Monday, October 31, 2005

The good, the bad, and the ugly

First the good:
12w(2d) check up was A-OK. Patti (the midwife) had a little trouble locating the heartbeat immediately. Two weeks ago it was right there, first try, lower left. This time, the little bugger was playing games and when she thought she had it, it disappeared. THEN, she heard two. TWO! But, alas, 'twas only my own with the Maybe's. She actually had to feel and count my pulse as she was listening to them both, as my own by this time was 116 (or something).
Back again in 4 weeks.
The bad:
Dr. Wonderful is starting me on insulin now. Right now. At 12 weeks. Like more than twice as early as last time.
And now, for the ugly: Ass zits are not funny. Especially when your husband makes fun of you. The big jerk.

Friday, October 28, 2005

Effing Friday

I hit a dog on my way to work this morning. 6:30am; dark and drizzling, low visibility on a curvy stretch of a back road, and BAM, thudthump.
Beautiful long blonde hair, possibly an older puppy or young adult. Looked a little like Benji.
I had no idea who to call, and the residences 'nearby' were not accessible. I called 911, and explained that I had a non-human emergency. The guy said "Excuse me?" Umm... I mean this isn't an emergency, per se, but I don't know who else to call. I hit a dog, it's still alive, but really suffering. I pulled him to the side of the road and covered him up with a blanket but he's really breathing hard and moaning, and having seizures; I know his back leg is broken but there is no other visible injury, no bleeding or wounds but I know he has to have internal injuries because I hit him going about 45 mph and he knocked my license plate holder thingy off and I really hit him hard so I know he's badly hurt... I explained I was sorry to tie up the emergency line for something like this, but I didn't know what else to do; I tried calling the non-emergency number for our borough police but nobody was answering and I wasn't even in the borough anymore but I didn't know what township I was in, and I thought maybe they could at least tell me who to call because I didn't have a phone book and I wasn't aware of any 24-hour emergency vets in the area...
"Ma'am, it's going to be okay, take a deep breath." It was only then I realized that I was slightly hysterical, and not altogether coherent.
Breathe, swallow, breathe. Okay.
Trying to describe my location was another feat in itself, but he was kind enough to dispatch the nearest animal control officer to my aid. I stood in the cold rain, gently soothing this poor creature for a good half-hour. Did any other cars stop? Why, no. It is perfectly acceptable to see a woman on the side of the road in the rain crouched over a lumpy blanket and crying.
Upon arrival, the man said, "You need me to sign sumthin' fo' yer insurance or what?" No, I said, just please take this poor animal somewhere to get fixed, I am willing to pay for the treatment, and we could adopt it. "There ain't nowhere to take it, honey, and the shelter don't open 'till after dinner(that's backwoods hick for "lunch")".
So, what do you do, then?
"Leave it on the truck."
I call my husband, who is absolutely thrilled to hear from me at this time of the morning about yet more good news. I had him call our vet's answering service. Our vet doesn't have an answering service. Hmmm. Okay, next bright idea. Why don't I just load it up and take it somewhere? Ah... but where? That is the stem of this problem, you see. And I can't call off of work over something like this.
"Besides," the officer tells me, "I don't think he's gonna make it anyway, honey. At least you stopped, most people just keep on going. We'll take it from here, ma'am, you just go on now, it'll be okay."
So, I'm sobbing, and telling the doggy how sorry I am, and to just hang in there, he'd be okay, be strong, we'll get you all fixed up...
The man is looking at me like I've lost my last marble. Says, "Ma'am, is this YOUR dog?" No, I told him again what happened. "Ma'am. It's just a dog. It's not a person. Are you worried about a ticket or something, because it's okay, it ain't gonna count against you or nothin'."
Anyway, long story short, I went on about my morning, and thought about the pup all day. I decided to call him Lucky when we adopted him. I wondered how much the vet bill might be. I was just as delusional as I could have been.
When I got home, I called the shelter. Oh, yes, they did get an injured dog in today, could I please hold? The next lady asked me to describe Lucky, and asked if it was my dog. I told her I was the one who had hit it. She told me the dog had died. It was a little girl. She had massive internal injuries, and there was nothing they could have done, even if someone had attended to her sooner. They were sorry. She told me not to feel bad, it wasn't my fault the dog was uncollared and wandering on the road. She said it happens all the time. Usually they just scoop up the carcasses later in the day; it's not often they get a "live" one. And she thanked me for trying. I thanked them for all they did, and then I cried on the sofa for a wee little bit.
I know accidents happen, but damn it all anyway.
After a white-trash dinner of various freezer and pantry contents thrown together in a makeshift "casserole", my guys went to see a hockey game while I dozed off and on between Seinfeld reruns. Phone rings.
"Hello, blahblah from blah something taking a survey on women who blah blah blah, do you have a moment?"
I'm sorry, women who what, again? I didn't catch that.
"Breastfeeding. Women who are currently breastfeeding. Our records show you have a child between the ages of 3-9 months; are you using breast or bottle?"
My baby was stillborn.
"OH SWEETHEART! I am soooooooooo so very sorry, please know that I will take your name off our call list right away. You have a nice evening, okay? Bye."
Right back at ya.

