This is officially The Worst Pregnancy Ever. Or, as I explained to my sister, I've heard of people with worse pregnancies, but I've never met them! OK, fine, I know one person who had placenta previa, ok? Are you happy? Stop ruining my bitch-fest! I only have so much time until my next puking session...
Nausea and vomiting have become more frequent again. The roughly 4 pounds I had fought so hard to gain back was somehow lost over the course of last weekend - when I actually ate the most in 48 hours that I can remember for months. This week I have hovered between 189.0 and 192.6. Yes, I just admitted my weight, but to demonstrate a point: the lowest weight I have been in the past 10 years is 191 pounds. This has gotten ridiculous.
I am tired of waking up at odd hours feeling both hungry and nauseated, as I did this morning. I am tired of my sniffles triggering coughing which engages my trigger-happy gag reflex into vomiting. I am tired of feeling starving, wracking my brain for 15 minutes, only to still not think of anything I can stomach and/or become more nauseated. I am tired of wishing I could vomit like they do in the movies, instead of convulsing so hard that I can't breathe, I pee myself, I tear up, and my face gets red spots that last for at least 24-48 hours. I am tired of being pale and blotchy, with purpley-pink bags under my puffy eyes, and what looks like the tail-end of chicken pox on my cheeks and around my eyes. I'm tired of pizza and Captain Crunch. I am tired of spending the rest of the day after vomiting wondering if I'm going to again because my stomach continues to cramp off and on. I'm tired of constantly reminding myself that the word vomiting only has one "t" in it. I'm tired of not being able to wear my labradorite ring that I have worn almost every day since Eric bought it for me over a year ago. I'm tired of freaking out that I'm going to lose my wedding rings down the sink when I wash my hands. I'm tired of being tired, and I'm tired of sleeping to avoid nausea and depression and movement.
On the plus side, I have discovered that the water from the tap in the bathroom tastes like ambrosia after I puke. Mind you, it has always provided the best tasting water in the house, but this tastes like there is real sugar in it. But without tasting like nasty sugar water.
For the most part, I am doing pretty well, considering. It's only after a long stretch in front of the porcelain god that I get really upset. Then I feel weak and desperate and lonely and at my wit's end. After an hour or two, I feel a bit better, just exhausted. That is how I spend most of my time, feeling so exhausted that I don't do or feel much at all - I'm just waiting to see what and when the next punch will be. I am constantly living in the present. I can't really remember who I was or what was important to me before the pregnancy, and I can't really imagine (or believe in) a future after the pregnancy.
I told my therapist I am convinced I will be the first woman to continue to having morning sickness after the pregnancy is finished. I can't imagine life without it.
A baby is "the ultimate parasite", or so I've been told, capable of stripping the calcium straight from your bones, along with any other nutrients your body isn't supplying readily enough. It's like a little vampire, sucking you up physically and mentally. Bella's pregnancy experience as described in the book Breaking Dawn sounds awfully familiar. The movie version, however, reminded me that there are such things as having it worse. Is it too much to hope that after I give birth I will be auto-magically CGI'd into a perfect, most beautiful version of myself? Right, that would require vampire venom. *sigh*.
Oh, and then there are the dreams. Sleep being my only escape right now, I am very much pissed off about the dreams. My closest friends will know that I have always had troubling dreams - dreams so realistic and involved and emotional that they affect my Real Life for hours or days after, or sometimes the rest of my life. I thought I had experienced all the terror and fear and heartache and loneliness and abandonment and emotional upheaval possible - the worst ones repeat. Often. But no, there are new ones. And old ones made worse. And more frequent. More often than not, I wake up convinced I should write it all down so that I can turn it into a story. The one time I did that, I just remembered more and more bizarre things that made no sense, until I lost all track of how I could possibly turn it into anything that would be comprehensible to anyone but me.
And so here I am, hungry again. This is how things started 3 hours ago - I woke up hungry enough to feel nauseated, ate something, and then vomited it all up shortly afterward. So now I need to decide all over again if it's worth it to try and eat. Will it settle my stomach finally? Or just make me lose it again? And in the mean time, can I please stop replaying that dream in my head? Please?
Sunday, December 11, 2011
Halfway There!
Previously Unposted from December 4, 2011
We're halfway there! Yesterday marked 133 days under my belt, 133 days to go. Whoot!
Yesterday we celebrated with a leisurely drive to Lake Stevens and then Snohomish, where we had a lovely brunch before doing some furniture shopping. We visited both buildings of the new Washington Public Market, which is hosting a great sale of bankruptcy liquidated furniture. It's also an amazing venue for anyone looking for a new spot to sell their wares at small markets. The enormous wine tasting area and cafe looked great, but alas we are not wine drinkers!
We also went to Lynnwood and hit 3 furniture stores there, but in the end we believe we've found the crucial piece we've been searching for at that sale in Snohomish. I'm just not relishing heading back there to make the purchase. The day was topped off by some incredible butter chicken at the Saffron Grill. I'm so glad we finally decided to try this place.
The surprising part about yesterday was how much I ate, since my stomach was being... wonky off and on all day. I woke up feeling 100% yesterday, did pretty well on the drive, and personally picked out the restaurant for breakfast because I was so excited to finally have eggs benedict again! The moment we opened our menus, I realized there was no way in hell I could eat that. In fact, everything on the menu sounded like a sure-fire way to send me running to the bathroom to hurl after a single bite.
The strange part was how I still wanted so very badly to have it, my mouth watering, while my stomach insisted I would regret it within moments. Brain and taste buds and stomach finally agreed that 2 slices of French Toast would probably be ok. The maple syrup was divine! And then I finally broke down and had a bite of Eric's eggs benedict, which he ordered just in case I changed my mind, and I had to refrain myself from wiping his plate clean of every last drop of sauce. A good hollandaise sauce is so hard to find, and there's was perfect!
And I didn't have to run to the potty or use my air sickness bag! The day continued in much the same way, wheeling unexpectedly between well and nauseated. So dinner was definitely a pleasant surprise!
Not that it should have been. This is what 2nd Trimester has been like so far. Bouncing from nauseated to starving on a whim. There have still been plenty of cases of feeling both at the same time, which is about the worst possible feeling ever. The result is that despite more time feeling well, I'm spending just about the same amount of days cooped up at home waiting to vomit. Which is in itself interesting because it's been, drumroll please, over a week since my last "episode".
It's just hard to be excited when my stomach sends me different signals minute by minute. >.<
We're halfway there! Yesterday marked 133 days under my belt, 133 days to go. Whoot!
Yesterday we celebrated with a leisurely drive to Lake Stevens and then Snohomish, where we had a lovely brunch before doing some furniture shopping. We visited both buildings of the new Washington Public Market, which is hosting a great sale of bankruptcy liquidated furniture. It's also an amazing venue for anyone looking for a new spot to sell their wares at small markets. The enormous wine tasting area and cafe looked great, but alas we are not wine drinkers!
We also went to Lynnwood and hit 3 furniture stores there, but in the end we believe we've found the crucial piece we've been searching for at that sale in Snohomish. I'm just not relishing heading back there to make the purchase. The day was topped off by some incredible butter chicken at the Saffron Grill. I'm so glad we finally decided to try this place.
The surprising part about yesterday was how much I ate, since my stomach was being... wonky off and on all day. I woke up feeling 100% yesterday, did pretty well on the drive, and personally picked out the restaurant for breakfast because I was so excited to finally have eggs benedict again! The moment we opened our menus, I realized there was no way in hell I could eat that. In fact, everything on the menu sounded like a sure-fire way to send me running to the bathroom to hurl after a single bite.
The strange part was how I still wanted so very badly to have it, my mouth watering, while my stomach insisted I would regret it within moments. Brain and taste buds and stomach finally agreed that 2 slices of French Toast would probably be ok. The maple syrup was divine! And then I finally broke down and had a bite of Eric's eggs benedict, which he ordered just in case I changed my mind, and I had to refrain myself from wiping his plate clean of every last drop of sauce. A good hollandaise sauce is so hard to find, and there's was perfect!
