Things are finally starting to settle back down around here. So I'll give a brief (as I can be, ha!) update and then next time around I'll get back to Mad's story.
After spending almost $200 to get the truck limping along, we rented a trailer and towed it up the hill on the back of my dad's truck. Monday of last week we went out and bought a new car. We'd narrowed it down to the Altima and Camry. Online and based on my dad's and Nancy's collective info, I liked the Altima better, but we still ended up with a Camry. And I'm glad. I bonked my head on the ceiling while in the back seat of the Altima, for one thing. For another, we ended up with a hybrid. Now we're a two hybrid family.
The deal we made on the car wasn't anything like the one the sales guy stated we could get, but it was still too good to pass up. The amount they didn't come down in price was nearly eradicated by the extremely low financing rate. They offered 3.9 percent, but because the finance guy had said "if you'll be flexible, we can be flexible" and then tried to give us sticker price and the "cash for clunkers" money that we were getting anyway, I got a little pissy (no, really?!? I'm shocked, too). So we got an even lower interest rate and $500 off.
I do love the car, but I also loved not having a payment on the truck. Oh sure, I didn't have to drive the smoking beast or listen to it's random, yet incessant binging (you know the sound from leaving the keys in the ignition? the truck is probably already a heap of scrap and I'll bet that thing is still binging).
I've driven the Camry a couple of times and it's a very lovely car to drive, if you like cars. I used to until I was nearly squashed off a bridge in my old Saturn. It was almost eight years ago, but I still felt a little tense being in a vehicle that is hard to see for those "small penis trucks" (you know the ones... sometimes Corey and I will look at a massive, insanely jacked up truck and bust out laughing because "that guy has NO penis!") . One thing about this car, though, is that it has too many gadgets. I was using the cruise control and needed to speed up or slow down a couple of times. Instead I managed to turn the windshield wipers on twice, turned the radio volume all the way down and changed the radio station once.
The day after we bought the car, our stimulus check arrived from buying the house. Here's an odd little fact: prior to receiving the check, Tom and I each received notices that it would be coming soon. The notice also said that adding the stimulus check to our tax forms actually increased our tax bill by two dollars. That seemed stupid, but hardly worth fighting for, and it doesn't matter anyway. I'm not sure why, but we were paid interest in the amount of $52.48. We submitted the form at the end of June, and it could have taken until the end of next month, but whatever.
The first thing we did was to pay off the Target credit card. I can't stand that company. We'd been working on paying off our debt prior to the Madaladelyn, but that went on hold for a while. Target wasn't supposed to be next, but the way they keep reducing our limit every time we do make headway is too annoying. So they're done. I anticipate that they'll close the account, as I've heard has happened with some others who've paid off cards recently. I don't even care.
We also made a sizeable payment on another card. Initially we'd hoped to pay off both cards, but it's just not going to happen.
We've splurged on a few things. One of them is the rest of our dishes. We have Fiesta dinnerware in five different colors, a service for 10. Now I just have to finish painting the cabinets so I can move onto staining the table and chairs and we'll actually be able to use them.
We also bought a bundle of Photoshop Elements 7 and Premiere Elements 7. When we had the computer operating system reinstalled a few months back, our photo editing software didn't make it back on and we couldn't find the disk. Sending pictures to the grandparents has become unwieldy. Sending more than four as attachments to my MIL's email would cause the email to bounce back. I could drag and drop photos, but then she had a hard time printing them on photo paper. Whatever we had before was pretty basic, but I was quite good at it. Photoshop is something I've always wanted, but it will take me some time to figure it out.
Naturally, just before installing Photoshop, our computer took a huge crap. Our computer guys determined that the memory cards were corrupted (would this be another "Thank You!" to Corey and his interest in... ahem... female anatomy?!?). We upgraded the memory and also replaced the monitor. Oh sure, it was a flat screen, but was still nearly two feet front to back. This one's energy efficient and should keep the room from getting as hot. Another benefit is that photos look better on it. Our screen had been getting progressively darker over the past year or so. I had thought it was a problem with the camera.
Last month I spent three weeks thinking I was pregnant. I am not. I'm not sure if it was wishful thinking or over-analyzing or just simply trying to be pregnant before the end of summer as we'd originally planned. I have told Tom... I was going to say I've made it clear, but who knows... that I am not up for trying for another 8 months. Neither one of us has broached when the outer limit would be. At this point I'm rather resigned to not getting pregnant. I understand all of his reasoning for wanting another one (or however many happened to come along without IVF and the like)... I even agree. But I couldn't be more okay with stopping here.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Sunday, August 02, 2009
The Forecast of the Day Screams "CAUTION"
... when it starts with an emergency trip to Target for tampons and formula.
... when it involves letting your toddler get only about a 45 minute nap because you've got to drive for an hour before shopping for a car (because that's where your truck died and you don't want to tow it up the hill to trade it in).
... when your husband, who knows you had to make an emergency tampon run, still takes his frustration and stress out on you because he feels stranded without a working vehicle (like the situation's going to last for-freaking-ever).
... when you get diarrhea at the first dealership.
... when your exhausted, overheated daughter freaks out about getting into her car seat again after it took nearly 10 minutes to move it from your car to the test drive vehicle.
... when you lose your $225 birthday present sunglasses somewhere along the way ("oh, sure... you'll call me if anyone happens to turn them in... thanks").
... when the sales guy at the next place jams his card in your hand and tells you to "wave him down" if you have any questions (I guess he didn't like that we took separate test drives so Mad didn't have to come along).
... when all the tension builds up between you and your husband so that when you do get to a restaurant to cool off, you threaten to sit at your own table.
... when, even though you said you weren't sure if the title to the truck would be in the truck (and you can't imagine why it would be since that would stupid if the truck ever got stolen, but you haven't had any file drawers since being married because we have to use the table his mom bought instead of the computer hutch that you own, so it's been his organizational system for four years), little to no real effort is made to find it before you drive down the hill, so even if the guy at the Toyota dealership wasn't a complete jackhole, you couldn't trade the truck in tonight anyway.
... when you finally apologize for your part of the problem, but your husband doesn't make eye contact or respond in any way, including apologizing for his part in this mess, even though he started it (and then you silently send him to hell in your mind, but realize you'll have to leave before he arrives).
... when it involves letting your toddler get only about a 45 minute nap because you've got to drive for an hour before shopping for a car (because that's where your truck died and you don't want to tow it up the hill to trade it in).
... when your husband, who knows you had to make an emergency tampon run, still takes his frustration and stress out on you because he feels stranded without a working vehicle (like the situation's going to last for-freaking-ever).
... when you get diarrhea at the first dealership.
... when your exhausted, overheated daughter freaks out about getting into her car seat again after it took nearly 10 minutes to move it from your car to the test drive vehicle.
... when you lose your $225 birthday present sunglasses somewhere along the way ("oh, sure... you'll call me if anyone happens to turn them in... thanks").
... when the sales guy at the next place jams his card in your hand and tells you to "wave him down" if you have any questions (I guess he didn't like that we took separate test drives so Mad didn't have to come along).
... when all the tension builds up between you and your husband so that when you do get to a restaurant to cool off, you threaten to sit at your own table.
... when, even though you said you weren't sure if the title to the truck would be in the truck (and you can't imagine why it would be since that would stupid if the truck ever got stolen, but you haven't had any file drawers since being married because we have to use the table his mom bought instead of the computer hutch that you own, so it's been his organizational system for four years), little to no real effort is made to find it before you drive down the hill, so even if the guy at the Toyota dealership wasn't a complete jackhole, you couldn't trade the truck in tonight anyway.
... when you finally apologize for your part of the problem, but your husband doesn't make eye contact or respond in any way, including apologizing for his part in this mess, even though he started it (and then you silently send him to hell in your mind, but realize you'll have to leave before he arrives).
Sunday, July 19, 2009
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Tough Day
Something must have been in the air today. Corey started off with an attitude and energy that was so bad, neither Madelyn nor Maisy wanted to be near him. Neither did I, but not the same as them, haha. Not sure what his deal was, but by the time we were on the road this morning, he seemed to have settled back down.