Sunday, October 23, 2005

FAQs and Conjecture

Since the day I came home from the hospital empty handed and broken hearted, I have worn a tiny gold band on a twisted chain in memory of Nick. A lovely nurse who stood by me during labor and delivery gave it to me; I believe it is part of their grief package, but she took care to present it to me individually, and showed me her own that she still wears after 9 long years. The original band was not "real" gold, so after about a month of 24/7 use, it no longer reflected the gleaming emotions I required it to. I had a jeweler replicate it in 14k, and I keep it on proud display daily. In the 8 months I've worn it, I have had a total of THREE people ask me about it.
I really feel I am almost unapproachable in many aspects. I've mentioned before how I keep to myself and don't care to share info (in the non-blog world, that is!). Perhaps people (co-workers, neighbors, acquaintances) assume I am a private person, and they don't want to offend me. At any rate, I have not yet found a satisfying response to the questions. The first time, a gal asked me "Is that a baby ring?", I said yes, sort of. She didn't bother to clarify, and neither did I. The next time, the checker at the store, said, "Oh, what a beautiful ring! May I ask, I mean, not be to be nosey, but, what does it signify?" I said I had a stillborn. End of conversation. More recently, a co-worker inquired about "that lovely charm you wear all the time". I told her that I had lost a baby, and I wear it in memory of him.
I don't know how to address the issue with people who are polite enough to ask, but probably really don't want to know the truth. I also feel like I'm not giving Nick the respect he deserves, when I just refer to him as "a stillborn" or "a baby". How do you tenderly speak of your dead baby? My son was stillborn. (Josh? huh?) I had a son who was stillborn. One of my babies was born dead. My son Nicholas didn't make it. I lost a child.
And to further confuse the issue, is I want to explain to people that this wasn't an early loss. I endured over 30 hours of labor and squeezed his lifeless body out of my womb. I held a limp, blue, skin-peeling-off little angel in my arms for a few hours before they packed him in a box. I buried my baby. We had a funeral. He has a grave with a headstone. And a whirligig.
Alas, these conversations have never occurred, because nobody ever asked. I never brought it up. It stays inside my head.
Tonight at work, one of the girls I used to supervise had returned. I hadn't seen her in months; she had taken a leave of absence due to early pregnancy complications requiring bedrest. She is about 19-20 years young, unmarried, and her (ex?)boyfriend is on parole. She didn't mention the pregnancy until she was experiencing problems. Later, I heard she had lost the baby. Tonight, after our requisite hellos and how are yous, I found a moment alone with her, and expressed my sympathy. "Oh, no big deal", she said, and trotted off on her way. I figured she either was dealing with it well, or it really wasn't a big deal to her, and left the exchange in the back of my mind. Until break. Just so happened we were taking it at the same time. She said to me, "I heard you lost a baby, too". Yes, I confirmed, I have. "Is that why you wear that necklace?" Yes, I wear it for my son Nick. "You named it? How did you know it was a boy?" He was full term, I told her, he had problems with his umbilical cord. "Like what?" It was around his neck, and he had two other knots farther up, one was really tight. It cut off his blood and oxygen supply. "Oh." Uncomfortable silence for a few minutes... finally, I ventured to talk about her loss. "How far along were you, hun?" She didn't know. "Did you have to have a d&c?" She did, said it wasn't bad. I again expressed my sorrow, and told her if she ever wanted to talk about it, I'd be there for her. "I thought you had a miscarriage," she said. I've had one of those, too, I assured her. "Wow."
And no, I of course have not told anyone at work I am expecting a Maybe at this time. I began working there in April, and never mentioned Nick. It's not something that you just bring up out of the blue. Hey, did you see the Steelers game last weekend? How about this weather, huh? Ham is on sale at the store. Hey, did you know I've lost babies?

