blogging under the hormonal influence

Friday, February 29, 2008

Who's the baby around here, anyway

This may sound ridiculous and, to me, it does, but, I swear that baby knows there's another one on the way.  It seems impossible since half the time even I forget there's one in there.  He is definitely acting like he's mad at me or something.  At first I thought it had to do with not seeing me much this week.  Part of it in the hospital, the other part locked away behind the bedroom door that he would occasionally pound on screaming "MAMA MAMA!"  until Dave dragged him away.  That's enough to get any kid, let's say, slightly frustrated.  

When Elena picked him up today she confirmed that yes, he does seem to have a bit of a thing towards me this week.  She thinks he knows about the pregnancy.  Apparently babies are much more intuitive about these things.  Elena said "well, you two are so close, so he knows."  Thanks for the encouragement.  Little does she know that the mere mention of "Nena", as he calls her, sends him into a fit of joy.  I can only hope the same happens when someone mentions "Mama" in my absence.  

Lately I've been a little sensitive to the idea that maybe that's not the case.  Of course, Dave thinks I'm being, oh, how does he put it... oh yeah- stupid.  

(I know, eloquent, he is after all, a writer).  

And I know I am.  it does sound quite immature of me to whine about my own baby "not liking me".  I am definitely falling into that old trap of being jealous of the nanny.  Oh god-do I have to call her the nanny?  I just hate how that sounds.  It makes me sound like I'm off getting pedicures and sipping mimosas every day while someone else takes care of my son.  Ya know, it's not like I have a job or anything.  (Kick self today for questionable past decision-check.)

There will be (fingers crossed) 7 or so more months of this. I guess what I'm saying is, nut up kid. This is your life now-learn to share.

Ahhh, my motherly nurturing astounds me sometimes.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

And they told two friends, and they told two friends...

I am now home and actually showered today.  Yesterday I had to once again hobble out to the car and make our way up to the doctors office for a follow up visit.  Got to see the baby again, this time under much calmer circumstances. Also, got to see pictures taken during the surgery.  The thought of them still makes me sick to my stomach, or is that the morning sickness?  Let me just say, all descriptions were confirmed.  Tomato sized-yes, black and blue-uh huh, twisted-yup.  There's even a picture of the aspirator doing it's job.  

Through all of the events of the last few days, we didn't call anybody to tell them what was happening.  Only R.'s sitter who, luckily was able to rush to the hospital and take him while I was busy clearing out the ER of patients thinking maybe they didn't need that finger reattached after all.

Honestly, it all happened so fast, passing it on was the last thing on my mind. And then when I was laid up in my hospital bed, I just didn't feel like recapping the adventure over and over again to numerous family members over the phone. I usually leave that shit to Dave. Why would this be any different.

The whole shebang occurred on Monday. It was now Tuesday night and I was comfortably propped up by my own pillows in my own bed. Still, the urge to purge was just not in me. But, I knew I had to bite the bullet and call... duh duh duh dunnnn... my mom.

I've come to realize that my mom actually thrives on bad news and nothings more juicy than a good emergency surgery story that she can then get on the horn and re-tell as if it was happening to her. I'll never forget how, in spinning the yarn that was the birth of my son, she managed to make it about how "exhausted" she was after I went through a 24 hour labor. One in which everything that could go wrong did.

So, here we go. One ringy dingy...

Her reaction was predictable as ever. The gasping at the details, the controlled sobbing, the making it about her and of course the inevitable question "can I tell people?". Sure, mom, of course you can. My gift to you.

Ovary Schmovary

In other news... I am pregnant again. (another legitimate reason for turning down the job... (excuse me while I continue to try and justify it to myself) I say again not only because we have a 16 month old, he himself was an "again" at the time (back story to come) But, because I was pregnant a couple of months ago. Not to be, however. With no heartbeat at 8 weeks it was time to schedule the D&C and hope for better luck next time.

Currently we are coming up on our 8 week mark, heart beating strong this time.  But... and there is always a big but, Simone...  At the moment I am lounging around the house recovering from emergency surgery that almost took one of my ovaries.  Weeee!!!

Sit back and enjoy...

Monday morning I started to feel cramps.  I had a feeling something wasn't right so I called my doc.  We were scheduled to see her later in the day for an ultrasound but, I thought maybe we should move it up to see what was going on in there.

She is my fertility doc, for this pregnancy we had a little help from her in the form of Follistim, which is a shot in belly once a day to promote egg development and ovulation.

Anywoo,  the cramps weren't terrible but, odd none the less.  By the time we got in the car I was in excruciating pain.  R. was screaming at me from his car seat and Dave was speeding up the 101 towards the doc's office which is conveniently located on Hospital grounds.  I was sure it was a second, ectopic pregnancy that they didn't catch at my last ultrasound and was now about to burst.  