He had school today. When it was over, he reported having passed three tests. An hour or so later his teacher called to discuss his lack of progress. Thankfully, Mom was able to take Corey back so he could do some of the things he had claimed to have completed. Between his problems today and the fact that he's grounded indefinitely from the computer for checking out porn... again... and causing problems on our computer... again... I'm not clear why my mom let him play Civilization this afternoon.
Every school I stopped at today had something come up that took longer than expected. One stop was supposed to last about 10 minutes, max. Forty-five minutes later, I finally clawed my way out the door (okay, that's a wee exaggeration... I love that class and would have liked to stay longer, but my schedule was slammed).
The teachers I met with or spoke to on the phone had one drama after another. At one school, I arrived just as one student was being wheeled out of the classroom and into an ambulance. It had taken the school nurse two minutes to locate her pulse because she is over-medicated. Her foster mother stood there claiming it was "not medical, it's behavioral." Yeah, right. A mentally retarded girl is feigning being unconscious with a weak pulse. We all get that the girl is "hell on wheels" without medication, but I still want to know who put this woman in charge of kids?!?
When all was said and done, I went out to see Ken and Nance at the hospital. Another friend, Evie, was also there. I walked in and proceeded to put three masks on my head. One over my nose and mouth and the other two over my ears. I can't always make them laugh, but it worked today.
Nancy has requested that the doctors and nurses continue to give Ken blood products until he is unconscious. That way he will never feel like he gave up or was a quitter. After my shenanigans, I went over to greet Ken. He looked so sad. He was so sad. He knows things are not working. I asked if there was anything I could do for him, expecting that he would ask me to pray. Instead, he shook his head no and said there was nothing anybody could do. I held his hand and told him I loved him and we all just tried to breathe our way through the pain. Ken's concentration on his breathing reminded me of being in labor.
We got through the moment and talked about cars and yards. I held back from saying anything like, "When you come up and see the house... ," but those thoughts were still right there, even though I know he won't.
I'm not sure why there were no tissues in his room, but we all agreed that the toilet paper is soft and absorbent, and thank goodness for that.
Sometimes he pulled one knee up as he lay there. That's how he was when I walked in. I honestly didn't understand that it was his leg at first. I thought maybe he had some sort of device to keep the blankets off his legs. It didn't seem possible that it was his leg.
When their son and his fiancee arrived, I hit the road. The drive to get Corey was uneventful, but between Mom's (where Corey stays) and Dad's (where Mad goes), there had been some sort of pursuit and an entire neighborhood was blocked off. Sometimes it's really good that all of my voice mail messages don't get to me right away. Here's the one my dad left:
"Hi Sis, just wanted to let you know there's a lot of police activity in the area. They're looking for someone from a pursuit. Call me before you come over. All of our doors are locked, but we don't want you having any problems getting out of your car and maybe getting hurt or having your car taken."
Then in true, Mr. I'm-In-Control-of-the-Situation, he added, "But we're fine so don't worry."
Tom just arrived home from what he said was his worst softball game ever. The man never curses... apparently unless it's his worst softball game ever.
So it seems like the best thing to do right now is to shut this computer off, crawl into bed and pull the covers... and possibly the pillow... over my head.
He had school today. When it was over, he reported having passed three tests. An hour or so later his teacher called to discuss his lack of progress. Thankfully, Mom was able to take Corey back so he could do some of the things he had claimed to have completed. Between his problems today and the fact that he's grounded indefinitely from the computer for checking out porn... again... and causing problems on our computer... again... I'm not clear why my mom let him play Civilization this afternoon.
Every school I stopped at today had something come up that took longer than expected. One stop was supposed to last about 10 minutes, max. Forty-five minutes later, I finally clawed my way out the door (okay, that's a wee exaggeration... I love that class and would have liked to stay longer, but my schedule was slammed).
The teachers I met with or spoke to on the phone had one drama after another. At one school, I arrived just as one student was being wheeled out of the classroom and into an ambulance. It had taken the school nurse two minutes to locate her pulse because she is over-medicated. Her foster mother stood there claiming it was "not medical, it's behavioral." Yeah, right. A mentally retarded girl is feigning being unconscious with a weak pulse. We all get that the girl is "hell on wheels" without medication, but I still want to know who put this woman in charge of kids?!?
When all was said and done, I went out to see Ken and Nance at the hospital. Another friend, Evie, was also there. I walked in and proceeded to put three masks on my head. One over my nose and mouth and the other two over my ears. I can't always make them laugh, but it worked today.
Nancy has requested that the doctors and nurses continue to give Ken blood products until he is unconscious. That way he will never feel like he gave up or was a quitter. After my shenanigans, I went over to greet Ken. He looked so sad. He was so sad. He knows things are not working. I asked if there was anything I could do for him, expecting that he would ask me to pray. Instead, he shook his head no and said there was nothing anybody could do. I held his hand and told him I loved him and we all just tried to breathe our way through the pain. Ken's concentration on his breathing reminded me of being in labor.
We got through the moment and talked about cars and yards. I held back from saying anything like, "When you come up and see the house... ," but those thoughts were still right there, even though I know he won't.
I'm not sure why there were no tissues in his room, but we all agreed that the toilet paper is soft and absorbent, and thank goodness for that.
Sometimes he pulled one knee up as he lay there. That's how he was when I walked in. I honestly didn't understand that it was his leg at first. I thought maybe he had some sort of device to keep the blankets off his legs. It didn't seem possible that it was his leg.
When their son and his fiancee arrived, I hit the road. The drive to get Corey was uneventful, but between Mom's (where Corey stays) and Dad's (where Mad goes), there had been some sort of pursuit and an entire neighborhood was blocked off. Sometimes it's really good that all of my voice mail messages don't get to me right away. Here's the one my dad left:
"Hi Sis, just wanted to let you know there's a lot of police activity in the area. They're looking for someone from a pursuit. Call me before you come over. All of our doors are locked, but we don't want you having any problems getting out of your car and maybe getting hurt or having your car taken."
Then in true, Mr. I'm-In-Control-of-the-Situation, he added, "But we're fine so don't worry."
Tom just arrived home from what he said was his worst softball game ever. The man never curses... apparently unless it's his worst softball game ever.
So it seems like the best thing to do right now is to shut this computer off, crawl into bed and pull the covers... and possibly the pillow... over my head.
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
This Just In...
The past 24 hours or so have brought a couple of shocking revelations to my life. One is from the Jerry Springer corner of the world, so let's just get that straight out of the way: My once beloved high school band teacher seems to have engaged in - at best - a highly inappropriate relationship with one of his students. On this topic, I have many thoughts. Most of them circle around the phrase, "What the hell were they thinking?!"
In Mazur's case (and yeah, that's what we called him... odd to read it in the paper like that), I remember when he and his bride had their son. His family was his life away from music. Six years ago I started working in the district where I went to school. He was doing this community band with high schoolers, so I occasionally ran into him at different locations. Even then it was all about what his kids were doing. His kids, by the way, are both older than the girl in question.
Which brings me to the girl. I know high school girls can be incredibly stupid and naive, especially where older men are concerned. I was a high school girl once, and I speak from experience (albeit not this one!). So he's "more on her intellectual level," okay, I get that. But did she look at the man?!? I mean, 24 years ago when I was a wee freshman band geek, Mazur was a balding, fat man with huge lips and a tendency to be an excessive salivator. Six years ago, he looked exactly the same but older. Eww!
Now that I have that out of my system, here's the shocker that has me most... well, you know. And really, considering it's my husband we're talking about here, I'm not sure why I'm shocked at all... in retrospect.
We've been talking all along about how I have to get pregnant this summer or it's just not going to work out for us. Let me clarify that.
I've been talking about that and Tom's been doing the smile and nod.