Friday, October 21, 2005


Odds and ends on my mind...
Went to sleep last night with someone's radio playing too loud. I could barely make out the music,but at least it wasn't blaringly awful. Not completely. It was Reba; "The Night the Lights Went Out in Georgia". I didn't care for that song when Vicky Lawrence did it, and yet Reba's version is still inflicting discomfort to us all. I was thinking, in my near-comatose slumber, that I don't really care for her music all that much. I like country, and a few of her songs are pretty good, but when you get into the sappy tell-a-story kind of music, I lose interest. Then I thought, Martina McBride is worse. Beautiful woman, angelic voice, but the content of her lyrics makes me want to gag myself running. (By the way, don't try that). I woke up this morning, and what's on the Today Show? Time to turn on some Staind and go clean my grubby bathroom. Which, by the way, my mother helpfully suggested that Clorox in the corners of the tub might brighten things up a bit. And did you know that bleaches come in scents now? Imagine the freshness! Mmmkay.
So. I've been diligently checking the glucose. I am a good girl. With funky numbers. I'm not "up there" just yet, but I will be. If my numbers are this out of whack while on glucophage, GDM (if not Type II, thank you very much) is lurking around the corner. I am not surprised. Both my mother and grandmother have/had insulin-dependent diabetes. One thing that plagued me with Nicholas' pregnancy, was rebound hyperglycemia. My fasting numbers were higher than my postprandial, without fail. Often, my reading after breakfast was much, much lower than my wake-up number. When the doc increased my bedtime dose, it was worse. He had me wake up around 3 or 4 am and check it. Sure enough, it was really low. What the body does, (or my body at least, and a few others, lest you think I'm a freak) is recognize hypoglycemia, and think, Oh my! She's starving! - then signals the liver to shoot out obscene amount of glucose in order to "correct" itself. Most times, this is easily prevented by a high-protein bedtime snack. Sounds yummy, huh? Cheese and peanutbutter and a glass of milk... mmmm. Except for the fact that nausea, reflux, and often vomiting will follow. What's a girl to do?
Am seriously considering trying out the Brewer Diet. I have mild, albeit chronic hypertension, and am medicated thusly; I have not run the risk of PIH or preecclampsia in the past. I believe that Brewer's plan is suited for carbohydrate intolerance as well as the pre-e/toxemia treatment. When I met with the dietician last year, she gave me this insane diet plan to follow that had a bazillion carbs, and did NOT help my numbers at all. The doc said to cut back on the carbs and add more protein. It helped for a bit. (Unfortunately, with GDM, if it's going to be particularly stubborn, all you can do is sit there and take it. After about your 30th week, you are shit-out-of-luck. ) Maybe I am an Atkins devotee', but I have it on good authority and anecdotal reports that the ADA probably should reevaluate their recommended servings of the major food groups. What works for one type of DM isn't always the answer for another. Insulin resistance is in it's own realm.
And what did I have for dinner last night? Egg rolls and a bite of icecream. Hey, at least I kept it down. Just because I have all the answers doesn't mean I abide by the rules. heh heh ::rolling eyes:: ::sigh:: (Please note the sarcasm.)
My SIL in the lab is becoming reluctant to fork over my results. Says she could "get in trouble". How selfish. (sarcasm again) I will assume that no news is good news, and the office would have informed me if something needed attention. Still. I tend to collect all my wonky data and sincerely need to add it to my binder-o-bliss. Buggers.
Going out on a limb here to offer some relief to those worried about Jill. Hope she doesn't mind, but I thought maybe easing your minds would be okay. She mentioned she was having technical difficulties with the home computer, and is unable to blog at this time. Sorry for sharing your info, dear, but you know how we all worry. :-)
It suddenly got cold yesterday. We have GOT to get our window units out. It started drizzling last night, and it was just lovely to lay on the couch in the dark livingroom with no TV and no interruptions, just listening to the pitter patter of the rain. Today, however, I must go grocery shopping, it is still raining, and in the mid-30s! Is there such a phenomenon as bag-boys anymore? Some burley kid who can load my car FOR me? Chivalry is dead. ::sob::
Oh! And here's a news alert. I'm sporting 4-day hair right now. Ewww, gross. I shower, of course, but haven't had sufficient time to style the 'do over and over again. Hairspray is fucking awesome. It has, however, come to an end, and a good washing is now due. A good thing about early rainy morning shopping is that I can slap on a hairband and shuffle out of the house with little risk of being recognized.
Have a great weekend...
rizzo jpeg
You are Rizzo the Rat.You have few friends, but are loyal to those you do have. Maybe if you didn't smell like sewage you would have more.
SPECIES:Rodentia Digesta Lotta Grub
FAVORITE MOVIE:"Rat On A Hot Tin Roof"
FAVORITE SONG:"The Pest Is Yet To Come"
FAVORITE FOOD:You got it, I'll eat it.
HOBBIES:See "Favorite Food".
QUOTE:"When do we eat?"

What Muppet are you?
brought to you by Quizilla

Tuesday, October 18, 2005

Workin' it

Yeah, I still got it.
Talent. Skill. Finesse.
I can turn heads, and elicit comments from guys on the street.
I can parallel park.

Pull into the space in front of our neighborhood quickiemart. Busy street, busy time of day, very crowded. Cars coming and going in both directions. People standing on the sidewalk and in other storefronts nearby. Borough workers doing something in the gutter. All I need is milk and bread. One spot to squeeze into.
I pull forward, back it in, and get it right on the first shot. Perfect. Amazing. I mean, I really can parallel park, but usually with an audience that size, I tend to get nervous. Not this time.
Had men calling out to me as I walked away from my perfectly parked vehicle.
"Nice job! Hey, where'd you learn to do that? Can you show my wife how ya do it? Holy shit, did you see that woman? Daaaaamn!"
I blushed, and shaked my groove thang on into the store.
Life is good.

And then...