We make it up to her office and they get me on the table, ultrasound probe inserted at lightening speed.  There, taking up most of the screen, is my ginormous tomato sized ovary full of about 6 huge cysts.  Oh, there's also still a baby, so, ya know... yay!

I was now wailing in pain.  The doc thought my ovary might also be twisted so, she manually tried to turn it... um... ouch.  At one point she had me on my hands and knees, ass in the air, as she came at me again with the ultrasound probe, (R. was getting a great lesson in anatomy by the way) she said sometimes that was a better angle to get the ovary to turn or go back into place.  It wasn't working.  I was now throwing up from the pain.

It was a group effort to get me back into my clothes and into a wheelchair. I was then whisked across the parking lot to the hospital.  Feeling every pebble and crack in the pavement like knives into my side. Here, I had to endure yet another ultrasound with a better machine so they could confirm if it was in fact twisted.  If it wasn't, my doc could aspirate the ovarian cysts without having to operate, but if it was, I would have to have laparoscopic surgery which, of course you would want to avoid if you're pregnant just like sushi or let's say a punch to the gut.  Well, the pain was just getting worse as everyone was deciding what to do with me.  

Finally the nurse who was doing the ultrasound had the gumption to suggest I needed to go to the ER immediately.   Hmmm... ya think? Clothes back on, back in wheelchair, screaming down hallways, into the ER which I think I quickly cleared out with my presence. There is so much ridiculous red tape at hospitals, it's amazing people don't die just waiting to fill out the paperwork, actually, I'm sure they probably do. I mean, come on, are they really worried that I'm going to hop up out of my bed, post op, rip out my IV and catheter and race out pig and peel like?

Apparently, they had no beds in the ER.  Now, both Dave and my doc's nurse, who was with us the whole time, were yelling at them to get me in for pain meds asap. Well, thanks, it had only now been 4 hours of gut wrenching, vomit inducing, dare I point out, possibly uterus voiding pain.

Finally the doors flew open and I was helped onto a gurney.  IV's were put in as Dave was verbally consenting to whatever they asked. And, finally, finally some meds were pumped into me.  They had to give me about 4 doses one after the other as it kept wearing off almost as soon as it went into my IV. 

Before I knew it, my doc was at my bedside telling us the possible complications of the surgery she was about to perform.  Also, to let me know that she was going to have to keep me awake until the last minute to minimize the time under anesthesia because of the pregnancy.  So, I had to lay there while they prepped me, catheterised me etc.  I guess piling it on at this point was fine. Finally, they put me out.  I woke up about an hour later in my hospital room without that horrible pain, but with a few more holes in stomach than I went in with

We were later told that my ovary was twisted around three times and had slipped under my uterus and was stuck there.  That it was black and blue and if we hadn't done the surgery when we did, I would have lost it.  After undoing the damage, she said it turned back to a healthy pink.  She then aspirated the cysts and took a turn at my left ovary with the aspirator while she was in there.  Yea!  A two-fer!  

The conclusion was that the cysts were so big that the weight of them pulled my ovary down from it's usual floaty resting position and as I, in my normal activities, got up, sat down, rolled over in my sleep. Pretty much the most I have exerted myself through the sick and tire of my first trimester. The ovary kept getting turned and twisted.  Which has now made me afraid to move, pretty much for fear that it will happen again.

And, miraculously, the good news, the baby seems fine.  

I spent the next day and a half in the hospital which seemed more like a M.A.S.H unit or 1800's TB ward, as there was screaming and moaning coming from various parts of my floor all night.  It was quite spooky to say the least.  I barely slept and kept my finger on my nurses call button under the covers all night.  It didn't help that I was woken each time I did manage to doze off by a blood pressure cuff squeezing my arm and a thermometer being shoved in my mouth.  After which, it never failed, the nurse would forget to close my door on the way out.  I was still catheterized so couldn't get out of bed myself and felt it too petty a reason to call a nurse when clearly they had so much more to deal with.

I guess I could wait it out, I was now quite good at it.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Doomed to be a SAHM

My husband is a writer.  He has a writing partner named Brett.  Together they have been successfully and continuously employed as such for more than 10 years.  They have worked their way up and through this business from children's animation to prime-time and this year...
...Emmy winners for best comedy.  He's up there somewhere, trust me.  