I asked him last night what he felt we should do if I don't get pregnant this month. I was trying to broach the when-can-I-reasonably-talk-about-getting-my-tubes-tied-like-we-originally-planned topic. I was about knocked out of my chair when he said that we should keep trying for another five to eight months. The whole "let's make a baby this summer" conversations were apparently centered around what's convenient.
What?!?! I'm thirty-freaking-eight years old! So are my eggs! And I work a job that allows me to be off most of summer. So having a baby in the early spring makes the most sense because that affords me the most time off with said bebeh!
*sigh*
Clearly we're going to have to come up with a better compromise here. Or, you know... if I could just get pregnant in the next few weeks, that'd solve a lot of problems right there. We'll see.
Tom thinks part of the problem is that I'm still occasionally nursing Mad. I know no fewer than half a dozen women who have recently nursed through pregnancy, but much like chocolate and coffee (things I cannot indulge in while gestating), nursing could also be verboten. So we're making a concerted effort to stop. It's purely for comfort now (for Mad) and sleep extending (for me). We made it three days, but today there was no stopping her.
I personally think the main "problem" with me getting pregnant is that I keep obsessing about it. So let's move on, shall we?
In Mazur's case (and yeah, that's what we called him... odd to read it in the paper like that), I remember when he and his bride had their son. His family was his life away from music. Six years ago I started working in the district where I went to school. He was doing this community band with high schoolers, so I occasionally ran into him at different locations. Even then it was all about what his kids were doing. His kids, by the way, are both older than the girl in question.
Which brings me to the girl. I know high school girls can be incredibly stupid and naive, especially where older men are concerned. I was a high school girl once, and I speak from experience (albeit not this one!). So he's "more on her intellectual level," okay, I get that. But did she look at the man?!? I mean, 24 years ago when I was a wee freshman band geek, Mazur was a balding, fat man with huge lips and a tendency to be an excessive salivator. Six years ago, he looked exactly the same but older. Eww!
Now that I have that out of my system, here's the shocker that has me most... well, you know. And really, considering it's my husband we're talking about here, I'm not sure why I'm shocked at all... in retrospect.
We've been talking all along about how I have to get pregnant this summer or it's just not going to work out for us. Let me clarify that.
I've been talking about that and Tom's been doing the smile and nod.
I asked him last night what he felt we should do if I don't get pregnant this month. I was trying to broach the when-can-I-reasonably-talk-about-getting-my-tubes-tied-like-we-originally-planned topic. I was about knocked out of my chair when he said that we should keep trying for another five to eight months. The whole "let's make a baby this summer" conversations were apparently centered around what's convenient.
What?!?! I'm thirty-freaking-eight years old! So are my eggs! And I work a job that allows me to be off most of summer. So having a baby in the early spring makes the most sense because that affords me the most time off with said bebeh!
*sigh*
Clearly we're going to have to come up with a better compromise here. Or, you know... if I could just get pregnant in the next few weeks, that'd solve a lot of problems right there. We'll see.
Tom thinks part of the problem is that I'm still occasionally nursing Mad. I know no fewer than half a dozen women who have recently nursed through pregnancy, but much like chocolate and coffee (things I cannot indulge in while gestating), nursing could also be verboten. So we're making a concerted effort to stop. It's purely for comfort now (for Mad) and sleep extending (for me). We made it three days, but today there was no stopping her.
I personally think the main "problem" with me getting pregnant is that I keep obsessing about it. So let's move on, shall we?
Saturday, July 04, 2009
Sixteen Years
... ago this night, I was in labor with my son. Around now the second epidural was finally starting to do its magic. Yeah, I saw fireworks that night, just not the ones anybody else saw. Except maybe that screaming woman a few rooms away. Jeez!
Just after midnight, my beautiful, perfect son was born. Bright-eyed and completely interested in all the loving faces surrounding him. That was such a long time ago. It was yesterday, too.
Here's a little tidbit you never knew about him. Aside from a Gameboy Advance, Corey's never owned a gaming system. He's had to go to friends' houses or have them bring their systems to our place (or Grammy's, as the case may be). He's been saving up part of his allowance to get one. I checked into it. Turns out, he's about 1/3 of the way there. Just for the freaking system. No games.
A week or so ago Corey decided he wanted to go to Medieval Times for his birthday. When you make a decision like that a week before your birthday AND said birthday is on a holiday weekend, chances are nil (as it turns out) that any of your friends will still be available. Or your favorite cousin.
Tom and I would have gone with him alone, but that wasn't cool enough, apparently. So he's requested dinner at Claim Jumper. Now that place can be expensive, but it's got nothing on a dinner show for five people. So all of the money we aren't spending at Medieval Times is going toward an XBox 360.
I told Corey that all the local stores are out of stock right now.
I checked on Amazon.com and we can get a used one (you should have seen the wrinkled nose!!) for $100 less than retail, and it can be here on Tuesday. Or we can get a new one shipped to us from Best Buy and it'll be here in 10 days.
I told him I didn't know if that's 10 days from today or 10 days from tomorrow (what, with today being a holiday and all) or even 10 days from Monday, since a lot of places aren't open on Sundays.
Shall we start counting the lies? I, who never lie to my son, even when the truth really hurts have told no fewer than half a dozen lies over the course of the day today.
I mean, the online ordering stuff is true. Except that I do know the one from Best Buy would arrive on the 14th. Other lies of the day include:
I can't wait for tomorrow even more than he can't wait. My quandary is this: Do we give him the gifts in the morning and lose him to the TV all day? Or wait until we're at the restaurant? Which is... oh, about 45 miles from here. Part of me wants to wake him at 12:24 AM like I used to do before he was a surly teen, love him up and then give him his gifts.
Just after midnight, my beautiful, perfect son was born. Bright-eyed and completely interested in all the loving faces surrounding him. That was such a long time ago. It was yesterday, too.
Here's a little tidbit you never knew about him. Aside from a Gameboy Advance, Corey's never owned a gaming system. He's had to go to friends' houses or have them bring their systems to our place (or Grammy's, as the case may be). He's been saving up part of his allowance to get one. I checked into it. Turns out, he's about 1/3 of the way there. Just for the freaking system. No games.
A week or so ago Corey decided he wanted to go to Medieval Times for his birthday. When you make a decision like that a week before your birthday AND said birthday is on a holiday weekend, chances are nil (as it turns out) that any of your friends will still be available. Or your favorite cousin.
Tom and I would have gone with him alone, but that wasn't cool enough, apparently. So he's requested dinner at Claim Jumper. Now that place can be expensive, but it's got nothing on a dinner show for five people. So all of the money we aren't spending at Medieval Times is going toward an XBox 360.
I told Corey that all the local stores are out of stock right now.
I checked on Amazon.com and we can get a used one (you should have seen the wrinkled nose!!) for $100 less than retail, and it can be here on Tuesday. Or we can get a new one shipped to us from Best Buy and it'll be here in 10 days.
I told him I didn't know if that's 10 days from today or 10 days from tomorrow (what, with today being a holiday and all) or even 10 days from Monday, since a lot of places aren't open on Sundays.
Shall we start counting the lies? I, who never lie to my son, even when the truth really hurts have told no fewer than half a dozen lies over the course of the day today.
I mean, the online ordering stuff is true. Except that I do know the one from Best Buy would arrive on the 14th. Other lies of the day include:
- "I'm not going to Target."
- "We're not getting it today."
- "I don't know if you can get Halo2, too, just yet."
I can't wait for tomorrow even more than he can't wait. My quandary is this: Do we give him the gifts in the morning and lose him to the TV all day? Or wait until we're at the restaurant? Which is... oh, about 45 miles from here. Part of me wants to wake him at 12:24 AM like I used to do before he was a surly teen, love him up and then give him his gifts.
Tuesday, June 30, 2009
Stupid Stick
Today I got hit with the stupid stick. Repeatedly. And hard. Below is just part of the many things that went awry.
First, a little background: Normally, I don't work summers. Or, to be exact, I work one day a month in July and August to protect my benefits. Before you get all, Oh it must be nice!, remember that those "days off" are reflected in my paycheck. This year I am working Tuesdays and Thursdays in July and August. Nancy is sticking with the we-don't-DO-summers plan (oh sure, she says it's because of Ken... ahem... okay, it's because of Ken).
