and I'm
starting over?
A girl from school who was due at the same time as I was showed up last week with her baby girl. Such a cutie pie, very mild mannered, and she seemed preoccupied with me. She kept staring at me, and smiled a few times. Even when other people were holding her and talking to her, she kept seeking me out. Felt really nice. Nick would be that age now. I didn't cry.
I am becoming more obsessed over 'no heart beat' than I am with the potential bleeding. As much as I promise myself not to dwell on anything, I just can't do it. There will be one problem after another, after another; little worries the entire time that something, anything, will go wrong. I don't know if I have it in me to do this. Ignorance is bliss.
Perhaps I'll have a different attitude this evening. Have a good day.

How Stressed Are You?

Find out here.
And good luck.

I really have other things I should be doing

Ho hum. To post or not to post, that is the question. Not much to say, really. Sometimes, I feel that if I have a particular subject that is weighing on my mind, and I know that IRL friends (not to mention spouses) would not comprehend, that if I take it to blogland, someone, somewhere, will commiserate. Or concur. Or comment. Big G doesn't understand the technical stuff. He says so outright. I don't get it, I don't want to get it, you deal with it, and don't freak on me.
So little things here and there have been on my mind, whodathunkit.
Traditionally, I bleed by 6 or 7 weeks. I'm hoping for the best two out of three. The best being babies carried to term, or at least close. No heartbeat, one m/c, check. One heartbeat, a gajillion other problems over 35 weeks, dead baby, check. So I'm fretting over a second trimester loss to complete the trifecta, or possibly another early loss which leaves us with egg on our face.
On the upside of this, is the comparison of labs from the early weeks of Nick's stay in Julie's Womb of Woe to the new occupant(s') results. Last year, at exactly 6weeks (42 days from LMP), my progesterone was a mere 17.9; within normal limits, but I had been put on Prometrium due to the bleeding. He told me it was 'ok', and that I could stop the supplements. I began to bleed again. I restarted the med, and the bleeding went away. Which has always led me to believe that "my" normal may not be what one would consider "normal", ya know?
Anyway.... so this new one.... at 4w3d (32 days from LMP), the little overacheiver is boasting a progesterone level of a whopping 28. Nearly two weeks less (1w4d), and the level is >50% higher. Did I calculate and/or express that correctly? Somebody correct me, I hate to be too optimistic. I dare say that might have some potential. Not having serial betas to compare, I am at a loss to assume everything else is going swell, but at least I can take solace in the stellar 50/50 chance of hope.
But, I am refusing to get my hopes up. I won't be able to breathe a sigh of relief until I hold a screaming baby in my arms, probably not even then. Why does this have to be so difficult for any of us? I shoulda been a crackwhore.
G is convinced it's a girl. Or better yet, twin girls. Like Roxanne said, I want A Live. That's all I'm asking. This whole process takes too long, in my opinion. I'm waiting for the worst to happen in the next couple of weeks, and then will be holding my breath for the duration. I can't be optimistic. Even if it holds on through my "panic window", who knows if there's not some other problem lurking around the corner. My time spent with Nick was pins-and-needles more often than not, and I didn't even get a consolation prize.
And, again, to contrast my doom and gloom bipolar-ness, I honestly do not sit and dwell on this for hours on end each day. Really! I have found myself wondering what it is I am supposed to be fretting over, and have to think a minute before I recall, oh yeah, I'm pregnant. THAT'S why I'm supposed to be preoccupied and worried. It's kind of like when you remember that you're supposed to be remembering something, but you forgot what it was you're supposed to remember. Then, I start to think. I'm trying to keep busy with other things. And, even though I'm not inclined to complain about my symptoms, I am happy to report that they do exist aplenty. Sore boobies, lightheadedness, nausea, ravenous hunger, extreme exhaustion.... all in place at the appropriate time. I wonder if perhaps they might even be a little magnified for some reason or another. It could very well be that I have become so 'in tune' with all the goings-on in my wonky bod that I'm just more acutely aware of their presence. Who knows.
I need a tall glass of milk and a shot of Kahlua.