I had my 10w(2d) appt with Dr. Wonderful.
When I first went in for this pregnancy, I was informed that he was so busy now, they were utilizing nurse midwives for the more routine appointments. I was a bit taken aback, and I protested gently, kindly, hesitantly... I am not a "routine" patient, and I want The Man.
Yesterday, I got to meet my CNM. I love her. Oh my, what a difference, just to have another woman, a nurse, a confidant to chitter chatter away with about nuts and bolts and soft cheeses. I still got to see my beloved doc, but only after a half-hour social call with "Patti", precious, precious Patti. She did my internal exam and chlamydia swab. She poked the boobies. She dopplered the heartbeat and found it straight away. She hugged me when I cried. She asked me all about Nicholas, and the miscarriage, and the infertility, and even The Boy (she just happens to have a daughter the same age). I don't expect this kind of visit every time, mind you, but yesterday, it was what I needed.
Dr. Wonderful was of course running late, so I snoozed on the table while I waited. When I heard his voice outside the door, I sat up, and listened. "How is she?" he asked Patti. She ran down my symptoms/complaints/findings, etc. "Did you get the heartbeat?" he asked her. "Yes, found it lower left, 156." "Oh, GOOD." said he, sighing relief. That's why I love this man. He knocked and entered and put his hand on my shoulder ~ "Hello, Zhooolie, so good to see you". ::swoon::
The rest is rather non-eventful; he went over the list of tests available to me, due to my advanced maternal age and history of loss. He reviewed the whole chromosomal stuff and when we do what and why. (Been there, done that, card-carrying member, thank you). He wants me to stop the glucophage at 12 weeks. He will be testing me earlier (and repeatedly, "if negative") for GDM. I have to commence the fingersticks 4xd now, and he sent me for a thyroid panel and HgA1C. And another urine culture, since the antibiotics ended a couple of weeks ago. I will return in two weeks (Halloween! Boo!). The only down point was that I didn't get a scan. ::whine:: They were busy, and we heard the heartbeat. I hadn't spotted since that one time like 10 days ago, therefore, things must be fine.
Soooo, today, after fasting all night and nearly dying of nausea while waiting at the lab, I finally was able to meet my parents for breakfast before they left town. I had an enormous amount of food, and left it in the parking lot before we drove away. Morning sickness, bulimia, whatever. Oh yeah. And I had lost 1/2lb. There are benefits to this, after all. :-}

Friday, October 14, 2005

Oh no you didn't (momisms)

You did NOT just say that.

Mommy dearest had been here slightly over 2 hours, and we all went out for dinner. During that time she managed to offend me, my family, the people sitting near us, my neighbors back at the house, and quite possibly the dogs as well.
Now, I am well aware that I sometimes can be a little boisterous, crass, or inappropriate. Cut me some slack. This woman, however, takes things to a whole new level. In an effort to share my pain, I will be collecting her little gems to share with you upon their departure. Enjoy.

So, are you hoping for a girl this time? I sure am.
(I really don't care mom, as long as it's alive...)
Yeah, that would be a nice change. I don't know how you keep trying.

My god, would you look at that woman? If she eats any more her pants will split.
(Her husband was still at the table behind us).

You know what would make a statement? Give our waitress a nickel. That would show her.

I sure hope God is kind to you this time around. When will you find out if it's Down's? They're such nice people. They really aren't as much trouble as other types of handicaps.

Hey guess, what? We got some new people on our bowling league. My new friend is Brenda. She's as black as the ace of spades. But she can bowl.
(My father tried to shut her up at that one, he really did try, bless him. He knew what was coming).
Oh, hush, you know what I mean. I'm not a bigot, but you know that if my sisters back home knew I hung out with Afro-Americanos, they'd be like "Mary!"
(This time, I tried to change the subject).
I don't know where my family got their attitudes, I really don't. Hell, we never even HAD any in my town - they weren't allowed. I was a senior in highschool before I saw my first one.
(Josh: First one of what?)
A negro. They're no different than us, really. Some of them are actually pretty nice.

Hey, would you look at that! Those people finally painted their house. And got a new porch! It's about time, it was looking really run down.
(Aaaannd.... the neighbor was standing in their yard).

Josh, are you using anything on your face, honey? You need to get control of those pimples before they scar your face like grandpa's.
(Reminds me of when I was expecting Josh [a 9lb9oz bundle of joy]. I was, of course, enormous. She asked me, "Can you still get clothes at the store, sweety, or are you having them made now?" Does wonders for the ego.)

Have you tried those new "swifter" things, yet? I bet they could help you get control of all your dust.

I like your haircolor this time, is that natural? I like how the grey highlights really add sparkle. Who needs a beautician for that, when you can just let it go, huh?

Well, I guess your diet will have to wait again. You were finally starting to look like it might work. That's okay, hun, there's just more of you to love.

Hey, how is (MIL) doing? Is she in a home, yet? Or are you still having to go take care of her for them? So much work for you, and I bet they don't say thanks, either. I don't see why they just don't find a place for her, that's no way to live.
(Like a nursing home IS?) (And she asked this within earshot of the hubby...)(Yes, he heard it.)

That little girl next door sure has grown up. And out. She's gotten quite chubby, hasn't she? But she's pretty, in her own way.
(In her own way... she used to piss me off with that statement SO MUCH when I was a teenager. To her, it is not an insult. To the rest of the world, yeah, it is. In it's own way.)

Well, you certainly smell better.
(To Josh, after a shower.)

Anyway, you get the picture. I either tuned it out or she stopped being an ass sometime late Saturday. I'm sure there are more examples, but I'm spent. It was a long weekend. I love my parents to death, and there's nothing they wouldn't do for us if they could. I am grateful to have both of my parents alive, and still together after all these years, but there are times I am glad we don't live in the same town.


Not much going on. This is a very good thing.