Because it's summer school, the kids are only available for a shortened day. Also, I'm down to about half of my classes. Of those, not everybody is ready yet.
I've got a buttload of jobs waiting to be done. Big jobs. Short turnaround times.
So my sense of urgency was already heightened. Add to that the employer who was giving jobs to two classes today couldn't get their stuff ready until after 10:30.
Once I had the first job and was heading out to Chino, another employer called. She was desperate. I stopped on the way.
After getting the second job from the first employer, another class called. She had paperwork ready. She wanted work. She was desperate for something to do with the kids since her class had been "grounded" by the department head.
I stopped and gave Desperate Teacher the job from Desperate Employer. Then I was on to the "second" class. Their day was almost over. They'd been looking for me for almost two hours.
At that school I had to drive my personal vehicle onto campus. Because of construction, I had to go about a quarter of a mile out of my way to get in and to get out.
This is relevant, why?
Because half a mile is about how far I was from the nearest gas station when my car display started flashing, "Pull over safely now. Pull over safely now." And then it died.
Sure, my car has a gas gauge.
And yeah, it was showing, "60 miles from E" when I left home this morning.
Mm-hmm, it is about 45 miles from my door to Grandma's.
And yeah, that first school in Chino and the one at the end of the day are roughly 28 miles apart if I go straight from one to the other.
So there I sat in my hybrid on the side of the road, calling roadside assistance through my cell phone company.
"Yes ma'am, how can I help you today?"
"I need the stupid service, please"
Clearly nervous about heading in the wrong direction: "Uh. You... you me... you mean you need yoouurrr... keys... your... uh... car... unlocked?"
Pondering the fact that there are a multitude of stupid services and wondering how long before I try them all... again: "No. I need gas. I have a hybrid and I ran out of gas anyway. And it has a display to tell you exactly how many miles until you're on E."
Not sure why I always have to make sure the person on the other end knows the depth of my idiocraty (yep, now I'm making my own stupid words, too), but I do.
Apparently I was contagious, because she contacted a service company that was about 30 miles away.
While waiting, I rolled my windows down only part way because I needed to make a bunch of calls. Some work-related. One to Mom to see if she could get Corey to his counseling appointment at 2:45.
Once the seven minutes of electric power turned off after the car died, I couldn't get the windows down any further. It was 95 degrees outside and I was stuck on a major thoroughfare in a no parking zone.
When the guy finally arrived in all the glory of his seven hairs and three teeth, he asked, "So, the gauge not working on that thing?"
"Nope. It's fine. I just got hit with the stupid stick."
"Huh?"
"Yes, exactly."
When I finally dragged myself back to my office this afternoon, I passed by a conversation in progress between my boss and someone else.
My boss said, "She has doctor's appointments! Three of them!"
I breezed by saying, "And they're all mental health, too. What do you expect? I've got a teen, a toddler, a puppy and a new house. I'm doing the best I can, people!"
Next up was the reason I even went to the office in the first place. Mileage for June had to be submitted today because it's the end of the fiscal year. Last month's mileage was my biggest ever. We can really use that money right now.
But apparently we'll have to wait, because I noticed that I didn't change my entire address on the mileage form. Everything is correct except the street name. Guh!
As I was trying to resolve the mileage problem, my cell phone kept ringing. The second time it was Mom, I answered it.
"I just got a call from Corey. He's already almost done. His appointment wasn't at 2:45, it was at 2:15."
So the good news is this: I got my car washed. I made it through the day. And I am off tomorrow! Yay hooray!
First, a little background: Normally, I don't work summers. Or, to be exact, I work one day a month in July and August to protect my benefits. Before you get all, Oh it must be nice!, remember that those "days off" are reflected in my paycheck. This year I am working Tuesdays and Thursdays in July and August. Nancy is sticking with the we-don't-DO-summers plan (oh sure, she says it's because of Ken... ahem... okay, it's because of Ken).
Because it's summer school, the kids are only available for a shortened day. Also, I'm down to about half of my classes. Of those, not everybody is ready yet.
I've got a buttload of jobs waiting to be done. Big jobs. Short turnaround times.
So my sense of urgency was already heightened. Add to that the employer who was giving jobs to two classes today couldn't get their stuff ready until after 10:30.
Once I had the first job and was heading out to Chino, another employer called. She was desperate. I stopped on the way.
After getting the second job from the first employer, another class called. She had paperwork ready. She wanted work. She was desperate for something to do with the kids since her class had been "grounded" by the department head.
I stopped and gave Desperate Teacher the job from Desperate Employer. Then I was on to the "second" class. Their day was almost over. They'd been looking for me for almost two hours.
At that school I had to drive my personal vehicle onto campus. Because of construction, I had to go about a quarter of a mile out of my way to get in and to get out.
This is relevant, why?
Because half a mile is about how far I was from the nearest gas station when my car display started flashing, "Pull over safely now. Pull over safely now." And then it died.
Sure, my car has a gas gauge.
And yeah, it was showing, "60 miles from E" when I left home this morning.
Mm-hmm, it is about 45 miles from my door to Grandma's.
And yeah, that first school in Chino and the one at the end of the day are roughly 28 miles apart if I go straight from one to the other.
So there I sat in my hybrid on the side of the road, calling roadside assistance through my cell phone company.
"Yes ma'am, how can I help you today?"
"I need the stupid service, please"
Clearly nervous about heading in the wrong direction: "Uh. You... you me... you mean you need yoouurrr... keys... your... uh... car... unlocked?"
Pondering the fact that there are a multitude of stupid services and wondering how long before I try them all... again: "No. I need gas. I have a hybrid and I ran out of gas anyway. And it has a display to tell you exactly how many miles until you're on E."
Not sure why I always have to make sure the person on the other end knows the depth of my idiocraty (yep, now I'm making my own stupid words, too), but I do.
Apparently I was contagious, because she contacted a service company that was about 30 miles away.
While waiting, I rolled my windows down only part way because I needed to make a bunch of calls. Some work-related. One to Mom to see if she could get Corey to his counseling appointment at 2:45.
Once the seven minutes of electric power turned off after the car died, I couldn't get the windows down any further. It was 95 degrees outside and I was stuck on a major thoroughfare in a no parking zone.
When the guy finally arrived in all the glory of his seven hairs and three teeth, he asked, "So, the gauge not working on that thing?"
"Nope. It's fine. I just got hit with the stupid stick."
"Huh?"
"Yes, exactly."
When I finally dragged myself back to my office this afternoon, I passed by a conversation in progress between my boss and someone else.
My boss said, "She has doctor's appointments! Three of them!"
I breezed by saying, "And they're all mental health, too. What do you expect? I've got a teen, a toddler, a puppy and a new house. I'm doing the best I can, people!"
Next up was the reason I even went to the office in the first place. Mileage for June had to be submitted today because it's the end of the fiscal year. Last month's mileage was my biggest ever. We can really use that money right now.
But apparently we'll have to wait, because I noticed that I didn't change my entire address on the mileage form. Everything is correct except the street name. Guh!
As I was trying to resolve the mileage problem, my cell phone kept ringing. The second time it was Mom, I answered it.
"I just got a call from Corey. He's already almost done. His appointment wasn't at 2:45, it was at 2:15."
So the good news is this: I got my car washed. I made it through the day. And I am off tomorrow! Yay hooray!
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Any Reason to Gamble
After we had the ultrasound, it became clear that we were no closer to understanding when Baby would be arriving. It was yet another thing that was so different compared to being pregnant with Corey. With him, I went to the doctor, told him my last period and was given a due date. Around four months-ish we had the one and only ultrasound, which moved the date back three weeks! I came as close to hyperventilating over that as I ever have, but ultimately, it was correct. Corey was due on July 4, 1993 and at 12:30 A.M. on the 4th, I went into labor. He was 24 minutes late, but seriously, he needed to have his own birthday.