Curiouser

I scheduled my first prenatal intake appointment with surprising ease. I always thought it unusual that they make you wait until 8-10 weeks before they want to see you, and even then, you just get the nurse. I was not able to bypass the system and go straight to the good doc, and as such, made my little sit-down-and-talk-about-prenatal-care-stuff appointment, for Sept. 23rd. Being "about 7 weeks" by that point, I was pleasantly surprised, but said nothing to push it back farther.
I had not heard back about scheduling my next beta, so I phoned the office today to inquire about my next draw. The nurse called to inform me that he was "so pleased" with my previous result, that there really was no need for further blood work. I asked about needing/wanting to see that nice number rising, and she said it's already high enough for having been 4w3d when it was drawn, that he is confident.
As a matter of fact, says she, he wants to schedule me for an ultrasound in two week's time. I told her of my intake appointment, and we were able to get the back-to-back on the same day. Yay! 7 weeks.... I forget what you can see at that point.
I completely forgot to ask her WHY he wanted to do the ultrasound, but I'm sure it's just to make sure all looks well. The scheduler was grilling me about the "why", too. I told her I'd hold while she asked. She just gave me the appointment and said he'd know why. I guess he would, huh? Dammit, now I wish I knew.
Two weeks to wait. No labs. Just wait. Oh I hope it goes fast.

And sometimes, it's all about the poo

As anyone who's ever been on progesterone supplements will attest, flatulence becomes an issue. This time, so far, I am not on Prometrium, so I can only assume that my bloated bowels are the result of natural progesterone levels that are miraculously within normal limits. If my vehicle ran on farts, and farts alone, I would be $50 richer this week.
Then, there's the issue of regularity. I, with no galbladder and taking metformin for so long, have nary a problem with evacuation. I do so with frequency and fervor, a quality I have come to appreciate, in the end.
So I find myself in a public restroom, waiting, and trying, and waiting. I have a person waiting in the hall whom I have offered a ride to, and the three-stall potty area is fast filling up with other potential pottiers. It is, so they say, a potty crowd. Potty on, Wayne. Excellent.
And yet I sit. You know how sometimes you'll get one of those types of poop that you really, really wish you had some privacy for? The vacate-the-vicinity type? The kind that just won't go away, no matter what you do. It won't pinch off, it won't wipe away, and you're stranded in your stall with upwards of 10 people waiting for their turn, and everyone is getting woozy. It's a little embarrassing. But not so disheartening that I can't write about here, of course. Everybody poops.
Now, for some advice: If you find yourself standing in the kitchen at 4:30 am after having let the dogs out for the second time during the night when you really wish you could be sleeping and you feel like you need to fart... don't force it.

One hurdle down....

HcG = 623

Progesterone = 28

And Dr. Wonderful has another nurse that is earning gold stars in my book. She called me "after hours". (They close up tight at 4pm. What is it, 9 mins after???) LOL
She said she "just got my results", and that he hadn't reviewed them yet, but she knew I'd be curious.
She didn't know when he wants me to go for the next draw.

That is my dispatch for now. Next post MIGHT have something actually interesting in it. No promises though.

:-)

Antici-pay-yay-shun

Pulling into the Outpatient Parking lot yesterday, I found myself singing along with Carly Simon on the radio. It made me want ketchup. On white bread, with cheddar. No meat.
SIL did not call back last night. It's just as well, because I was in bed around 10 anyway.
So, this morning, I have to be in classes all darn day, and invariably will miss any and all phone calls. In my messages to the almost-good-enough nurse, I always leave explicit instructions about how to reach me, what times I can take calls, and to please leave a voicemail which I will respond to asap. And the almost-good-enough nurse invariably says "Boy, you're hard to get ahold of". Back atcha, babe.
I worry that Dr. Wonderful himself may call, and I'll miss hearing his sexy accent. "Zzzhhoooleeee, congratulations. This one looks strong and healthy. Why don't you come in for an exam every week just to be sure."

So anyway, no news yet. We must remember I just had the blood drawn 12 hours ago, and I really am not supposed to get my results until this afternoon. It was I, and I alone, who was hopeful the offer from SIL was a possibility. And I completely understand that circumstances sometimes get in the way of stuff. So, I'm good. AND, besides all that, this is just my first number. The telling one will be in what, 48-72 hours?
I've been looking up "normals" for both HcG and Progesterone, and can't really find anything definitive, because they all are within different ranges. I vow to step back, and let the doc tell me what's good for me. Riiiiiiight. But I will try my best.

Hope everyone has a tremendous day. Thanks for playing along. I'll post when I know anything.

Stiiiiiiiillll Waaaiiiiittttiiiinnnngggggggg

Oy.

SIL teaches a phlebotomy class on T and W nites - I knew about Wed, but not TODAY, dammit!
I can't get ahold of her. So I've left friendly, albeit desperate, voicemail(s).
heh heh heh
At any rate, I should know tomorrow, if I can get through to the almost-good-enough nurse.
OR - or... m-a-y-b-e I can have SIL call her buddy at the lab and get the goods.... hmmm?
I can't ask for too much good fortune in this short span of time. I'm content to wait.

NOT.

Hooooooboy.
Have I mentioned I can't sleep? eeeeeek!