And I didn't have to run to the potty or use my air sickness bag! The day continued in much the same way, wheeling unexpectedly between well and nauseated. So dinner was definitely a pleasant surprise!
Not that it should have been. This is what 2nd Trimester has been like so far. Bouncing from nauseated to starving on a whim. There have still been plenty of cases of feeling both at the same time, which is about the worst possible feeling ever. The result is that despite more time feeling well, I'm spending just about the same amount of days cooped up at home waiting to vomit. Which is in itself interesting because it's been, drumroll please, over a week since my last "episode".
It's just hard to be excited when my stomach sends me different signals minute by minute. >.<
Sunday, November 20, 2011
Email: 2nd Trimester Update
Hi everybody.
First things first: there's some confusion about who has been told about the pregnancy, so if this email is a surprise... Surprise! I'm pregnant! *blush*
Our keiki (Hawaiian for baby/child) is 118 days along today (11/18/11). There are so many different ways to track the age, so here are some other figures for you: Lunar Month 5 has just begun, it's Lunar week 17, it's LNMP week 19. I call that last one "Doctor Math", because it automatically ages your baby by 2 weeks, counting the pregnancy from the date of your Last Known Menstrual Period. Most women don't know the exact day of conception, so Doctor Math is for them. We know exactly how old the little keiki is (a perk of in-vitro), so I like to count the days. But wait! There's one last method: Estimated Due Date (EDD) fluctuates as they determine the "correct age" of the fetus through physical measurements via ultrasound. My due date so far has been pushed back from April 15th to the 17th, but this week's ultrasound aged her differently again, so I'm expecting them to change the EDD once more.
I am not making this up! O.o
So the ultrasound this last Tuesday went well, with the shadowy blob looking much bigger and more baby-like than ever before. She has been quite bouncy during all her past ultrasounds, but this time she was just lounging and waving. Yes, I said she. We're going to have a little girl, and her brain, neck, arms, legs, hands and feet look just fine.
I am yet another statistic reinforcing the "theory" that lots of morning sickness means you're having a girl.
Yes, there has been LOTS of morning sickness. It was a very rough 1st Trimester - more like 24/7 sickness with a day off here and there. I lost 10 pounds. I mostly missed the leaves turning. I have been a shut-in, hovering near my bed and the toilet. Facebook and blogging and my jewelry business have all been sorely neglected.
So far the 2nd Trimester has been not much fun either, but I'll take sick half the time over 90% of the time thank you very much! My appetite is better, when it's there. Most foods still sound disgusting. Between the finicky eating and rebounding into sickness, I'm maintaining this lower weight - and for once that's a bad thing.
Well, that's all that's coming to mind right now. After two and a half good days, today is starting off as a nausea day. Blah.
If you have any questions, feel free to email or call. I still hate the phone though, so email is preferred.
Oh, it looks like I forgot a few exclamations in there, so here ya go:
It's a GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Love, Mysie
ps: I have been threatened multiple times with people's intentions to "pink bomb" the baby with lots of pink frilly stuff. Do what you must, but her color scheme is going to be pastels, mostly green and purple. This matches the "classic Pooh" motif, as well as turtles. Yes, I've already picked a Totem Animal for my kid.
Thursday, November 3, 2011
Update Hijacked by Optimistic Pessimism
Another month of miserable has slowly marched by. From time to time, I have thought about updating, and even thought I had something to say once or twice, but alas... pregnancy sucks. I know one of the things that has been on my mind was the title of this new blog, and had I yet explained my choice? Or validated it properly? If I'm going to call these the Pessimist Mommy Diaries, shouldn't I constantly be talking about pessimism? I don't have the energy to go back and read the earlier entries to answer these questions, so I'll just say this: I've recently been taken aback by how much more pessimistic and negative I have become, and so have begun examining this with the goal to change myself into more of the kind of person I would like to be. In light of the pregnancy, this task has become even more important. I'm always going to be a pessimist, there's no doubt there! But I think it's important, as an expectant mother, to rediscover my whimsy and hope and optimism and calm and confidence and happiness and just... some measure of lightness in my mind and on my shoulders.
So perhaps I should call this blog something like "Optimist-in-Training Mommy"? Well, that would be like tying on an apron and calling myself Martha Stewart. It's bullshit, and it's not gonna happen! Plus, there is just no misplacing my snark. Happy or unhappy, I amuse myself with my snarkiness, and hope to amuse others in the process. If I amuse others, awesome; if I miraculously awaken a sense of kindred spirit between us, brilliant; if I make you uneasy or upset, fuck you!
FYI, Pessimist Mommy swears. It is an ingrained part of my character, so it's not going anywhere. Woe is me if I don't learn to curb it around the keiki - hubby might finally take to beating me. //disgruntled muttering//
I do have a few plans for the blog, in hope of keeping the snark and the humor and the parenthoodness all at the forefront so that I remain relevant. A few months ago I had the idea that I should be capturing these little moments in my life that are so amusing to me for all their negativity. I was going to create a side-blog, and call it "Laughing in Disbelief". Instead, I think I'm just going to make that a blog category, and work on capturing those moments in a timely fashion for once, documenting them here for the sake of posterity and insanity. It seems every day I have these moments of shaking my head in wonder at the universe's ability to drop anvils on my head, and yet, I can never remember them properly later when I want to share them with others. I think trying to commit them to paper, or blog, should be an interesting task.
I also want the blog to be about truth. More than anything, I want this to be a place to reveal things about my life's challenges in the hope that others in my shoes can find it and feel some sort of comfort in knowing they are not alone. This has always been important to me when blogging, but in the past it was very much about hashing out every mistake and torturous thought, a sort of masochism of the soul. I want this blog to be personal, yes, but I want it to be more helpful and forward-thinking, instead of floundering and just spouting out everything negative. I don't want to use this blog to re-examine failed relationships or go on and on about my depression. Instead, I want to talk about my health issues, my doubts, my goals, my triumphs, the things that I learn... in a way that shines a spotlight on unseen or overlooked issues, shows progression in my life, shows positive changes being made or being strived for. I will talk about relationships and depression, but with a purpose.
One thing I definitely want to focus on now that the First Trimester of Horror is under my belt, is that idea of putting a spotlight on the unusual complications/events/issues during pregnancy. I think I may have to create a category for "Pregnancy T.M.I." - a label to give a heads up that a Too Much Information situation is being discussed. Pregnancy is not pretty, but no one wants to talk about that. There's talk of glowing and nesting. Yes, the entire world knows what Morning Sickness is, and most people have heard of feet swelling and frequent urination and backpain and feeling fat. But most pregnancies don't include "Morning" sickness, because it's really Pregnancy Sickness: the nausea and vomiting can strike at any time. For some of us, it strikes all the time. Then there are the scary things: bleeding, cramping, suspicion of miscarriage, malnutrition and weight loss, genetic testing, exams with inconclusive or negative results. No one wants to talk about the icky or the unsettling parts of pregnancy, until it's 4 am and they are desperately googling any tidbit of information they can find about how to determine if you're having a miscarriage.
For now though, I'm going to call it a night. I seem to have distracted myself out of a bout of dark-o-thirty nausea, but also run my poor little brain into the ground. I've got no more words left. Hopefully more will pop up sooner, although I'm sure it will be later. Oh look, Optimist-in-Training-Mysie and Pessimistic-Bitch-Fest-Mysie just shared a moment. 1,2,3... d'awwwwwwww!
So perhaps I should call this blog something like "Optimist-in-Training Mommy"? Well, that would be like tying on an apron and calling myself Martha Stewart. It's bullshit, and it's not gonna happen! Plus, there is just no misplacing my snark. Happy or unhappy, I amuse myself with my snarkiness, and hope to amuse others in the process. If I amuse others, awesome; if I miraculously awaken a sense of kindred spirit between us, brilliant; if I make you uneasy or upset, fuck you!