Our next appointment with the OB was something out of a sitcom. I kept listening for the laugh track. He pulled out a calendar and started throwing out random dates. Some of them would have required my getting pregnant while on my period... and let me tell you, that did not happen. Eventually Doc settled on April 13, 2008.
Yeah, the age difference still shocks me, too. Here's what it looked like about two months ago:
We collected all of the potential due dates and mixed in the fact that we weren't finding out if "It" was a boy or a girl. Then we made a chart and started taking wagers. Five dollars got you a date and gender combination. Winner takes all. Forty-eight people wagered, but more on that later.
Our next appointment with the OB was something out of a sitcom. I kept listening for the laugh track. He pulled out a calendar and started throwing out random dates. Some of them would have required my getting pregnant while on my period... and let me tell you, that did not happen. Eventually Doc settled on April 13, 2008.
Yeah, the age difference still shocks me, too. Here's what it looked like about two months ago:
We collected all of the potential due dates and mixed in the fact that we weren't finding out if "It" was a boy or a girl. Then we made a chart and started taking wagers. Five dollars got you a date and gender combination. Winner takes all. Forty-eight people wagered, but more on that later.
Friday, June 19, 2009
How Not To Have a Great Day
I got about three and a half hours of sleep last night. I probably only got that much because I went to bed early with a stomach ache. When Tom came to bed, I thought it was the crack of dawn and that he was getting up for work. I was wide awake. So I came down here to mess around for a little while. Four hours later I returned to bed in time for his alarm to go off. Three times. Worrying about missing my own alarm made it impossible to get back to sleep.
Corey, Mad and I managed to get out early enough for a stop at Starbucks before heading down the hill. And since there were no blinding blankets of fog in the pass, I even got to work about 35 minutes earlier than I'd anticipated.
The next three and a half hours were spent in a podcast training. By lunch some of the people had the software installed (step three out of about 117 on the agenda). As a rambling sort of speaker, I understand what was happening to the instructor, but great googly moogly! St. Fu, dude, St. Fu!
When I finally left the building to find lunch, I was on my own. I used some of that time to check in with Nance because Van Halen's "Jump" had just come on the radio. Ken loves Van Halen. He used to work with one of the brothers... a bazillion years or so ago.
Nancy has begun making a lot of the decisions that are going to come up over the next month or so. One of them being, "What songs do I put on the CD with the photos that will be shown at Ken's memorial once he passes?" My point had been that he should get some Van Halen, even if he's not going to "be there"... and yes, even if Nancy isn't the fan that Ken is. I tried to get her to put in "Hot for Teacher" since she does work in education. I was kidding. But what about Jump?! Isn't that sort of what he's doing here? Jumping from one plane to the next?
Why yes he is... and Nancy is having it as the last song.
In a heartbreaking way, my choosing this song for them is akin to the fact that Nancy chose the song that Tom and I danced to at our wedding: Celine Salon's "At Last." No joking when I say that Tom and I would have wagered any of our worldly possessions against the idea that Celine Dion would even get air time at our wedding, let alone be featured that way. We did searches for any version of At Last other than hers. Etta's? Too scratchy. Cyndi Lauper's? Guh! What the hell was that?!? Some no-name person I can't remember? Can't remember what was wrong with her version either... maybe that's the point. Nope, it had to be Celine. It has to be Van Halen.
***It occurs to me now that a post I thought I'd made earlier never really happened. So here's a brief update before I continue:
The other day Nancy called to tell me that Ken had taken a turn for the worse after our visit last Saturday night. I went to see him one afternoon this week. It worked out best for us all that I got there before Nancy and left when she arrived. Ken and I had deeper conversations than we ever have... probably than I've ever had with anybody, really. He was in so much pain and he let me call the nurse to get something for it (he was up in a chair and couldn't reach the button). A couple of times he mentioned how tired he was and that he just had to get stronger. I looked right at him, but he didn't make much eye contact during those moments. But boy did he get a little spark every time he said, "But I'm not quitting. I'm not giving up!" I told him I could see that in his eyes.
Ken said quietly that all the decisions had been made. My hearing's not excellent and despite the situation, it was out of context, so it took me a minute to grasp what he was saying. I just nodded. I told him that he has a lot of people who love him and who are praying for him. He nodded rather enthusiastically and said, "I know. It's a good thing too, it's the only hope I have right now."
It's times like these that I really wish I had a faith in something more than human abilities.
I really wanted to say so many things to Ken: Nancy will be okay no matter what happens. People around her will not let her hit the ground, we will lift her up no matter what happens. You will be okay, no matter what happens.
It does seem too much like telling someone that it's okay to die... when I don't have the right to give any sort of permission like that. But I wanted him to know... Nancy will be okay.
I didn't bring her up, but Ken did. He kept saying he doesn't want her to have to go through this.
"Yeah, well she feels the same way about you, ya know."
And then... somehow... I was able to say what seemed so important.
"You know, Ken, Nancy also has a lot of people who love her and who'll take care of her."
"I know. I know she does. Please keep an eye on her. I know you will. You do. You and a lot of people."
In the fog of the moment, I can't really remember if he asked me to promise or not. I just know that I did.
Somewhere in there, Nance called to say that she and Robin were almost there. They were taking my parking space because City of Hope is kind of a madhouse when it comes to parking.
So I gave Ken a couple of hugs and kisses through the mask I wore and promised, also, that I'd see him again.
It seems that I will have to be back out there very soon. Probably Monday.
When I spoke with Nance this afternoon she told me that she and their son, Kenny, met with the doctor. Her six year old granddaughter was in the car, so she had to be quite vague, but it seems that the main thing keeping Ken alive right now is the extreme frequency of blood and platelet transfusions. They aren't enough and he's losing the fight.
Kenny is getting married in August. Did I mention that already? He just got engaged a couple of weeks ago and asked Ken to be his best man. Ken won't be there. They're holding a commitment ceremony on Sunday in Ken's room. I guess the next day the doctor will talk with Ken about ending the transfusions.
How does a person... or a team of people in this case... decide which one will be the last? I can't express how relieved I am not to be part of that team. I do understand why it's the best thing for Ken... and probably Nancy... but I'm still... relieved.
One of the things I did after visiting Ken the other day was to contact someone from a local hospice agency that Nance and I work with through our program at work. I went there seeking guidance. How do you help the friend who knows she's too independent for her own good at times?
"What can I do for her? I can see that she's created a protective wall around herself and I don't want to be pushy, but I want her to know I'm her for anything she needs."
"The easiset and the hardest advice is to just be the best 'you' you can be."
"I can do that... my role with Nance has always been to make her laugh. It's not as easy as it once was, but sometimes I can pull it off without being too slapstick."
"Tell her she's doing a good job."
Today I got to tell her. It was all I could do to keep myself together and get the words out so she could hear them. I managed it. Barely. Long enough to get off the phone.
By then there were about 15 minutes before training resumed. I had a mini break-down on the balcony, pulled myself together as best I could and went back to the computer lab. A room full of people who know Nance and know what's going on. One woman saw my red nose and asked, "Shannon, have you heard anything more from Nancy?"
All I could do was put my hands up to stop the words from coming out of her mouth. Nothing was coming out of mine. I looked down and started to log in, but felt the tears coming hot and heavy, so I got up and left. And left my purse in there. I thought about texting one of my friends to bring it out, but of course my cell was in there, too. After nearly 20 minutes hiding in an alcove at the end of a hall, I made my way to my desk.
Since I did have other jobs I could do out of the office, I called one of the secretaries and asked her to go get it for me.
"I won't be disrupting them if I go in there right now?"
"Yes, a little, but not as much as I will if I go in there." Yeah, make it sound like I had a hissy fit or something. Way to go. "I'll explain when you get here."
Instead of the secretary, the woman who brought my purse was the one who had asked. We hugged and had a little talk before I sent her back in and headed off to finish up what has turned out to be pretty high on the list of saddest days ever.
Corey, Mad and I managed to get out early enough for a stop at Starbucks before heading down the hill. And since there were no blinding blankets of fog in the pass, I even got to work about 35 minutes earlier than I'd anticipated.