My Very Own Fry Monkey
The Boy is now a member of the working class stiffs. I have been informed that the typical analogy of a "burger flipper" is incorrect. So stop it. The burgers go on trays and are slid into a giant toaster-oven type looking doohickey. And another thing. At minimum wage, it is hardly worth the price of gas to go to work. Who knew?

Celebrate Good Times, Come On
My parents are coming, my parents are coming! Quick, clean the house! The husband is 42 today. Happy Birthday, you old fart.

What Goes Down, Must Come Up
In general, it is not a good idea to wish for nausea. This practice will ensure that you are indeed rewarded with intense vomiting and regret.

Is It Monday Yet?
1st "real" prenatal visit on the 17th, @ 1:45pm. Get to see the doctor, this time. And another scan! Why didn't I make it for early morning? Ahh! The torture of waiting! Will be 10w2d. Fingers crossed.

Have a Tremendous Weekend.
I know I will. :-)

Thursday, October 13, 2005


Lady at the bank: ::sigh:: Yesss?
Me: Hi, I'd like to deposit this check please.
Lady: Do you have an account here?
Me: ?? [No. What I'd like to do is stick this into >that guy's> account, you idiot.]
Lady: Is this your bank?
Me: It's not my usual branch, but yes, I do have an account that I would like to deposit this into. Please.
Lady: You didn't sign it.
Me: It's just a deposit but okay... um, do you have a deposit slip I could use?
Lady: Is this your name?
Me: It's the one I'm using today, yes.
Lady: (Icy stare)
Me: (Pulling out my driver's license) My account number is 435...
Lady: WAIT. Just.Hold.On. ::sigh::
Me: Sorry.
Lady: What is your address?
Me: ### nameofstreet; but I know my account number! It is 4350...
Lady: This would be easier if you had brought your deposit slip.
Me: I realize that, I apologize.
(How fucking hard can it be to type off a deposit slip, or let me fill one out myself, or just type in what I'm telling you?????????)

After she scrutinized my appearance, my photo ID, compared my name on my ID, my account, and my check, she began counting out the money.

Me: This is a deposit.
Bank Bitch: You should have said so!

Jesus H. Christ, where do they find these people?

One AM Haze

I went to bed at a reasonable hour. I was tired. Had a hard time falling asleep, but it was nice once I got there.
Then my security system went off. Loudly, repeatedly. Frantically.
Without really thinking about it, I yelled "Shut up!"
Then, I remembered we acquired this alarm for a reason. Well, not really a reason, per se, more like we realized the benefits of owning this alarm might outweigh the potential aggravation it would surely cause. So far, it has proven me wrong without fail. It is a high-maintenance system.
After I climbed out of my warm, cozy bed, where the covers and pillows were "just right", I took a detour to the potty. First things first, dammit. I can think more clearly with an empty bladder.
The alarm kept going on, and on, and on. It paused for a moment, before the accessory alarm kicked in. In unison, my complete and total package of high tech security was protecting us from whatever evils lurked downstairs.
They met me at the bottom of the steps. Both of them, clad in fur, panting with maniacal grins.
Resisting the urge to just get back in my blissful coma state, I took a look around. Basement, backyard, rear drive, front sidewalk, the vehicle, the mailbox. Why? I was half asleep. Chief alarmist #1 accompanied me, pausing to sniff at everything, and happily wagging his lethal tail at the thrill of it all. Ooohh, a field trip! he thought with his tiny little alarmist brain.
The accessory alarm had quieted, taking a dangerous pose on the far left sofa cushion in the front room. She would be protecting the furniture, and had it all under control. None shall pass.
Satisfied that all was clear, I returned inside with the realization that it is COLD. I know, I know, my thermometer says it is 48 degrees, and I really could just put on flannel jammies, but still. My folks will be coming to visit this weekend (hubby's 40-something birthday), and they-of-the-beach find PA weather rather chilly. Might as well start the radiators warming. Good as time as any. I check my oil level. I turn on the power. I slowly approach the thermostat, hoping that common sense might yet prevail. It does not. 66. Eh, maybe 67. 68? Furnace kicks on. What the hell, I have to be taking a shower in a few hours anyway, might as well be warm for it.
There arose more barking from the kitchen. Oh my, I fret, did I forget to look under the cabinets? Nay, nay, 'tis merely an argument over the food bowl. Same alarmist barking, signaling trouble, yet engaged at this time due to the accessory alarm's insistence that she is the Princess, she belonged in this household first, and she will let him know when he may eat.
I love that little girl.
Big dawg simply lays his furry ass down, and barks at the top of his lungs at her. She snarls, and growls, and yips back her warnings. He makes it appear as though Freddy and Jason are lurking nearby, and he will tear them limb from limb if they dare approach that food bowl. Yet he allows her to nibble away.
I'm going back to bed. False alarm. Fresh water, a pat on the head, and muttering through my gritted teeth. Puppy love. Can't explain it.