FYI, Pessimist Mommy swears. It is an ingrained part of my character, so it's not going anywhere. Woe is me if I don't learn to curb it around the keiki - hubby might finally take to beating me. //disgruntled muttering//
I do have a few plans for the blog, in hope of keeping the snark and the humor and the parenthoodness all at the forefront so that I remain relevant. A few months ago I had the idea that I should be capturing these little moments in my life that are so amusing to me for all their negativity. I was going to create a side-blog, and call it "Laughing in Disbelief". Instead, I think I'm just going to make that a blog category, and work on capturing those moments in a timely fashion for once, documenting them here for the sake of posterity and insanity. It seems every day I have these moments of shaking my head in wonder at the universe's ability to drop anvils on my head, and yet, I can never remember them properly later when I want to share them with others. I think trying to commit them to paper, or blog, should be an interesting task.
I also want the blog to be about truth. More than anything, I want this to be a place to reveal things about my life's challenges in the hope that others in my shoes can find it and feel some sort of comfort in knowing they are not alone. This has always been important to me when blogging, but in the past it was very much about hashing out every mistake and torturous thought, a sort of masochism of the soul. I want this blog to be personal, yes, but I want it to be more helpful and forward-thinking, instead of floundering and just spouting out everything negative. I don't want to use this blog to re-examine failed relationships or go on and on about my depression. Instead, I want to talk about my health issues, my doubts, my goals, my triumphs, the things that I learn... in a way that shines a spotlight on unseen or overlooked issues, shows progression in my life, shows positive changes being made or being strived for. I will talk about relationships and depression, but with a purpose.
One thing I definitely want to focus on now that the First Trimester of Horror is under my belt, is that idea of putting a spotlight on the unusual complications/events/issues during pregnancy. I think I may have to create a category for "Pregnancy T.M.I." - a label to give a heads up that a Too Much Information situation is being discussed. Pregnancy is not pretty, but no one wants to talk about that. There's talk of glowing and nesting. Yes, the entire world knows what Morning Sickness is, and most people have heard of feet swelling and frequent urination and backpain and feeling fat. But most pregnancies don't include "Morning" sickness, because it's really Pregnancy Sickness: the nausea and vomiting can strike at any time. For some of us, it strikes all the time. Then there are the scary things: bleeding, cramping, suspicion of miscarriage, malnutrition and weight loss, genetic testing, exams with inconclusive or negative results. No one wants to talk about the icky or the unsettling parts of pregnancy, until it's 4 am and they are desperately googling any tidbit of information they can find about how to determine if you're having a miscarriage.
For now though, I'm going to call it a night. I seem to have distracted myself out of a bout of dark-o-thirty nausea, but also run my poor little brain into the ground. I've got no more words left. Hopefully more will pop up sooner, although I'm sure it will be later. Oh look, Optimist-in-Training-Mysie and Pessimistic-Bitch-Fest-Mysie just shared a moment. 1,2,3... d'awwwwwwww!
Monday, September 26, 2011
Et tu Prometrium?
It has been a grueling three weeks since my last update. There was the lovely trip to Leavenworth and my neice's birthday dinner, but most every other moment has been very unpleasant. I was almost getting used to the nausea. Getting a handle on it anyway. I finished up the last of my IVF follow-up hormones on the 18th, had my last fertility clinic visit the next day for a blood test, then to the pharmacy for some Colace that afternoon. Despite why I was there, I enjoyed the little trip, because it was my first time driving in about 2 weeks, and the nausea from earlier that day had abated. Everything went downhill very quickly from there.
I had no idea constipation and bloating could be so painful and soul-crushing. Days of being so full that I spent most of my time wondering if I was going to burst or vomit first. Every 2-3 hours, I would get ravenously hungry, eat a small bit of food, endure painful digestion with burning and stomach cramps, have less than an hour's reprieve, and then start the process over. Bed time was the worst because I take all my medications 30-45 minutes before bed with a full glass of milk or juice. My doctor suggested the Colace that I had already started, and also Metamucil. This didn't seem to do a whole lot of good. By Friday the 23rd, the bloating was abating despite continued constipation, and a new symptom arrived: spotting and uterine cramping. Over the weekend, the spotting got worse and so did the cramping, which actually had the effect of "moving along" the constipation. My bowels were getting better, my stomach wasn't hurting when introduced to food, but that afternoon I became seriously worried about the intensity of the cramps and brightness of what was no longer really spotting, but not quite a flow either.
And then I picked up my phone and got a voice mail that, despite constantly checking for on Monday and Tuesday, my provider decided to hide from me until I gave up looking when I was so sick. The blood test showed my progesterone levels weren't where they should be, and I should continue taking Prometrium (200mg) 3x a day for the next two weeks. There was much freaking out after that. The after-hours nurse at my fertility clinic consulted with a doctor, and in the end it was decided that there wasn't anything they would do differently despite the spotting/cramping, they just wanted me to start up the hormones again immediately. Which I had already done much earlier, since it took them 4 hours to get back to me. Sundays!
I woke up this morning clear-minded and energetic, and with my first real appetite in over a week. I have not had eggs for over a month now, and this morning I just had to have one after Eric made eggs for himself. This afternoon, 24 hours after starting back on the Prometrium, the spotting is almost gone, the cramping is on the way out and manageable without pain reliever, there's been almost no nausea, and NO naps!
Prometrium, you are my new best friend! I take back everything bad I ever said about you in the past! Bring on the swollen breasts and nausea - baby and I will deal with that just fine from now on!
I went online to see if anyone else had had anything similar happen to them - could the week of constipation and stomach cramps and bloating to explosion levels have been caused by going cold turkey? I didn't see any evidence of that, but I'm pretty sure it was responsible for the spotting/cramping. It's an odd drug to research - you can't just go online, read the first hit about side effects and be done with it. Because the first thing you'll see is that you're not supposed to take it while pregnant. Way to scare the pregnant lady by slapping that sticker on the bottle guys! I didn't find cases online like mine, but plenty of women freaked out from that warning!
But Prometrium is one of those drugs that has multiple uses - menopause hormone therapy, cycle regulation, forcing a period, balancing out women with making too much estrogen, as well as keeping baby safe after IVF implantation. I am in that last class, because for some reason an IVF pregnancy does not trigger the necessary amount of progesterone to be manufactured naturally. A companion to the estrogen injections (that I do not have to restart!) that helped build up my uterine lining as baby first developed, progesterone was telling my body not to shed that lining. By the 2nd trimester, the baby will be making enough progesterone that I can stop again. Unfortunately, there isn't an exact date for that to happen, so we're going another full 2 weeks.
It's just kind of scary that there are a group of women out there that are afraid to take their doctor's prescribed Prometrium, and another group afraid to discontinue it when it's time. It seems the information sharing out there isn't that great for Prometrium. Between what doctors say/don't say and what patients hear/don't hear/forget, there is a lot of drama!
I had no idea constipation and bloating could be so painful and soul-crushing. Days of being so full that I spent most of my time wondering if I was going to burst or vomit first. Every 2-3 hours, I would get ravenously hungry, eat a small bit of food, endure painful digestion with burning and stomach cramps, have less than an hour's reprieve, and then start the process over. Bed time was the worst because I take all my medications 30-45 minutes before bed with a full glass of milk or juice. My doctor suggested the Colace that I had already started, and also Metamucil. This didn't seem to do a whole lot of good. By Friday the 23rd, the bloating was abating despite continued constipation, and a new symptom arrived: spotting and uterine cramping. Over the weekend, the spotting got worse and so did the cramping, which actually had the effect of "moving along" the constipation. My bowels were getting better, my stomach wasn't hurting when introduced to food, but that afternoon I became seriously worried about the intensity of the cramps and brightness of what was no longer really spotting, but not quite a flow either.
And then I picked up my phone and got a voice mail that, despite constantly checking for on Monday and Tuesday, my provider decided to hide from me until I gave up looking when I was so sick. The blood test showed my progesterone levels weren't where they should be, and I should continue taking Prometrium (200mg) 3x a day for the next two weeks. There was much freaking out after that. The after-hours nurse at my fertility clinic consulted with a doctor, and in the end it was decided that there wasn't anything they would do differently despite the spotting/cramping, they just wanted me to start up the hormones again immediately. Which I had already done much earlier, since it took them 4 hours to get back to me. Sundays!