But, along with that comes the perks of, unpaid hiatuses every year, working most nights until as unholy an hour as 4am, with a pregnant wife and/or newborn baby at home, I might add.   And there's also the occasional strike.  The latter, we just came out of, but not unscathed.  Towards what was looking like to everyone to be the end days of the strike, many many people we know who were in a multi-year deal with one network or another got their asses handed to them while the "producers" as they are now commonly known, still could.  Dave and Brett's deal was one of the those many.  So now, as a lot of our friends are going back to work and their paychecks are starting to come in again after many months of nothing, Dave and Brett are once again taking meetings and hoping to get staffed on a show.  And, we still have no money coming in.

Why then, you might ask, would I have the balls to turn down the chance at a full time job?

Well, it played out like this...

Out of the blue, I had an opportunity come up to interview for a "mom" oriented website.  Sort of came out of nowhere and at the time I took the interview, I was really into the idea of getting back into a full time job.  That didn't last, however.  Almost before I got back into my car, I felt a sudden panic at the thought of leaving R. with someone else for the majority of his awake hours.  I had the weekend to get back to them with three pitches for the site.  I fully intended to put something down on paper, or in email, as it were.

As I sat there Sunday night staring at a blank page while my son played on the floor in front of me, it just didn't seem worth it.  The hours would only allow me to see him for about an hour before he went to sleep at night.  Being the late sleeper that he is (just like his mama)  I would be gone in the morning before he even woke.  It all sounded too depressing.  So, I turned it down before it was even officially offered to me.  And believe me, I've been kicking myself ever since, which I tend to do anyway, regardless of the decision.

I am consoled only by the fact that we are financially OK for now, thankfully, as we were really frugal while the strike was going on.  No unnecessary trips to Urban Outfitters for me!  Well, maybe there were, but nothing fit me so no harm done.

Friday, February 22, 2008

thank god it's...

Ahhhh... Fridays.  Love that baby, but TGIF DAMMIT!  It's the one day a week that we splurged on a nanny, Elena.  It feels so decadent to even say we have one in our employ.  He loves her and I get the day to myself.  Not that I actually use it for anything productive, but-it's my day!!!  I do have an ongoing wishlist of Friday activites, most of which never get accomplished.  Let's see:  finish making the curtains for our kitchen that I started in November, get a pedicure, unpack some boxes, make a fancy storage bin for my fabric, shower, organize toys...


Ok, it's now Saturday.  I showered.  I feel good about that. But, that's about it.  As usual, the baby has a fever.  As much as we love Elena, it does seem that within 24 hours of being in her care, the baby gets sick.  More often than not.  I attribute this to just being out there among other snotty, drooly kids like himself.  But, I think Dave thinks there's something more sinister going on.  

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

that's how strong my love is

I wouldn't consider myself a parent who "schedules" their kid.  We have about three classes/activities a week that we attend.  
  • Monday: mommy&me at a Waldorf school that I'm not sure I'm sold on yet 
  • Tuesday: Music Together
  • Wednesday: free
  • Thursday: My Gym
  • Friday: he goes with a nanny.  
Not too much, right?  Each activity is only about an hour or more.  It's mostly to get him (and me) out of the house and around other kids and moms.  Today is Wednesday, which meant I woke up with that feeling of dread that I have almost every Wednesday. " What are going to do today?  Shit.  I don't know where to take him, what should we do? what about his nap? should we go out before or after?  then what do we do?  what if he falls asleep in the car?  should I bring a book just in case or try to do the car-crib transfer?" (which almost never works)  Which leads to the realization that these things are only going to get harder.  I can already see him getting bored when we are in the house for most of the day.  He's kinda sick of his toys and although his current obsession with watching Shrek and Finding Nemo on a loop is actually helpful and a great time killer, probably not the most responsible parenting on my part to condone it.  It's just that, right now I am in the throws of the first trimester and all that comes with it.  I just don't have the energy sometimes to get off the couch and entertain.  It gets me down.  I tell myself that once that second trimester hits I'll get that surge of energy back.  I'll get my strength again.

Saturday, February 16, 2008

for a minute there, I lost myself

This being pregnant thing is no joke. It always seems like such a good idea in theory, then those first few weeks of sickness and sadness, tiredness and anxiousness are enough to make you wonder how any of us have siblings. And, for me, I get that extra shot of hormones courtesy of my fertility doctor.  It really makes it all so much more enjoyable.  But, I look at my 15 month old son and remember why we're doing this again.  Ok, so I guess that's how we all have siblings.  It also may be why a lot of siblings are about 2 years apart.  They are so much fun and so heartbreakingly adorable for those first couple of years that most of us fall in love with the idea of having a houseful of babies.  Then you get knocked up again and just when it's too late to change your mind, they turn.  They become a little more demanding, a little harder to please. They become, well, people.  How dare they.