The next three and a half hours were spent in a podcast training. By lunch some of the people had the software installed (step three out of about 117 on the agenda). As a rambling sort of speaker, I understand what was happening to the instructor, but great googly moogly! St. Fu, dude, St. Fu!
When I finally left the building to find lunch, I was on my own. I used some of that time to check in with Nance because Van Halen's "Jump" had just come on the radio. Ken loves Van Halen. He used to work with one of the brothers... a bazillion years or so ago.
Nancy has begun making a lot of the decisions that are going to come up over the next month or so. One of them being, "What songs do I put on the CD with the photos that will be shown at Ken's memorial once he passes?" My point had been that he should get some Van Halen, even if he's not going to "be there"... and yes, even if Nancy isn't the fan that Ken is. I tried to get her to put in "Hot for Teacher" since she does work in education. I was kidding. But what about Jump?! Isn't that sort of what he's doing here? Jumping from one plane to the next?
Why yes he is... and Nancy is having it as the last song.
In a heartbreaking way, my choosing this song for them is akin to the fact that Nancy chose the song that Tom and I danced to at our wedding: Celine Salon's "At Last." No joking when I say that Tom and I would have wagered any of our worldly possessions against the idea that Celine Dion would even get air time at our wedding, let alone be featured that way. We did searches for any version of At Last other than hers. Etta's? Too scratchy. Cyndi Lauper's? Guh! What the hell was that?!? Some no-name person I can't remember? Can't remember what was wrong with her version either... maybe that's the point. Nope, it had to be Celine. It has to be Van Halen.
***It occurs to me now that a post I thought I'd made earlier never really happened. So here's a brief update before I continue:
The other day Nancy called to tell me that Ken had taken a turn for the worse after our visit last Saturday night. I went to see him one afternoon this week. It worked out best for us all that I got there before Nancy and left when she arrived. Ken and I had deeper conversations than we ever have... probably than I've ever had with anybody, really. He was in so much pain and he let me call the nurse to get something for it (he was up in a chair and couldn't reach the button). A couple of times he mentioned how tired he was and that he just had to get stronger. I looked right at him, but he didn't make much eye contact during those moments. But boy did he get a little spark every time he said, "But I'm not quitting. I'm not giving up!" I told him I could see that in his eyes.
Ken said quietly that all the decisions had been made. My hearing's not excellent and despite the situation, it was out of context, so it took me a minute to grasp what he was saying. I just nodded. I told him that he has a lot of people who love him and who are praying for him. He nodded rather enthusiastically and said, "I know. It's a good thing too, it's the only hope I have right now."
It's times like these that I really wish I had a faith in something more than human abilities.
I really wanted to say so many things to Ken: Nancy will be okay no matter what happens. People around her will not let her hit the ground, we will lift her up no matter what happens. You will be okay, no matter what happens.
It does seem too much like telling someone that it's okay to die... when I don't have the right to give any sort of permission like that. But I wanted him to know... Nancy will be okay.
I didn't bring her up, but Ken did. He kept saying he doesn't want her to have to go through this.
"Yeah, well she feels the same way about you, ya know."
And then... somehow... I was able to say what seemed so important.
"You know, Ken, Nancy also has a lot of people who love her and who'll take care of her."
"I know. I know she does. Please keep an eye on her. I know you will. You do. You and a lot of people."
In the fog of the moment, I can't really remember if he asked me to promise or not. I just know that I did.
Somewhere in there, Nance called to say that she and Robin were almost there. They were taking my parking space because City of Hope is kind of a madhouse when it comes to parking.
So I gave Ken a couple of hugs and kisses through the mask I wore and promised, also, that I'd see him again.
It seems that I will have to be back out there very soon. Probably Monday.
When I spoke with Nance this afternoon she told me that she and their son, Kenny, met with the doctor. Her six year old granddaughter was in the car, so she had to be quite vague, but it seems that the main thing keeping Ken alive right now is the extreme frequency of blood and platelet transfusions. They aren't enough and he's losing the fight.
Kenny is getting married in August. Did I mention that already? He just got engaged a couple of weeks ago and asked Ken to be his best man. Ken won't be there. They're holding a commitment ceremony on Sunday in Ken's room. I guess the next day the doctor will talk with Ken about ending the transfusions.
How does a person... or a team of people in this case... decide which one will be the last? I can't express how relieved I am not to be part of that team. I do understand why it's the best thing for Ken... and probably Nancy... but I'm still... relieved.
One of the things I did after visiting Ken the other day was to contact someone from a local hospice agency that Nance and I work with through our program at work. I went there seeking guidance. How do you help the friend who knows she's too independent for her own good at times?
"What can I do for her? I can see that she's created a protective wall around herself and I don't want to be pushy, but I want her to know I'm her for anything she needs."
"The easiset and the hardest advice is to just be the best 'you' you can be."
"I can do that... my role with Nance has always been to make her laugh. It's not as easy as it once was, but sometimes I can pull it off without being too slapstick."
"Tell her she's doing a good job."
Today I got to tell her. It was all I could do to keep myself together and get the words out so she could hear them. I managed it. Barely. Long enough to get off the phone.
By then there were about 15 minutes before training resumed. I had a mini break-down on the balcony, pulled myself together as best I could and went back to the computer lab. A room full of people who know Nance and know what's going on. One woman saw my red nose and asked, "Shannon, have you heard anything more from Nancy?"
All I could do was put my hands up to stop the words from coming out of her mouth. Nothing was coming out of mine. I looked down and started to log in, but felt the tears coming hot and heavy, so I got up and left. And left my purse in there. I thought about texting one of my friends to bring it out, but of course my cell was in there, too. After nearly 20 minutes hiding in an alcove at the end of a hall, I made my way to my desk.
Since I did have other jobs I could do out of the office, I called one of the secretaries and asked her to go get it for me.
"I won't be disrupting them if I go in there right now?"
"Yes, a little, but not as much as I will if I go in there." Yeah, make it sound like I had a hissy fit or something. Way to go. "I'll explain when you get here."
Instead of the secretary, the woman who brought my purse was the one who had asked. We hugged and had a little talk before I sent her back in and headed off to finish up what has turned out to be pretty high on the list of saddest days ever.
Monday, June 15, 2009
We Interrupt This Story For a Trip to Vegas
Yeah, baby, yeah! A trip to Vegas with Tom's best friend, Joel and his wife, Sharon. Joel's sister and brother-in-law, Karen and Bob (?... Bill? I really should know this since we're back), rounded out the group.
We were both pretty excited to be having our first overnight trip without children since being pregnant. Neither of us could wait!!
Okay, really the conversations went more like this:
(A week before the mini vacay) "What do you mean you paid for it now instead of just making a reservation?!? I paid extra bills this week so we'll be free and clear next week."
(Two days before) "They're not leaving Vegas until that afternoon?! So what time do you see us leaving? Two or three?!?!?! We'll be driving all night!!
Ugh! I can be so freaking whiney.
(The day before) "Listen, I know I'm turning into some sort of cranky old person and it's gotta stop. We can stay until they're at the airport. I mean, really, how often do these chances come up? Right?"
Thank god I can pull it together in a pinch.
One thing I'd used in my arguments for moving to this area is that we are 45 minutes closer to Vegas. Of course that's a damn lie if the grandparents are watching the kids and the dog at two separate houses back down the hill. In reality, we are an additional hour and a half away from Vegas. Thursday morning Tom and I were up well before the butt-crack of dawn and halfway down the hill before daylight. Kids and puppy were dropped off, the car was fueled up and away we went.
We had conversations (yeah... with an S) almost the whole way up. Tom had loaded up some CDs to listen to and we didn't even put one in until we hit state line. And then the one he chose was something he'd brought of mine!
The room was great, the bed was comfortable, the view was of the pool and Eiffel Tower at the Paris. Sharon and Joel were lots of fun. Everything was all hoohoolala until we met up with Karen and Bob (I'm going with Bob unless I hear otherwise). Seriousness presides over the blackjack table, dontcha know.