I woke up this morning clear-minded and energetic, and with my first real appetite in over a week. I have not had eggs for over a month now, and this morning I just had to have one after Eric made eggs for himself. This afternoon, 24 hours after starting back on the Prometrium, the spotting is almost gone, the cramping is on the way out and manageable without pain reliever, there's been almost no nausea, and NO naps!
Prometrium, you are my new best friend! I take back everything bad I ever said about you in the past! Bring on the swollen breasts and nausea - baby and I will deal with that just fine from now on!
I went online to see if anyone else had had anything similar happen to them - could the week of constipation and stomach cramps and bloating to explosion levels have been caused by going cold turkey? I didn't see any evidence of that, but I'm pretty sure it was responsible for the spotting/cramping. It's an odd drug to research - you can't just go online, read the first hit about side effects and be done with it. Because the first thing you'll see is that you're not supposed to take it while pregnant. Way to scare the pregnant lady by slapping that sticker on the bottle guys! I didn't find cases online like mine, but plenty of women freaked out from that warning!
But Prometrium is one of those drugs that has multiple uses - menopause hormone therapy, cycle regulation, forcing a period, balancing out women with making too much estrogen, as well as keeping baby safe after IVF implantation. I am in that last class, because for some reason an IVF pregnancy does not trigger the necessary amount of progesterone to be manufactured naturally. A companion to the estrogen injections (that I do not have to restart!) that helped build up my uterine lining as baby first developed, progesterone was telling my body not to shed that lining. By the 2nd trimester, the baby will be making enough progesterone that I can stop again. Unfortunately, there isn't an exact date for that to happen, so we're going another full 2 weeks.
It's just kind of scary that there are a group of women out there that are afraid to take their doctor's prescribed Prometrium, and another group afraid to discontinue it when it's time. It seems the information sharing out there isn't that great for Prometrium. Between what doctors say/don't say and what patients hear/don't hear/forget, there is a lot of drama!
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Congratulations, you're having a blob!
We had a follow-up ultrasound today, and what a difference 7 days makes! The keiki is at 150 BPM and "looks perfect". The yolk sac looks good and the developing placenta is visible (trusting My Doctor's eyesight on that one). We definitely saw the heart beating today. Other than that, it's just a lumpy blob.
In the last frame that she froze to print a picture for us, keiki looked a bit like a a running figure. Kind of like the Kozmo mascot, sans disembodied head. Once it was printed however, the much smaller image just looked like a lumpy "^". After a few minutes, the blob transformed into a waving ghost with the body of a genie, then a smiley-faced stubby dolphin, then the head of a seahorse.
I would post a picture, but my new scanner scares me.
My Doctor says we should be in the clear. *grin*
In the last frame that she froze to print a picture for us, keiki looked a bit like a a running figure. Kind of like the Kozmo mascot, sans disembodied head. Once it was printed however, the much smaller image just looked like a lumpy "^". After a few minutes, the blob transformed into a waving ghost with the body of a genie, then a smiley-faced stubby dolphin, then the head of a seahorse.
I would post a picture, but my new scanner scares me.
My Doctor says we should be in the clear. *grin*
August 25, Part 2: 131.5 B.P.M.
Thursday, August 25, 2011: one of the most emotional days of my life.
I had allowed myself to be distracted from my dread for the first time in 2 days. After much hemming and hawing, I had decided we should go ahead with our camping trip - we had stuffed the car to the gills the night before. I read an exciting, but long, chapter in my book. I was still fuzzy from sleep. All the fuzzy vanished when I saw the blood clot.
It only took a second to make the connection: doctor questioned viability, I had been waiting for the signs of a miscarriage, here was a flashing neon sign. I started to cry, and that same horrific mourning came over me from last time. I apologized to the keiki, and began to sob. Eric woke up soon after that, tried for a moment to rationalize another reason, and then he just hugged me and we cried together in the bathroom. It was just before 8 a.m.
I spent 5 minutes researching miscarriages on the internet. What are you supposed to do when it's so early in your pregnancy that a miscarriage doesn't include the loss of full cups of blood? I spent another 5 minutes waiting for the clinic to open. When I finally reached them, somewhere in my mind I was impressed that there was only the smallest quiver in my voice when I said "I think I'm having a miscarriage and I don't know what to do." It only took a minute for them to slide me into the schedule to see My Doctor at 9:45 a.m.
I suggested we unpack the car. Eric just steered me back to bed, where he held me as I cried, where I apologized for killing a second baby, where he rocked me as he repeated over and over "No, you didn't."
The nail in the coffin was an even bigger clot that I found when using the bathroom just before we left. For the first time ever, I wasn't worried that a doctor was going to see my unwashed vagina. I wasn't worried about much other than surviving the drive to the clinic and the agony of the waiting room.
My Doctor looked sad, the nurse stood quietly in the corner. I told her about the clots, and that I had started cramping a few minutes after I had made the appointment. She was quiet and thoughtful, started to say something, then said we should look to see "what's still in there."
For once the monitor was turned towards me right at the beginning of the ultrasound, so I saw the sac still in place as soon as everyone else did. There was some zooming in, she used a cursor to point at a little blob and told me "there's the heart". The heart... flickered? Was that a trick of light by the ultrasound? She quietly took some measurements, and I watched as some numbers and letters popped up on the screen: 131.5 bpm
"The baby's heartbeat looks good," she said. Soon followed by announcing that the baby wasn't really that much smaller than it was supposed to be. The baby, with a heartbeat. The baby with a heartbeat safely in my uterus. The baby with a heartbeat safely in my uterus and alive.
She zoomed back in for us to see the heart again, and I saw that same little... hint at motion. She ended the ultrasound, and then the 4 of us all looked at each other in awe. We all believed it. We just couldn't wrap our heads around the fact that 5 minutes earlier we were all preparing to deal with a miscarriage.
Just to be sure, we cleared the camping trip with My Doctor, went home to grab some clothes and run some errands, and then we were off for the coast. Giddy. I think the best description of our emotions that morning were giddy.
It was hours later, as we laughed at Google Maps directions on how to enter the park (our little blue triangle drove straight through the invisible-in-real-life Visitor's Center), just what had happened that day. It was one of those experiences - good coming from bad, but on a monumental scale.
The pregnancy hadn't been real to me until I thought it had ended. The moment I saw that first blood clot, I believed the baby was real - and I had just lost it. The moment I saw that first flicker of quasi-motion from the heart, I believed the baby was alive. The machine's ability to calculate heart rate, followed by a second view of motion, and I believed my baby was alive and healthy. This terrifying morning had been the catalyst to make me believe in my pregnancy and acknowledge my keiki. If that morning hadn't happened... I don't want to think about that.
I had allowed myself to be distracted from my dread for the first time in 2 days. After much hemming and hawing, I had decided we should go ahead with our camping trip - we had stuffed the car to the gills the night before. I read an exciting, but long, chapter in my book. I was still fuzzy from sleep. All the fuzzy vanished when I saw the blood clot.
It only took a second to make the connection: doctor questioned viability, I had been waiting for the signs of a miscarriage, here was a flashing neon sign. I started to cry, and that same horrific mourning came over me from last time. I apologized to the keiki, and began to sob. Eric woke up soon after that, tried for a moment to rationalize another reason, and then he just hugged me and we cried together in the bathroom. It was just before 8 a.m.
I spent 5 minutes researching miscarriages on the internet. What are you supposed to do when it's so early in your pregnancy that a miscarriage doesn't include the loss of full cups of blood? I spent another 5 minutes waiting for the clinic to open. When I finally reached them, somewhere in my mind I was impressed that there was only the smallest quiver in my voice when I said "I think I'm having a miscarriage and I don't know what to do." It only took a minute for them to slide me into the schedule to see My Doctor at 9:45 a.m.
I suggested we unpack the car. Eric just steered me back to bed, where he held me as I cried, where I apologized for killing a second baby, where he rocked me as he repeated over and over "No, you didn't."