Monday, October 10, 2005


I like the way that rolls off my tongue.
It runs a close second to moisture.
Someone else blogged about this a million years ago, but it still runs around in my head.
Weird words.
Like spooge.
I was getting dressed today, and thought "spooge-o-matic".
Huh? What an unusual thought for no apparent reason.
If there is one word I am dying to get an explanation for, it would be queef.
I am going to ask Dr. Wonderful about that at my next appointment. When we are going over my symptoms and whatnot, and the subject of gas (yay, progesterone!) arises, I will casually bring up the subject of vaginal flatulence. Just dare me, I swear I will. I will find a way to work into conversation. Inquiring minds want to know. Where does it come from? It's pretty much a closed system in there, not like you're eating or breathing out of it. How in the hell does one develop snatch farts? And is there a scientific term for which to refer to the event? Snatchulence? Varts?
So, not spotting today. Two days, no pink on the paper, and I'm feeling somewhat more relaxed. Had a few episode of nausea, to boot.
Rather than dwell on my Maybe, I am devoting my energy today to others in need of positive thinking. (Is that like an addict lecturing on abstinence?)
Am thinking about Jill, who should be going to her scan right about now (on down-under time, that is).
Am thinking about Catherine who might be in a chocolate coma.
Am thinking about the other Maybes and the losses and the shit the world has dealt so many of us.
I even got to thinking today about the hurricanes here and the earthquake in Pak!stan, and how the end of the world must be coming. So much devastation. I guess everyone suffers at some point in their life. Yet, sometimes it really seems that some people never get "their share". I know that sounds trite, but you must agree to a point, that some people are just so lucky or repellent that nothing ever happens to them and they could not begin to fathom what a crisis would feel like. "When good things happen to bad people". Now there's a story.
But enough of that. I'm being positive today! I'm upbeat and warm and fuzzy! I'm shitting bluebirds and feeling super-duper! High on life! (Or is it the M&M's?)
Have a tremendous Tuesday, everyone! Love, Me.

Sunday, October 09, 2005

No news is... frustrating

Just an update to say "meh".
Called the office yesterday evening, when the spotting had gone on for a sufficient amount of time (>6hrs). Followed the chain of command. Talked to the "nurse line". Detailed everything. They had the midwife on call return my message. Detailed everything. She called my doc to see what he wanted me to do. He called me back himself. I was amazed. Not altogether surprised, because he is pretty damn awesome, but I did expect a palliative pat on the head and a "nothing we can do" reply from the midwife.
Basically, now don't be shocked to hear this, but there really is "nothing we can do". Just hang in there. Surprised? Me neither. I knew that, but I just had to call anyway. Sort of like beating your head against the wall, just to see if it still hurts. Eventually, after enough concussions, you might develop a certain numbness. I'm not there yet.
"Zhoooolie, vhat es ko-eng on?"
He patiently waits as I tell him.
"Shoo no aht dis stage of ze gam we zhust 'ave to vait. Try to relaxz and dooo nawt vohrrie, plees. Yes?"
He confirmed that we did see a heartbeat previously. This, apparently, is encouraging. Sure it is. Knowing that I've already met my quota for the less-than-1% bullshit than can occur, I must surely be in the clear. Right? As G said, "That is why I have been so googly over this one. I mean, how many problems can one family have in a row?" How many, indeed.
I was instructed to call if cramping became intense or the bleeding was heavy like a period.
He said if I wanted bedrest, I could, but to just take it easy and be optimistic. Positive thinking is good medicine.
I could write volumes on that comment alone. But I shant.
Is shant really a word? I find it rather highbrow; therefore, I use it to sound intelligent. Is it working?
If nothing else develops, we will scan on the 17th. (10w2d)
I had no more spotting overnight.
So far, today, I have not had spotting.
I refuse to ever have sex again. Ever.
I also am refusing to keep this prospect of a Maybe from controlling every aspect of my life. As I have learned, it gets you nowhere, and tends to be a waste of time. Either it will or it won't. 50/50. C'est la vie / c'est la mort... {Merci, Catherine, for the correction.} :o)
I do feel somewhat hopeful in that I am not cramping, and at this point, no longer spotting. That does not mean that I am out of the clear, but for the time being, perhaps things are 'ok'. Just have to wait and see! Zippideedoodah.
Thank you all for your kind words of encouragement. Will be sure to keep you updated. Peace.

Saturday, October 08, 2005

This stone is getting pretty heavy

Up, up, up I push it, and there it goes, right back down again.
Sometimes it gets wedged against a tree.
And if it is raining, lightning might strike that tree, and the resulting fire scorches the stone as it continues on its path.
But! MY stone? It gathers no moss.

  • Self imposed bedrest.
  • 9 weeks today!
  • Spotting.