I'm not a gambler, and paying for the room in advance really did a number on our finances because of the bills I'd also paid, so throwing money at a game I rarely play isn't my gig. But I did have a great time hanging out with Tom and Joel. There wasn't a lot of conversation, and I didn't want to start any and ruin someone's concentration. Sharon was off playing slots and Bob (?) was doing his own thing.
Karen seemed okay at first, but then it turned out that almost every time I said or did anything, she sneered. Talk about a killjoy. I even took a picture of the group as we waited to go upstairs for dinner and she sneered then, too. It's photographic evidence, but I'd rather be able to wonder if I was imagining things. I understand making judgements about people and that we all get to choose our friends, etc. But what the hell? Have a little class; at least try to be subtle! Tom says that Karen doesn't seem to get him either, and that Karen and Joel's mom always gives the sense of disapproval or disappointment.
And what's with stating that "dinner will be casual, right? No getting dressed up," (exactly... we're going to Margaritaville) and then going up to her room and putting on a shiny blouse and heels?!? Tom said, "Maybe she didn't think she was dressed up."
Oh please. She's a woman. She knows the rules!
I was telling my sign class about her and gave her a name sign that clearly demonstrated my thoughts about her. The topic of that segment was "people who irritate you." Next week we'll balance things out by talking about people who enrich us. The anti-Karens, if you will.
Aside from Karen, the trip was a lot of fun. No, we didn't win any money; we lost it, but no more than we'd allotted. Madelyn got a cool train made of wooden blocks from FAO Schwarz (outlet?... not sure, but I was kind of disappointed in the selection) and Corey got an outfit from the Gap. The parents got thank yous in the form of candles and bath stuff. Can you tell I'm not really into the tourist crap? Happy me that Sharon loves to shop more than she loves to play the slots.
The trip home was equally fabulous. Tom and I have decided that I should drive to our vacations (when I'm all perky) and he should drive home (when he's trying to delay the inevitable). It worked really well.
Saturday evening we went out to City of Hope to see Ken. I figured I'd go alone, but Tom wanted to go, too, so we all went after Mad's (latest ending) nap (ever! naturally). He was readmitted about 10 days ago. In the span of less than 24 hours the leukemia was deemed to be present again (along with pneumonia) and had gone from 10% to 17%. His white cells are at 1 (I believe that means 1000, with normal being 140,000). The course of action now is comfort and finding a non-home hospice service.
Most of our hospices here are in-home. Nance has already cared for her mother-in-law through her death from cancer and neither she or Ken are especially eager to make her go through it again.
Their son is recently engaged and planning an August wedding. The doctor has asked the family to consider moving the date up. In the meantime, a commitment ceremony will be held on Father's Day at the hospital.
Is there any good news? Well, for some reason, Ken looks really great. He's gained 15 pounds since being there. Nance said it's because of IV fluids and steroids, and that it's harder to reconcile the fact that he might not be here in two weeks to a month because of how good he looks. Yeah, he's weak and shaky, but he sounds like himself. And his goatee is growing in dark instead of white like it would have before the chemo. So in a weird way, he looks younger, not at all old and gaunt like I'd expected.
Part of me... an embarrassingly large part... seems to be emotionally sheltered. I guess this is what denial feels like.
I have to say that I'm proud of Corey for going up to visit Ken. Madelyn couldn't even be on that floor. Tom and I figured we'd take turns hanging out with the kids, but Corey went up with me and even spoke!
Rounding out our weekend, we went and saw Rent last night. My niece performed with her high school drama group. It was closing night and everybody'd been fighting something, from fever and nausea to sore throats. Sarah and her classmates did an amazing job. There were one or two times when it seemed apparent that someone's voice might not make it, but they always recovered. I am not being biased when I say that Sarah was one of the best, most consistent performers. The play was very well done... I really did laugh and cry. Twice. And I wasn't alone.
And it wasn't the sort of crying Corey used to do when I'd try to sing him to sleep, "No song, wahhh!" I'd switch to humming and get a sobbing, "No hmm-hmm!!" It's clear that Sara does not get her voice from me, lucky girl. If I get any videos, I'll post them here. I took several photos with my expensive camera that I can't stand (the feelings are mutual, trust me). Almost all are blurry.
We were all curious about how "bad" the play would be, considering the subject matter. The only negative that any of us came up with was from Corey, "I couldn't watch Sarah dance like that. I had to avert my eyes." Honestly, I'm not sure what he was talking about. It wasn't like plays at my high school, but it wasn't outside the bounds of decency to me.
I know. Look who's talking.
So, many late nights and lots of highs and lows. But it was a good weekend. I wish it could have gone on a little longer.
We were both pretty excited to be having our first overnight trip without children since being pregnant. Neither of us could wait!!
Okay, really the conversations went more like this:
(A week before the mini vacay) "What do you mean you paid for it now instead of just making a reservation?!? I paid extra bills this week so we'll be free and clear next week."
(Two days before) "They're not leaving Vegas until that afternoon?! So what time do you see us leaving? Two or three?!?!?! We'll be driving all night!!
Ugh! I can be so freaking whiney.
(The day before) "Listen, I know I'm turning into some sort of cranky old person and it's gotta stop. We can stay until they're at the airport. I mean, really, how often do these chances come up? Right?"
Thank god I can pull it together in a pinch.
One thing I'd used in my arguments for moving to this area is that we are 45 minutes closer to Vegas. Of course that's a damn lie if the grandparents are watching the kids and the dog at two separate houses back down the hill. In reality, we are an additional hour and a half away from Vegas. Thursday morning Tom and I were up well before the butt-crack of dawn and halfway down the hill before daylight. Kids and puppy were dropped off, the car was fueled up and away we went.
We had conversations (yeah... with an S) almost the whole way up. Tom had loaded up some CDs to listen to and we didn't even put one in until we hit state line. And then the one he chose was something he'd brought of mine!
The room was great, the bed was comfortable, the view was of the pool and Eiffel Tower at the Paris. Sharon and Joel were lots of fun. Everything was all hoohoolala until we met up with Karen and Bob (I'm going with Bob unless I hear otherwise). Seriousness presides over the blackjack table, dontcha know.
I'm not a gambler, and paying for the room in advance really did a number on our finances because of the bills I'd also paid, so throwing money at a game I rarely play isn't my gig. But I did have a great time hanging out with Tom and Joel. There wasn't a lot of conversation, and I didn't want to start any and ruin someone's concentration. Sharon was off playing slots and Bob (?) was doing his own thing.
Karen seemed okay at first, but then it turned out that almost every time I said or did anything, she sneered. Talk about a killjoy. I even took a picture of the group as we waited to go upstairs for dinner and she sneered then, too. It's photographic evidence, but I'd rather be able to wonder if I was imagining things. I understand making judgements about people and that we all get to choose our friends, etc. But what the hell? Have a little class; at least try to be subtle! Tom says that Karen doesn't seem to get him either, and that Karen and Joel's mom always gives the sense of disapproval or disappointment.
And what's with stating that "dinner will be casual, right? No getting dressed up," (exactly... we're going to Margaritaville) and then going up to her room and putting on a shiny blouse and heels?!? Tom said, "Maybe she didn't think she was dressed up."
Oh please. She's a woman. She knows the rules!
I was telling my sign class about her and gave her a name sign that clearly demonstrated my thoughts about her. The topic of that segment was "people who irritate you." Next week we'll balance things out by talking about people who enrich us. The anti-Karens, if you will.
Aside from Karen, the trip was a lot of fun. No, we didn't win any money; we lost it, but no more than we'd allotted. Madelyn got a cool train made of wooden blocks from FAO Schwarz (outlet?... not sure, but I was kind of disappointed in the selection) and Corey got an outfit from the Gap. The parents got thank yous in the form of candles and bath stuff. Can you tell I'm not really into the tourist crap? Happy me that Sharon loves to shop more than she loves to play the slots.