The nail in the coffin was an even bigger clot that I found when using the bathroom just before we left. For the first time ever, I wasn't worried that a doctor was going to see my unwashed vagina. I wasn't worried about much other than surviving the drive to the clinic and the agony of the waiting room.
My Doctor looked sad, the nurse stood quietly in the corner. I told her about the clots, and that I had started cramping a few minutes after I had made the appointment. She was quiet and thoughtful, started to say something, then said we should look to see "what's still in there."
For once the monitor was turned towards me right at the beginning of the ultrasound, so I saw the sac still in place as soon as everyone else did. There was some zooming in, she used a cursor to point at a little blob and told me "there's the heart". The heart... flickered? Was that a trick of light by the ultrasound? She quietly took some measurements, and I watched as some numbers and letters popped up on the screen: 131.5 bpm
"The baby's heartbeat looks good," she said. Soon followed by announcing that the baby wasn't really that much smaller than it was supposed to be. The baby, with a heartbeat. The baby with a heartbeat safely in my uterus. The baby with a heartbeat safely in my uterus and alive.
She zoomed back in for us to see the heart again, and I saw that same little... hint at motion. She ended the ultrasound, and then the 4 of us all looked at each other in awe. We all believed it. We just couldn't wrap our heads around the fact that 5 minutes earlier we were all preparing to deal with a miscarriage.
Just to be sure, we cleared the camping trip with My Doctor, went home to grab some clothes and run some errands, and then we were off for the coast. Giddy. I think the best description of our emotions that morning were giddy.
It was hours later, as we laughed at Google Maps directions on how to enter the park (our little blue triangle drove straight through the invisible-in-real-life Visitor's Center), just what had happened that day. It was one of those experiences - good coming from bad, but on a monumental scale.
The pregnancy hadn't been real to me until I thought it had ended. The moment I saw that first blood clot, I believed the baby was real - and I had just lost it. The moment I saw that first flicker of quasi-motion from the heart, I believed the baby was alive. The machine's ability to calculate heart rate, followed by a second view of motion, and I believed my baby was alive and healthy. This terrifying morning had been the catalyst to make me believe in my pregnancy and acknowledge my keiki. If that morning hadn't happened... I don't want to think about that.
August 24, Part 1: I'm Mad
I've been waiting to post this until after the follow up. That came a little sooner than expected! And with very surprising results - see Part 2 for the happy ending.
- - -
I am so angry. Yesterday, I was sad and scared. But as we left the clinic, anger washed over me and displaced everything else. I attempted to console Eric when we got home, and then I went out on errands before I exploded like the sun gone supernova. Normally, I use blogging as a way to self-examine my emotions. I am constantly trying to prove that my emotions are either valid or nonsense. There's an interesting topic for further discussion. But today? Fuck all that.
What set all of this off? The words "I can't say if it's viable or not." Yesterday was the first ultrasound, and although they found the sac, they could not see inside on maximum magnification. The sac was smaller than it was supposed to be, and all the way at the back of my uterus, which made the ultrasound not so effective. I listened calmly, I asked questions, I got dressed. I burst into tears, I mourned, I worried. I made the follow up appointment for next week that would tell us the answer for sure because of the rate of growth that happens in that single week. But the longer I was at the clinic, the angrier I got. We left just in time to keep me from starting to mutter under my breath in front of the other couples in the waiting room.
The state of my embryo is not their fault, and they assured me that it was not mine. So why am I so angry? Because once again, the clinic treated me like a number. Until now, I've been too afraid to say anything publicly. But today? Fuck that.
Yesterday's ultrasound was performed by the fifth clinic doctor I have had during this cycle alone. I didn't recognize his name or his face. He didn't understand entirely what I was trying to communicate before we began about my cramping - he thought I was afraid of the procedure causing pain. He was not wrong, but I was actually trying to convey that I was very anxious that the ramped up cramping that morning was so different from previous that it meant something was wrong. Instead of addressing that, his face cleared into a patient smile when he thought he realized the cause of my anxiety. He told me to lie back and not to worry, he would be gentle.
Playing this exchange over and over in my head, I told myself that if my actual doctor had bothered to show up, she would have understood me. And then I remembered the last appointment I had with her, and how whatever concern I had at the time puzzled her when I first tried to explain it. I am so good at puzzling doctors, I'm beginning to think I may be speaking some alien language. But this post isn't about me. Not today. I beat myself up 24/7 in my own mind. I am my harshest critic, aware of all my flaws, constantly walking through life embarrassed at everything I do wrong or how badly I react to situations. But today? Fuck all that.
I think it's time to start at the beginning.
Looking for a fertility specialist, I had a referral sheet from my gynecologist, which had the names of a half dozen doctors at two clinics. I made the first appointment with the only female doctor on the list. At the first appointment, I was so at ease, I soon after cancelled the back up appointment at the other clinic. Dumb. Very, very dumb.
In April 2010 I was told that I was basically infertile, had a freak out, and then with Eric decided our next step would be to try IVF with donor eggs - her eggs, his swimmers, my body as incubator. The process of just prepping for all of this took forever. Tests and paperwork and searching for a donor. Then more tests and more paperwork and contracts and money. Lots and lots of money. And with that final check received, things changed at the clinic for me.
I believe it started with my nurse emailing me the wrong information on the medication calendar. The issue was quickly fixed, but then there were the unreturned emails. I thought I had just gotten a bad nurse, so I didn't say anything. There was the time that we went in for an ultrasound and my doctor was inexplicably absent - a doctor I'd never met before, a male doctor, performed the examination. Then there was the phone call to schedule the actual implantation procedure - my doctor would not be performing it because she had the day off. I finally said something, explaining that I had chosen the clinic almost solely on the fact that I needed a female doctor. The scheduler was very sympathetic, but of course couldn't do anything about the situation. The procedure had to happen on a specific date, so moving it wasn't an option. She assured me this is the way a multi-doctor clinic worked.
On the day of the procedure, I was comforted that my doctor would at least be the one I had met recently. The female nurse was unfamiliar, but her presence was comforting. The lab tech who just walked in through the back door (the door that my vagina, on full display, was directly pointed at) to introduce himself was male. The two men performed the procedure while the female nurse looked on.
Ten days later I was admonished for having taken a home pregnancy test. Hadn't my doctor told me not to? (No.) Didn't I know they weren't reliable? (Not according to the pages of fine print I read that came with each of the 3 tests I took that gave me negative results.) It was all up to my lab tech to explain this to me and console me. No doctor. Not even a nurse. And of course, the anticipated phone call later that day confirming what I already knew - I wasn't pregnant.
Flash forward a few months, and I finally get to see "my" doctor again. I saw her once or twice after that. Then it was back to doctor #2 (still male!) and the surprise of doctor #3 (also male). I believe it was doctor #3 that I had to question about my calendar - it stopped on the day of the procedure, didn't tell me what drugs to take that day, or what the weeks after that would be like. I think my nurse got scolded, because she called soon after we got home to explain the post-implantation schedule and then emailed it to me. Yes, this was a different nurse then the one from my last cycle. But did I mention she made the exact same mistake about the same medication as in the previous cycle? At least she caught the mistake herself before I could ask her about it.
Then it was time for the procedure which would not be performed at my clinic at all, because they no longer did them there. And no, I wouldn't be seeing "my" doctor once again - each day there was a selected "procedure doctor". At least this 4th doctor was female, right? The day went great. The 10 day wait went great. The phone call with the good news went great, as did the mini-break trip to the ocean we were on in case the news was bad (we could be alone) or good (we could celebrate intimately). The past few weeks have been... weird. Not only have I had a hard time believing this was real, but the physical side effects have been incessant.
And then yesterday, the day we were supposed to finally see "my" doctor again, as well as our first view of the little keiki. Instead, I got doctor #5, no explanation of "my" doctor's absence, and no vision of the keiki. Just those terrifying eight words. Afterwards, Doc #5 said next week's ultrasound should be performed by "my" doctor because she knew my case better. (Was the correct response there "duh" or "not really"?)