Thanks for checking in on me, my nice "stable of readers". (thanks, Jill)
Saddle up for the ride. LOL

Since I'm bored, and slightly obsessive, I'll share with you a little something. Feel free to issue a virtual slap.
My LMP was 8/6. When I told the nurse this, she said "And you already tested??" - I said, "Honey, I've been testing since FRIDAY".
Wow, you must be anxious.
YA THINK?
I told her my boobs have hurt - Quite Intensely - and I've even started being nauseous. I barfed with brushing my teeth this morning. I told her that it "could" be psychosomatic - the power of suggestion - I know I'm pregnant so now I have all the symptoms.
She said... "OR...." Or? "It could be more than one."
That's why I joked about triplets. Hell, I'll be lucky to make it past 7wks, so why am I toying with high-risk multiples?
Because. I'm. Nuts.
Didn't I already make that clear?
Sheeeeesh, people.

Waiting...

After a hearty round of phone-tag, I finally got to speak with Dr. Wonderful's almost-good-enough nurse. This one doesn't piss me off too much.
I'll spare the details of all the messages and call backs and more information required and double-checking and horseshit that usually develops from a simple inquiry to that office.
Suffice it to say...
I went for beta#1 and a progesterone level this afternoon.
Normally, I would have to wait until tomorrow afternoon to call and check for results.
HOWEVER, I just happen to have a SIL that works in the lab, and sneaks me the info early. I *might* even have my results within an hour or two tonight.
Now, we know it's positive, but I want to know HOW positive? Triplets? HAHAHA!
Surely I jest.
Yes, I jest, and don't call me Shirley.

An Alternate Universe

Everyone agrees, women are hard to figure out. Men have yacked about it since the dawn of time. They blame our hormones. Wives have become comedic fodder in many situations.
Men, on the other hand are much simpler creatures. You don't have to look too deep to figure out there's not many layers there to work with. Speaking strictly from personal experience, a well-fed and well-rested husband will render you a trusty companion who can lift heavy things and manipulate the duct tape with skill. General conversations take up valuable airspace, and besides, there's a something good on TV. Under it all, there runs a basic mantra, "I'd like a beer, and I'd like to see something naked."

I scrawled out "I Love You" on a piece of paper, laid it on his bedside table, and on it placed this morning's "+" hpt, a wishbone, and a little rubber ducky. He awoke to let the dogs out. He returned to bed and lay there momentarily, then decided to shower. [I got out of bed to put up the laundry. Really, it happened.] He got dressed. He asked what time we were supposed to go to the cookout. I kept gazing at the table, trying to divert his attention in that direction. Have I mentioned yet that it takes a smack to the head and blinking lights to get his attention? He went downstairs, and called up the stairs to verify the coffee-to-water ratio. Once he got the pot brewing, I requested he come back upstairs "for a few minutes". In a blink of an eye, there he was. I told him I loved him. Did he enjoy our vacation? I know I sure did. It was so relaxing. Sure would be nice to have a souvenir, wouldn't it? Hey, ummm, what time is it anyway? Hey, that light is off, isn't it? And so on. Meanwhile, he's busy fumbling with the highly specialized engineering of my bra clasp. I take off my glasses and ask him to lay them on the table. Ouch, hun, easy there... my boobs sure are sensitive. It was like explaining abstracts to Forrest Gump. Do you need it to jump up and bite you on the ass? Get a frickin' CLUE, honey. Again, as I say, men don't play games. Just say it and get it over with.
So, about 3.8 minutes later, he's all like, "Thanks", and I'm fumbling around for the ol' specs so I can look him in the eye and spill the beans. I can't find my glasses. I ask him where he put them. He rolls over me to find them, and still ignoring my cryptic announcement, hands me my glasses, and says he's going to go play golf. I sigh loudly, and tap my fingers on the bed. "What? What did I do now?"..... "Nothiiiiiiing".
Finally, I can take it no longer. I take him by the hand, sit him down next to me, next to the table, and ask "Did you see this yet?" "No, what is that?" "Read it."
No kidding, it took him about 5 minutes to process. He turns to me and calmly inquires, "Are you pregnant?" I slowly nod with a nervous grin on my lips...
Talk about ruining a good surprise.