Since I've spent my day gazing at TP, here's some better T.P. for entertainment purposes:

The waiting is the hardest part
Every day you get one more yard
You take it on faith, you take it to the heart
The waiting is the hardest part

Oh don't let it kill you baby, don't let it get to you
Don't let it kill you baby, don't let it get to you
I'll be your bleedin' heart, I'll be your cryin' fool
Don't let this go too far
Don't let it get to you

(Thanks, Tom)

Thursday, October 06, 2005


7 am - driving merrily to school. Note engine is starting to overheat - slightly - as usual.
The little "fixes" the hubster has attempted up to this point are merely buying us some time.
Have to use the defogger because of the, well, um, fog/mist/peasoup, and the fact that the inside of my windows are nearly dripping with condensation.
7:30 am - Engine still not in the red zone. Windows down, towel in hand, compressor off.
7:35 am - "Check Gauges" light comes on. Did that, thanks.
7:40 am - "Check Gauges" light now is flashing. Gotcha.
Making my way to the outside lane nearest the shoulder. You know. Just in case.
7:45 am - "Service Engine Soon" light has now joined the blinking "Check Gauges" light.
7:47 am - Engine making a melodic whirring/knocking kind of rhythmic beat. Am trying to find a place to pull over.
7:49 am - Oh great, a hill. UP hill. With guard rails, and no shoulder. And, look, up ahead, A BRIDGE! Clowns to the left of me, jokers to my right, here I am... stuck in the middle with this GODDAMN COAL TRUCK ON MY ASS.
7:51 am - Chug. Chug clunk choke. Engine dying. But not dead just yet. I keep my blinker on, right right right, right right right, right hey you yeah you lemme over please.
7:53 am - An exit ramp. Thank Joe Pesci, a place to park it. Amazingly, I make it nearly to the top of the ramp, with ample room on both sides of me. I coast to a stop, and flip them all off - the fucking morons.
7:55 am - Call AAA. Please hold. Your call is very important to us. We will be with you shortly.
And they were. Give the nice man on the phone all my information. Receive assurances that a tow truck will be there to assist me within the hour.
9:00 am - Liar liar pants on fire. Tow truck arrives. Tow truck is from a garage about 1/2 mile from my intended destination, a good, maybe, 10 mins up the road. Driver is very kind, however, so I cut him some slack.
9:10 am - Beg kind driver to stop at the nearest gas station so I may use the facilities. I have to piss so bad at this point I can hear sloshing in my ears. He complies.
9:40 am - Arrive at garage. They remember me. They really like me. They love my vehicle. They can usually soak me for all sorts of money. They take such good care of us.
10:30 am - Water pump. I should be glad it's not the head gaskets. Sounds expensive. And it is.
10:31 am - In tears. Hubby is in Virginia, not answering his cell phone. I have to pee.
The rest of the day is slightly less interesting, believe it or not.
Wait for G to call, wait for my ride home, wait for them to fix my car, wait for my ride back...
$437 later, and all is well.

But today, I woke up. It is warm and sunny. I was not killed in an accident. My car was fixable. I have just enough resources (credit!) to get by. I do not live in a box. I have electricity and clean water and I live in a free country. The trees are very beautiful with their red, yellow, and orange foliage. And I have the sight with which to see these colors. Life is good.

Good Day Sunshine

I made the most delicious pot of spaghetti last evening. I get to eat it again at lunch! Yum.
My bed was very comfy last night, and the fur pillows that surround me were especially cozy. Even the one that snores. I think it's hilarious when dogs dream.
I woke up this morning!
It should be a beautiful day today, warm and sunny, and not too hectic.
My bagel caught on fire, but not to worry - I have a 4-slot toaster, so I just tried again on the other side. Peach swirl cream cheese is very good.
Whoever invented automatic timers on coffeemakers is a friggin' genius. The best part of waking up, is F0lger's half-caff in my cup.
I have a basket of unfolded white clothes in my room. I found a pair of matching socks directly next to a pair of my underwear, no searching required. Still looking for a bra, though.
The Boy put up the dishes yesterday.
I have 2/3 tank of gas in my vehicle, and the week is almost over. I find that amazingly cool.
I do not have to work this weekend.
I do, however, have a basket party on Sunday, for which I have not yet purchased or prepared my donation. Or sold any tickets. Perhaps I shall tend to that matter on Saturday.
Josh is attending a homecoming dance tomorrow night at another school. I really like this girl, but he's just kind of so-so about her. Her dress is gorgeous.
I'd really like to back to bed right about now.
I need another shot of orange juice, and I'll be on my way to enjoy this crisp autumn morning.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Thank you Sir, and may I have another?

Optimism (op'teh-miz-hem)
1. the tendency to take the most hopeful or cheerful view of matters or to expect the best outcome
2. the doctrine or belief that good ultimately prevails over evil
3. a state of delusional bliss when negativity threatens to consume an individual

Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. To hell with magical spectacles and mutant weeds. This is my life, and I have to live "in the moment". To not do so would place me directly into a padded room. A soft, cozy padded room with meal service and ample opportunity for medicated slumber.

Yesterday. All my troubles seemed so far away. Then, I woke up.
Where is a falling anvil when you need one?