I was filled with a familiar sense of deja vu when the check-out clerk got a frustrated look on her face. "My" doctor would not be available until Thursday. Two extra days of not knowing and waiting in terror and sorrow. She had Monday off, with Tuesday and Wednesday fully booked. With no other choice, we scheduled for Thursday, but she promised to talk to "my" doctor about fitting me in sooner - after she got back from vacation in 2 days.
To be fair, "my" doctor read her email on her day off and gave the green light for a Tuesday appointment, about which I was called within minutes of getting home. It's just a bit too little and a bit too late though.
I contemplated going to another clinic for the 2nd attempt, and now that I'm faced with a strong possibility of a need for a 3rd attempt, I'm considering it again. But oh yah, the same problem still exists. The other clinic I was referred to, the one I cancelled my preliminary appointment with so long ago, is the only fertility clinic in the area as respected as my original clinic. And they bought my clinic in January. Doctor #4 and #5 were unfamiliar because they are doctors from this other clinic.
My only other option has become moot.
This is the part where I should remember to be reasonable. After all, none of these annoyances have been grievous errors. Right? Fuck that.
I'm mad.
- - -
I am so angry. Yesterday, I was sad and scared. But as we left the clinic, anger washed over me and displaced everything else. I attempted to console Eric when we got home, and then I went out on errands before I exploded like the sun gone supernova. Normally, I use blogging as a way to self-examine my emotions. I am constantly trying to prove that my emotions are either valid or nonsense. There's an interesting topic for further discussion. But today? Fuck all that.
What set all of this off? The words "I can't say if it's viable or not." Yesterday was the first ultrasound, and although they found the sac, they could not see inside on maximum magnification. The sac was smaller than it was supposed to be, and all the way at the back of my uterus, which made the ultrasound not so effective. I listened calmly, I asked questions, I got dressed. I burst into tears, I mourned, I worried. I made the follow up appointment for next week that would tell us the answer for sure because of the rate of growth that happens in that single week. But the longer I was at the clinic, the angrier I got. We left just in time to keep me from starting to mutter under my breath in front of the other couples in the waiting room.
The state of my embryo is not their fault, and they assured me that it was not mine. So why am I so angry? Because once again, the clinic treated me like a number. Until now, I've been too afraid to say anything publicly. But today? Fuck that.
Yesterday's ultrasound was performed by the fifth clinic doctor I have had during this cycle alone. I didn't recognize his name or his face. He didn't understand entirely what I was trying to communicate before we began about my cramping - he thought I was afraid of the procedure causing pain. He was not wrong, but I was actually trying to convey that I was very anxious that the ramped up cramping that morning was so different from previous that it meant something was wrong. Instead of addressing that, his face cleared into a patient smile when he thought he realized the cause of my anxiety. He told me to lie back and not to worry, he would be gentle.
Playing this exchange over and over in my head, I told myself that if my actual doctor had bothered to show up, she would have understood me. And then I remembered the last appointment I had with her, and how whatever concern I had at the time puzzled her when I first tried to explain it. I am so good at puzzling doctors, I'm beginning to think I may be speaking some alien language. But this post isn't about me. Not today. I beat myself up 24/7 in my own mind. I am my harshest critic, aware of all my flaws, constantly walking through life embarrassed at everything I do wrong or how badly I react to situations. But today? Fuck all that.
I think it's time to start at the beginning.
Looking for a fertility specialist, I had a referral sheet from my gynecologist, which had the names of a half dozen doctors at two clinics. I made the first appointment with the only female doctor on the list. At the first appointment, I was so at ease, I soon after cancelled the back up appointment at the other clinic. Dumb. Very, very dumb.
In April 2010 I was told that I was basically infertile, had a freak out, and then with Eric decided our next step would be to try IVF with donor eggs - her eggs, his swimmers, my body as incubator. The process of just prepping for all of this took forever. Tests and paperwork and searching for a donor. Then more tests and more paperwork and contracts and money. Lots and lots of money. And with that final check received, things changed at the clinic for me.
I believe it started with my nurse emailing me the wrong information on the medication calendar. The issue was quickly fixed, but then there were the unreturned emails. I thought I had just gotten a bad nurse, so I didn't say anything. There was the time that we went in for an ultrasound and my doctor was inexplicably absent - a doctor I'd never met before, a male doctor, performed the examination. Then there was the phone call to schedule the actual implantation procedure - my doctor would not be performing it because she had the day off. I finally said something, explaining that I had chosen the clinic almost solely on the fact that I needed a female doctor. The scheduler was very sympathetic, but of course couldn't do anything about the situation. The procedure had to happen on a specific date, so moving it wasn't an option. She assured me this is the way a multi-doctor clinic worked.
On the day of the procedure, I was comforted that my doctor would at least be the one I had met recently. The female nurse was unfamiliar, but her presence was comforting. The lab tech who just walked in through the back door (the door that my vagina, on full display, was directly pointed at) to introduce himself was male. The two men performed the procedure while the female nurse looked on.
Ten days later I was admonished for having taken a home pregnancy test. Hadn't my doctor told me not to? (No.) Didn't I know they weren't reliable? (Not according to the pages of fine print I read that came with each of the 3 tests I took that gave me negative results.) It was all up to my lab tech to explain this to me and console me. No doctor. Not even a nurse. And of course, the anticipated phone call later that day confirming what I already knew - I wasn't pregnant.
Flash forward a few months, and I finally get to see "my" doctor again. I saw her once or twice after that. Then it was back to doctor #2 (still male!) and the surprise of doctor #3 (also male). I believe it was doctor #3 that I had to question about my calendar - it stopped on the day of the procedure, didn't tell me what drugs to take that day, or what the weeks after that would be like. I think my nurse got scolded, because she called soon after we got home to explain the post-implantation schedule and then emailed it to me. Yes, this was a different nurse then the one from my last cycle. But did I mention she made the exact same mistake about the same medication as in the previous cycle? At least she caught the mistake herself before I could ask her about it.
Then it was time for the procedure which would not be performed at my clinic at all, because they no longer did them there. And no, I wouldn't be seeing "my" doctor once again - each day there was a selected "procedure doctor". At least this 4th doctor was female, right? The day went great. The 10 day wait went great. The phone call with the good news went great, as did the mini-break trip to the ocean we were on in case the news was bad (we could be alone) or good (we could celebrate intimately). The past few weeks have been... weird. Not only have I had a hard time believing this was real, but the physical side effects have been incessant.
And then yesterday, the day we were supposed to finally see "my" doctor again, as well as our first view of the little keiki. Instead, I got doctor #5, no explanation of "my" doctor's absence, and no vision of the keiki. Just those terrifying eight words. Afterwards, Doc #5 said next week's ultrasound should be performed by "my" doctor because she knew my case better. (Was the correct response there "duh" or "not really"?)
I was filled with a familiar sense of deja vu when the check-out clerk got a frustrated look on her face. "My" doctor would not be available until Thursday. Two extra days of not knowing and waiting in terror and sorrow. She had Monday off, with Tuesday and Wednesday fully booked. With no other choice, we scheduled for Thursday, but she promised to talk to "my" doctor about fitting me in sooner - after she got back from vacation in 2 days.
To be fair, "my" doctor read her email on her day off and gave the green light for a Tuesday appointment, about which I was called within minutes of getting home. It's just a bit too little and a bit too late though.
I contemplated going to another clinic for the 2nd attempt, and now that I'm faced with a strong possibility of a need for a 3rd attempt, I'm considering it again. But oh yah, the same problem still exists. The other clinic I was referred to, the one I cancelled my preliminary appointment with so long ago, is the only fertility clinic in the area as respected as my original clinic. And they bought my clinic in January. Doctor #4 and #5 were unfamiliar because they are doctors from this other clinic.
My only other option has become moot.
This is the part where I should remember to be reasonable. After all, none of these annoyances have been grievous errors. Right? Fuck that.
I'm mad.
Friday, August 19, 2011
OB/GYN anyone?
It's time to find an obstetrician - wheeeeeee!