Who are you, and what have you done with my husband?
Today has been weird. I am guessing that all the financial worry and emotional turmoil brought on by Nicholas' impending birth pretty much cleared the way for this one. Alas, it is yet still early. The tides will surely change. I was fully expecting a big groan, followed by a lecture about 'not getting our hopes up', and 'let's not talk about it, okay, we've got plenty of time'.
Instead, what I got was kisses, hugs and belly rubs. Out of the blue, he comes up to TALK to me. He was so excited, he couldn't wait to tell The Boy. My dad called, and G kept bugging me until I HAD to tell my dad right then, as well. We went to his mom's for a picnic, and he blurted it out there, too. I don't want to act annoyed, because this is SO very unlike him, but come ON!He, of all people, should know as well as I do that we're playing a dangerous game. There's these chickens, you know, that you shouldn't count before they hatch? They're on the cart that he just put before the horse. The horse that stands shoeless, under a ladder, on broken mirrors. Take a breath, G, let's be realistic.
Oh, and THIS one's going to be a GIRL. And did you notice you're due on Mother's Day? That surely is a good sign.
{???!?!??}
Tomorrow I'm going to wake up and this will have all been a dream. Pinch me. What has gotten into him?
Only 36 more weeks to go. Giddyup!

Untitled, Take II

I began my last post with detailing just another cruddy day that took me by surprise. And that was that, just the day, just cruddy.
In an attempt to segue from one extreme to the other, I think I may have misguided a dear reader or two. Hell, after I came home tonight and re-read it myself, I was all like, huh? You know what I'm sayin'? Like, what she talkin bout?
So here is some clarification.
Thursday just sucked. Woke up late, got stuck behind a slow truck, answered questions wrong in class, looked like an ass when I dropped my purse in the parking lot. Walked around with a big crusty booger on my upper lip. Spilled coffee on my shirt. That kind of shit. Really had nothing to do with anything, I just like to complain.
On Friday, my boobs hurt.
My boobs hurt quite a bit.
I dealt with it most of the day until I could take it no longer. Hmmmmm, said Futility Friend. You're on CD28. You have no clue as to when your period should really be "due". Our records do not indicate that you have a uterus at this point. Not only have you consistently failed to produce ovulation, we believe that your endometrial shedding over the past several months has obliterated your reproductive organs, and as such, we are unable to offer you hope or condolences, as you are no longer considered a candidate. So quit thinking, you imbecile, and go eat a cookie. Damn, yo.
So, I went to the store for some cookies. And an hpt.
Being that it was late in the evening, and this was the cheapest possible test I could have bought, I of course tested right then! It showed nothing within the first few minutes, so I set it aside and got busy with, you know, my chores. A few hours later, I thought I'd better throw it out, lest the hubster sees it. But, wait, what is this? A faint light purple line? Probably just an evap line. Maybe I'll test again tomorrow.
Saturday morning, G is feeling amorous, and I had to ask him to step away from the boobies. A dim light flickers over my head, but I ignored it. I may be dumb, but I ain't stupid. Well, okay, I am. I run down to the store while he's in the shower. I buy the 'better' test. Test number two is just defiant enough to show a faint "+" within the correct amount of time.
I am thinking at this point, that it would be more likely to get a false negative because of the cheap test, right? I mean, if it measures only 50 or 100, and I'm still really early, it wouldn't be giving me a second line if there wasn't some funky voodoo going on in there, right? A positive, is a positive, is a positive. If I use FMU and/or a better test, maybe the second line will be darker.
So, I shelve the spare test to use with my first morning urine. And I spend the rest of the day in quiet reflection. Oh sure, I may be crumbling with fear on the inside, but I refuse to let it take ahold of me. For now.
I stopped at WalMart after work and bought a twin pack of FREDs.
I will test with the spare cheapie Sunday morning. I will use a FRED on Monday, and again on Tuesday when I call my OB and properly meltdown.
Holy. Shit.

Untitled

So, Thursday was... kinda cruddy.
The unrealistic optimism that began my week quickly dissipated to a quivering pile of DUH.
By lunch time, my day reared up in an aggressive posture, loudly demanding a "do over".
I argued, of course, that would be impossible, but my day was not to be solaced by trivial physics and generalizations.
"Look," my day insisted, "am I gonna have to smack a bitch up? I said "do over", and you best be gettin' your ass back to bed and hope for salvation in your next sunrise".
I can't quite pin one specific detail to any particular event that made everything snowball into despair. It was just One Of Those Days. Little things here and there that set you back, yet accumulate into a massive slap on the face, later followed by being bound and gagged, wet and naked on a pile of used cat litter.
By Friday, I was mostly just numb. I recovered from the day before, and went about my business as usual, and had a fairly decent day. I thought about my mental status. I looked at my chart (damn you, FF!). I assessed my mental run-down of various physical evidence that my craziness might have just cause. I pondered what to do, what to blog, what to think.
I did the unthinkable.
I did it again today.
I'll do it again tomorrow, and again on Monday.

EDD 05/13/2006