~ Chapter I, in which our fair maiden is not amused ~

For a Summary Case; Non-Traffic
Charge: Disorderly Conduct
Nature of Offsense: Def. with intent to cause public inconvenience, annoyance or alarm, or needlessly creating a risk thereof - engaged in fighting or threatening, or in violent tumultuous behavior thus created a hazardous condition by any act which served no legitimate purpose.
Fine: $300 plus costs
(or, of course, COURT... guess my choice)

~ Chapter II, where tranquility is but a dream ~
'Twas a clear and mild evening. The clouds had drifted gently eastward, and the moon shone brightly, illuminating the stars. We had settled into the warm, safe bosom of our humble abode, quietly enjoying our impromptu take-out meal of greasy burgers and tepid diet soda, as the dogs lay sleeping on the unvaccumed floor. Fretting over an upcoming exam, I paid nary a mind to the squakbox blaring in the other room, nor the dishes piled high in the kitchen sink. And neither did the dogs. The Boy, ever mindful of his mother's need for unfettered concentration, was engaged in a lively phone conversation with an unidentified individual of the female persuasion.
"KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK", the door interjected, eliciting raised ears and eyebrows from my snoozing canine companions. "Ding! Ding Dong DINGDINGDING Dong!", insisted the doorbell, impatiently. I arose from my desk, stepping over the vicious watchdogs to greet the visitor awaiting my reply.
"Some guy was just trying to break into your car," stated the neighbor. "He tried the door twice, and was heading around to your yard when I came out." Her father, older, wiser and always ready to defend our block, was on the phone with the police within seconds. The neighbors described the events to Barney, Andy, and Goober (the other neighbor who heard the commotion and had to find out what all the ruckus was about). By their account, my (locked) doors handily triggered the interior light, granting the perp an illuminated visual tour of the contents of my vehicle. The neighbors (bless them) just happened to be looking out the window into our shared alley, and noticed the darkened figure lurking around outside. As they stepped onto their porch, he (the perp) sauntered off "that direction" (>>), and attempted to try another car's door(s). When they (the neighbors) stepped off the porch, enticing their very own dog to whine, the man took off down another side street. Neighbor #1 recognized the guy, and was able to give a complete description, including known associates, to Chief Wiggum
Within minutes, no fewer than three (3) cruisers were combing the area, employing such tactics as floodlights aimed into darkened recesses and loud radio conversations between the officers. As with any small, backwoods-yet-suburban metropolis, the inhabitants with scanners were able to keep abreast of the crisis unfolding from the comfort of their own (un-broken-into-yet) homes. Some, with an unashamedly boldness, chose to gather on their respective street corners and ponder loudly about the events (cluck, cluck, cluck). My dogs, however, gave up sniffing at the front door, and resumed their slumber within close proximity, just in case I needed their assistance. The Boy, well, he was unaware of anything besides the tail on the phone.
Neighbor #2 went door to door within a two block radius, alerting everyone to what was going down, and advising them to lock up tight.
Suddenly, from out on the lawn there arose such a clatter, we sprung from the alley to see what was the matter! The occupants of a home some 3 blocks away scattered loudly, frantically, in all directions. Much yelling ensued. Officers on foot gave chase. Flashlight beams were dancing merrily as the "Cops!" theme song played in my head. Someone was tackled and cuffed. My little dawg barked an irritated complaint as she found a more comfortable spot on the couch.
In the end, the house down the street was searched, drugs were found, as were a few small stolen items and a shitload of loose change. Four other cars were reported broken into and/or ransacked. The neighbors positively ID'd the guy, some 20-ish white boy with a Side-show Bob 'fro; turns out he was visiting the area from a bad part of town. After the drama, we had a block party of sorts, where everyone had a tale to tell; some spoke of other attempted breakins, some relayed rumors of their hairdresser's cousin's stepsister's brush with crime, and others detailed what we should all be doing differently to avoid this type of activity again.
I called the husband to tell him about the excitement. He was slightly concerned for our safety, yet a little more than upset that our security system had failed. I fed our security system and told them I was disappointed with their performance. They kissed me and assured me that everything would be okay. I did not sleep very well. About 3am I put the stop in the ginormous doggy door in the basement (just large enough for a person to slide through! Oh yeah.).
This morning, there was dogshit on the floor.

Tuesday, October 04, 2005


Guess it's time for an update of sorts.
I'm tired. Very very tired. Could sleep for days. My life needs a snooze button.
Gerry's treadmill test showed no problems. He's still having some lowgrade discomfort. Appointment this Friday with the plain old general doc for "management". He is incorrectly assuming that he might not bother to go; it is unnecessary. Wrong.
Things are quiet on the lawsuit side of things. Feeling confident that the other party is the current focus.
Did I mention I'm exhausted? A little sick on occasion. Could be that I may feel pretty ill and am ignoring it. I certainly don't feel great, but I am managing. Don't want to sound stupid, because by now I should KNOW better, but I swear that my pouch is pooching already. Pants tight, can feel a bulge when I lie flat. No weight gain according to the scale. Possibly wishful thinking. Next appointment: 10/17.
No munny, no funny. G missed more than a week of work, and yet the bills continue to come. (he makes about 3x as much as I do, the bastard.) Unsure how we are going to heat the home this winter. Oil prices are not going down. One option is employing the plastic-on-the-windows trick. We'll be the pride of the neighborhood. Add to that a new mystery ailment with my POS vehicle, and things aren't looking real peachy right about now. For me, days off of school = days at work. Retail therapy is not an option. Groceries are looking like a luxury. I know this too shall pass eventually, but it sucks while I'm here.
What would a post of mine be if I didn't have something to bitch about? Actually, things could be a helluva lot worse, so I'll quit while I'm ahead.
Next post: rose-colored glasses and four-leaf clovers.