I met with my therapist yesterday, and we talked mostly about the pregnancy. She was very helpful in explaining the logistics of choosing an OB and a birthing center. Oh for the days when my mother simply saw the family physician, and then he met her at the only hospital when it was time to deliver! Living in Seattle, there are a bazillion doctors to choose from, and a fair number of conventional (hospital) birthing centers. No, I will not be having a home birth, a water birth, or a midwife. A doula is a possibility. More importantly, I want to be at a facility that is easy to get to, that can have my epidural prepped within 30 seconds of my arrival, that has a surgery center on the same floor just in case, and a neo-natal unit only steps away.
But mostly it's about the drugs, in all honesty. I have been terrified of childbirth since I was a little girl. Not other people's childbirth or the birthing itself per se, but of the pain. I am consistently an enormous wimp when it comes to pain, especially the anticipation of it. I seriously considered adoption for a few years when I realized I wanted to become a mother - simply to avoid giving birth.
A few months ago I saw an episode of some Lifetime or Bravo show about a woman who consults as a... hand-holder for pregnant woman. Never seen it before or since, so I have no idea what it was called. I was very surprised that the very first time I hear about this show, the episode features a woman who is quite literally phobic about her own impending childbirth. Especially the needles. I was sooo sympathetic to that poor woman. I used to be very bad with needles. Being poked every day for months on end has almost completely eliminated my panic attacks. Things got very sketchy last week at a blood draw where the lab tech couldn't find a vein and spent minutes digging in my arm to find one...
But it also gave me some hope, because I could see that although I could relate, I knew that I wasn't quite as terrified as she was - and she survived! Still, I am soooo not thinking about that epidural right now. I want the drugs, but not the giant needle in my spine.
But back to the "process" of selecting a facility and a doctor. I'm pretty sure which birthing center I'm going to choose, but the doctor...? Do I have to use the doctors on their website exclusively or what? Well, apparently there is a system in place that means not all doctors can work at all hospitals. A doctor has to be registered to work at that location. Good news, each doctor can be registered at all sorts of different locations. Bad news, doctors don't seem to want to advertise which ones they can work at. So while it's possible to have a doctor at one location who will be able to go to a different location for the childbirth, it is just easier to pick a doctor you already know is assigned to the birthing center you would like. I suppose if you had very strong recommendations for a particular doctor, you could choose the doctor first and use whatever hospital s/he works at. But Seattle traffic is a bitch, so I'm making my decision based on location. Lucky for me, the place nearby seems to be very well reviewed.
Also, my therapist was able to recommend a specific doctor based on my personality, since her office is at the same campus and she has regular conversations with most of them! She actually ranked the top 4 she thought I would like, going down a list of names and faces, making comments on why I would like each one. It was very amusing when her finger landed on a certain doctor and she said, "You wouldn't get along with him at all."
Now I just have to combat my phone phobia and make an appointment!
I met with my therapist yesterday, and we talked mostly about the pregnancy. She was very helpful in explaining the logistics of choosing an OB and a birthing center. Oh for the days when my mother simply saw the family physician, and then he met her at the only hospital when it was time to deliver! Living in Seattle, there are a bazillion doctors to choose from, and a fair number of conventional (hospital) birthing centers. No, I will not be having a home birth, a water birth, or a midwife. A doula is a possibility. More importantly, I want to be at a facility that is easy to get to, that can have my epidural prepped within 30 seconds of my arrival, that has a surgery center on the same floor just in case, and a neo-natal unit only steps away.
But mostly it's about the drugs, in all honesty. I have been terrified of childbirth since I was a little girl. Not other people's childbirth or the birthing itself per se, but of the pain. I am consistently an enormous wimp when it comes to pain, especially the anticipation of it. I seriously considered adoption for a few years when I realized I wanted to become a mother - simply to avoid giving birth.
A few months ago I saw an episode of some Lifetime or Bravo show about a woman who consults as a... hand-holder for pregnant woman. Never seen it before or since, so I have no idea what it was called. I was very surprised that the very first time I hear about this show, the episode features a woman who is quite literally phobic about her own impending childbirth. Especially the needles. I was sooo sympathetic to that poor woman. I used to be very bad with needles. Being poked every day for months on end has almost completely eliminated my panic attacks. Things got very sketchy last week at a blood draw where the lab tech couldn't find a vein and spent minutes digging in my arm to find one...
But it also gave me some hope, because I could see that although I could relate, I knew that I wasn't quite as terrified as she was - and she survived! Still, I am soooo not thinking about that epidural right now. I want the drugs, but not the giant needle in my spine.
But back to the "process" of selecting a facility and a doctor. I'm pretty sure which birthing center I'm going to choose, but the doctor...? Do I have to use the doctors on their website exclusively or what? Well, apparently there is a system in place that means not all doctors can work at all hospitals. A doctor has to be registered to work at that location. Good news, each doctor can be registered at all sorts of different locations. Bad news, doctors don't seem to want to advertise which ones they can work at. So while it's possible to have a doctor at one location who will be able to go to a different location for the childbirth, it is just easier to pick a doctor you already know is assigned to the birthing center you would like. I suppose if you had very strong recommendations for a particular doctor, you could choose the doctor first and use whatever hospital s/he works at. But Seattle traffic is a bitch, so I'm making my decision based on location. Lucky for me, the place nearby seems to be very well reviewed.
Also, my therapist was able to recommend a specific doctor based on my personality, since her office is at the same campus and she has regular conversations with most of them! She actually ranked the top 4 she thought I would like, going down a list of names and faces, making comments on why I would like each one. It was very amusing when her finger landed on a certain doctor and she said, "You wouldn't get along with him at all."
Now I just have to combat my phone phobia and make an appointment!
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Perfect Parenting 101
It's completely normal for babysitting to make you feel like you're going to be a shit parent, right?
don't scream, ignore inappropriate behavior
don't laugh, ignore
don't cry, ignore
don't say stop doing that, remind what should be done instead
don't tell, ask
don't force, offer unappealing alternatives
model appropriate behavior, don't make them do it exactly the way that you do
inspire creativity, don't let your skill level intimidate
don't force the conversation, listen to the silence
don't say "need" when you mean "want"
don't command when you can ask
don't suggest when you can entice
don't do it for them, offer to do it for them
don't hover, but pay attention
don't give in, but be nice
be firm and kind, but not intermittently
negative enforcement hurts the child, intermittent reinforcement hurts your credibility, positive enforcement can be done without hurting the waistline
distraction and redirection work wonders, when they work
violence causes scars, calm voices can prevent them
if you're doing it wrong, ask how you should be doing things instead
if you're slandered, don't respond in kind
if you don't understand, ask
if you're not answered, wait and then ask it again differently
when overwhelmed, seek distance
when angry, seek peace
running out of the house like a screaming lunatic is cathartic, but limit to once a week
don't scream, ignore inappropriate behavior
don't laugh, ignore
don't cry, ignore
don't say stop doing that, remind what should be done instead
don't tell, ask
don't force, offer unappealing alternatives
model appropriate behavior, don't make them do it exactly the way that you do
inspire creativity, don't let your skill level intimidate
don't force the conversation, listen to the silence
don't say "need" when you mean "want"
don't command when you can ask
don't suggest when you can entice
don't do it for them, offer to do it for them
don't hover, but pay attention
don't give in, but be nice
be firm and kind, but not intermittently
negative enforcement hurts the child, intermittent reinforcement hurts your credibility, positive enforcement can be done without hurting the waistline
distraction and redirection work wonders, when they work
violence causes scars, calm voices can prevent them
if you're doing it wrong, ask how you should be doing things instead
if you're slandered, don't respond in kind
if you don't understand, ask
if you're not answered, wait and then ask it again differently
when overwhelmed, seek distance
when angry, seek peace
running out of the house like a screaming lunatic is cathartic, but limit to once a week
keiki on the way
Oh hey, guess what? I'm pregnant! Here's our first baby picture:
Why is the new scanner being such a brat? The actual image is so much clearer (and lighter) than that!
Today our little keiki is 24 days old! Today it will grow arm & leg buds, it will be about the size of a grain of rice, and the heart has already started beating!
keiki is the Hawaiian word for "kid" (think cake-y), a word I've always loved. I looked up the Hawaiian word for baby and since keiki is an acceptable option, and is better than pepe or kama, baby's nickname is going to be "keiki" for awhile. Small "k". Don't want to start thinking that is the actual name.
Speaking of Hawaiian... being pregnant is bringing back more words I didn't realize that I knew.
hapai (hu-pie) - pregnant; also "hapai banana" refers to a certain local tour company's busses...
wahine (wa-he-nay) - female
kane (ka-nay) - male
okole (oh-koh-lay) - baby's bottom
opu (oh-poo) - stomach
kaka (ka-ka) - shit
shishi (she-she) - pee; also "go make shishis" means urinate
ukus (oo-koos) - head lice
ali'i (ah-lee-ee) - Hawaiian ruling class of royalty
kapu (kah-poo) - forbidden
heiau (hey-ow) - temple, holy place
menehune (may-nay-hoo-nay) - small, magical trickster people, similar to Irish Leprechauns
hele hele (heh-lay heh-lay) - literally go go, it means "let's go already!"
pau (pow) - finished
ono (oh-no) - yummie!
mauka (mauw-kah) - mountainside, uphill
honu - the Hawaiian green sea turtle
nene (nay-nay) - the state bird, the Hawaiian goose
Ohana (oh-hah-nah) - family
kaukau (cow-cow) - food, "The kaukau at the luau included laulau."
opihi (oh-pee-hee) - dome-shaped sea snails that are often harvested with a knife right off the rocks at a beach and immediately eaten raw
haupia (how-pee-a) - yummie coconut pudding jell-o!
laulau (lau-lau) - yummie steamed packet of mixed meats rolled in ti leaves
kalua pig (kah-loo-ah pig) - an entire pig steam-roasted with hot rocks in a buried pit for many hours
imu (ee-moo) - a pit that is digged up to be filled with football sized rocks and wood set afire to heat the rocks, the rocks are then buried to heat up more for a few hours. Then the rocks are uncovered, some set aside, the remainder covered in a bed of burlap bags and lots of ti leaves to hold packets of laulau and bananas and an entire pig. The reserved rocks are stuffed into the pig for better cooking, more burlap and leaves cover the whole lot, then the pit is reburied. Food is cooked for at least 12 hours. The entire process takes about an entire day and night.
Here's some pidgin for you:
stay - English word, substitute for "am or is", ie: "I stay sad." (I am sad.) Or everyone's favorite "I stay going already!" (I'm going already, sheesh!)
Hawaiian words most people already know: wiki wiki (go quickly, thanks Wikipedia!), aloha (hello or welcome or love or about 20 other things...), mahalo (thank you), luau (party, traditionally an extended-family outdoor gathering with a big potluck dinner), lanai (porch), ahi (tuna), lei (flower garland), puka shell lei (a necklace made of little snail shells with little holes), pupus (appetizer, usually served as a "pupu platter"), ukulele (Hawaiian stringed instrument like a small guitar), Mele Kalikimaka (Merry Christmas), big kahuna (chief), mana (magic/power), tiki (Hawaiian totem poles), poi (pudding consisting of pounded taro root)
"Aloha, and mahalo for flying Hawaiian Airlines. If you look out the window at the mauka side of the island, an Ohana luau with ono kaukau stay pau. Oh, and there is a hapai wahine making shishis and showing off her okole!"
So why is Hawaiian so much on my mind? Because I've always wanted to name my kids with Hawaiian names. I have a girl name already, can't settle on a boy name. Every time I try to think of one, I remember that my baby will not be Hawaiian. I get mixed feelings. I wonder if it's worth pondering at all. I wonder if my kid will hate me. I get very sad that my kid won't look like me. We chose a donor that was an acceptable appearance match to me. But I will be the first in my Mom's family to have a baby that isn't blonde and blue eyed and a spitting image of myself or my mother as a baby. It's a family tradition!
I just have to remind myself of the things my baby will <i>not</i> inherit: the family crazy, the family linebacker shoulders, the family battle of the bulge, the family suck-ass immune system, any connection to my father...
But will the baby grow up to tan, or just burn and freckle? If out in the sun too long, will some freckles look green? Will there be auburn highlights to the hair? A tendency to blonde around the face?
Is it better to have a baby that looks like me, or an adult child without diabetes? "Snap out of it!"
Sunday, August 14, 2011
Decorating without nausea!
I only wish I could feel more enthusiasm. I had so much energy last weekend, but since then I've just been tired and irritable and nauseated and sore - usually all at the same time. I'm still constantly living in my physical skin, instead of enjoying my anticipated future. There's nothing like physical ailments to keep you grounded in the present.
I'm hoping that this afternoon free of nausea and headaches will be a sign of the energy I'll have this upcoming week. I have so many things to do, and once I throw myself into a project, I know I'll feel better. I just have to not feel like death warmed over so I can start.
Saturday, August 13, 2011
Change really is coming
For a few years now my most important life goal, even more than becoming a mommy, has been Seeking Serenity. Developing a place of "inner peace" amidst the chaos of my crazy. As I seek and learn, the goal gets tweaked, refined, redefined. This year I have focused on becoming a better version of myself, someone who looks more like the person I thought I was going to become when I graduated from high school, someone I liked. I have focused on Wellness, calming my anger and bitterness, curbing my pessimism.
I am now motivated to do more than that. Because I have to become a mommy for real. Which means finally becoming an adult. Becoming responsible. I need to set goals and accomplish them. I need to find energy. I need to prepare for not being the center of my own universe. My entire life needs an overhaul: nutrition, exercise, sleep schedule, emotions, chores, responsibilities, preparations... But at the heart of it all, I'm convinced that what really needs to change is the way that I think.
I need to change the Pessimist into an Optimist.
"Ha!" cries my Inner-Pessimist (IP). She smirks, rolls her eyes, and sits in a back corner to watch the imminent disaster. She attempts not to fidget in anticipation of shouting "I told you so!"
My Inner-Optimist (IO) squeals with glee, begins jumping around, and starts begging to go to Babies R Us. She attempts to abstain from painting the nursery purple and cover it with unicorn stickers.
Physical Me (PM) is tired just from hearing about all this. Her breasts hurt and today is day 2000 of a headache. She would like to know who is behind the conspiracy to get women to believe that pregnancy will cause breast tenderness. "Tenderness?!" she rants. "This is pain mother fuckers!"
IO begins to wonder if IP has been working on her ventriloquism - that last bit sounded just like something she would say...
Mysie just wants all this writing in third person to end so she can quit worrying about pronouns. She suspects her new theme song is Guns and Roses' "Welcome to the Jungle."
I am now motivated to do more than that. Because I have to become a mommy for real. Which means finally becoming an adult. Becoming responsible. I need to set goals and accomplish them. I need to find energy. I need to prepare for not being the center of my own universe. My entire life needs an overhaul: nutrition, exercise, sleep schedule, emotions, chores, responsibilities, preparations... But at the heart of it all, I'm convinced that what really needs to change is the way that I think.
I need to change the Pessimist into an Optimist.
"Ha!" cries my Inner-Pessimist (IP). She smirks, rolls her eyes, and sits in a back corner to watch the imminent disaster. She attempts not to fidget in anticipation of shouting "I told you so!"
My Inner-Optimist (IO) squeals with glee, begins jumping around, and starts begging to go to Babies R Us. She attempts to abstain from painting the nursery purple and cover it with unicorn stickers.
Physical Me (PM) is tired just from hearing about all this. Her breasts hurt and today is day 2000 of a headache. She would like to know who is behind the conspiracy to get women to believe that pregnancy will cause breast tenderness. "Tenderness?!" she rants. "This is pain mother fuckers!"
IO begins to wonder if IP has been working on her ventriloquism - that last bit sounded just like something she would say...
Mysie just wants all this writing in third person to end so she can quit worrying about pronouns. She suspects her new theme song is Guns and Roses' "Welcome to the Jungle."
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