The trip home was equally fabulous. Tom and I have decided that I should drive to our vacations (when I'm all perky) and he should drive home (when he's trying to delay the inevitable). It worked really well.
Saturday evening we went out to City of Hope to see Ken. I figured I'd go alone, but Tom wanted to go, too, so we all went after Mad's (latest ending) nap (ever! naturally). He was readmitted about 10 days ago. In the span of less than 24 hours the leukemia was deemed to be present again (along with pneumonia) and had gone from 10% to 17%. His white cells are at 1 (I believe that means 1000, with normal being 140,000). The course of action now is comfort and finding a non-home hospice service.
Most of our hospices here are in-home. Nance has already cared for her mother-in-law through her death from cancer and neither she or Ken are especially eager to make her go through it again.
Their son is recently engaged and planning an August wedding. The doctor has asked the family to consider moving the date up. In the meantime, a commitment ceremony will be held on Father's Day at the hospital.
Is there any good news? Well, for some reason, Ken looks really great. He's gained 15 pounds since being there. Nance said it's because of IV fluids and steroids, and that it's harder to reconcile the fact that he might not be here in two weeks to a month because of how good he looks. Yeah, he's weak and shaky, but he sounds like himself. And his goatee is growing in dark instead of white like it would have before the chemo. So in a weird way, he looks younger, not at all old and gaunt like I'd expected.
Part of me... an embarrassingly large part... seems to be emotionally sheltered. I guess this is what denial feels like.
I have to say that I'm proud of Corey for going up to visit Ken. Madelyn couldn't even be on that floor. Tom and I figured we'd take turns hanging out with the kids, but Corey went up with me and even spoke!
Rounding out our weekend, we went and saw Rent last night. My niece performed with her high school drama group. It was closing night and everybody'd been fighting something, from fever and nausea to sore throats. Sarah and her classmates did an amazing job. There were one or two times when it seemed apparent that someone's voice might not make it, but they always recovered. I am not being biased when I say that Sarah was one of the best, most consistent performers. The play was very well done... I really did laugh and cry. Twice. And I wasn't alone.
And it wasn't the sort of crying Corey used to do when I'd try to sing him to sleep, "No song, wahhh!" I'd switch to humming and get a sobbing, "No hmm-hmm!!" It's clear that Sara does not get her voice from me, lucky girl. If I get any videos, I'll post them here. I took several photos with my expensive camera that I can't stand (the feelings are mutual, trust me). Almost all are blurry.
We were all curious about how "bad" the play would be, considering the subject matter. The only negative that any of us came up with was from Corey, "I couldn't watch Sarah dance like that. I had to avert my eyes." Honestly, I'm not sure what he was talking about. It wasn't like plays at my high school, but it wasn't outside the bounds of decency to me.
I know. Look who's talking.
So, many late nights and lots of highs and lows. But it was a good weekend. I wish it could have gone on a little longer.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Ultrasound
Early in November, 2007 we had the ultrasound. I brought Corey with me, but he absolutely did not want to go in and see anything. Tom was supposed to meet us there. He hadn't missed a single doctor appointment, but I had a sense that this was about to change. It annoyed me that his job seemed to have a greater hold on him than the chance to see our baby looking like a human for the first time. I mean, it had been months since we'd last seen the little bean/peanut with a heartbeat!
Each of those (three) early ultrasounds generated a different due date. Add to that the original doctor's date and our current doctor's guesstimate and we could only be sure that the baby was coming sometime in April. We'd already thrown out our due date guess because we didn't understand that "40 weeks" really means 38 weeks. So one of the things we were really hoping to do was get the due date to end all the guessing.
Sure enough, when I arrived there was no Tom. After getting called back immediately, I took as much time as I could with getting changed. But really, how long could it take? The technician took me into a very cold room. She offered to turn the air off if I needed it, but said the machine made the room extremely warm. During pregnancy I will always choose cold over hot.
I explained that my husband was allegedly right around the corner.
***I tend to use the word allegedly with a sarcastic bent. Sometimes I count on people not realizing this so I can vent. I don't care at that point if they can just think I'm too wordy.
She said she'd "just take the measurements and then we'll bring him in for the fun stuff." The measurements took a long time. Maybe 45 minutes or so. The baby was clearly on Dad's side when it came to revealing its sex. Although I was mostly rapt with the parts of my baby ("there's the spine... that's right, Baby, you've got a backbone and you're going to use it!"), part of me was watching the clock, wondering where Tom was. About 20 minutes in I got a call saying that Tom had arrived. I was more than a little peeved by then, because I knew that he not only stayed a little too long at work, but he took side streets instead of the freeway. ("Dude, when you're leaving at 2:30 in the afternoon, the freeways are okay. No, really. Way better than that 25 mile per hour street with stoplights every 100 yards. Seriously. Try it sometime." Ugh! Do I sound like Kate Gosselin? I hope not, but jeez!)
Although I wasn't supposed to spy it, I saw on the monitor at the end that the estimated age was 18 weeks, 2 days. If that was accurate, we were looking at an April 4 due date. The technician wouldn't answer any questions about our due date exactly, but she did say that the early ultrasounds (before 12 weeks) are usually more accurate because babies don't all grow at the same rate, and that ultrasounds at this point can be off by as much as two weeks. She also wouldn't say if everything looked okay (which I knew she wouldn't but I had to ask anyway). She did say, "... but I can tell you that I was able to take a lot of accurate measurements for your doctor. He should get the results within 2-3 business days, and congratulations." I assumed (and hoped) that the "congratulations" part was code for, "Yes, of course everything is fine with that baby of yours. Have you met the parents?!? How could it be otherwise?"
Once all the measurements were done, Tom did get to come in for what amounted to about 10 minutes of viewing. Although we knew nothing about the baby's sex, I told the technician that I was going to lie. And I did. Or I tried. When he came in I said, "We found out what the baby is since you weren't here... oh, alright, we didn't." I'm not good at lying (not really a problem for me, as it happens), and I can't hold out for more than a few milliseconds when giving it a shot. I still feel kind of like a bitch for even trying, honestly.
So, we didn't find out the gender, we didn't know for sure that everything was A-OK (did I mention that I had a hard time trusting everything was going smoothly?) and we didn't even have a definite due date. In fact, now we had six potential due dates, ranging from April 4 to April 25.
Here's what we did find out. It was a toad. He or she was face down a lot of the time and looked to be on it's hands and knees, but the feet kept kicking around. We considered naming it Prince.
I'd post pictures, but we forgot to grab them from the technician before we left.
Each of those (three) early ultrasounds generated a different due date. Add to that the original doctor's date and our current doctor's guesstimate and we could only be sure that the baby was coming sometime in April. We'd already thrown out our due date guess because we didn't understand that "40 weeks" really means 38 weeks. So one of the things we were really hoping to do was get the due date to end all the guessing.
Sure enough, when I arrived there was no Tom. After getting called back immediately, I took as much time as I could with getting changed. But really, how long could it take? The technician took me into a very cold room. She offered to turn the air off if I needed it, but said the machine made the room extremely warm. During pregnancy I will always choose cold over hot.
I explained that my husband was allegedly right around the corner.
***I tend to use the word allegedly with a sarcastic bent. Sometimes I count on people not realizing this so I can vent. I don't care at that point if they can just think I'm too wordy.
She said she'd "just take the measurements and then we'll bring him in for the fun stuff." The measurements took a long time. Maybe 45 minutes or so. The baby was clearly on Dad's side when it came to revealing its sex. Although I was mostly rapt with the parts of my baby ("there's the spine... that's right, Baby, you've got a backbone and you're going to use it!"), part of me was watching the clock, wondering where Tom was. About 20 minutes in I got a call saying that Tom had arrived. I was more than a little peeved by then, because I knew that he not only stayed a little too long at work, but he took side streets instead of the freeway. ("Dude, when you're leaving at 2:30 in the afternoon, the freeways are okay. No, really. Way better than that 25 mile per hour street with stoplights every 100 yards. Seriously. Try it sometime." Ugh! Do I sound like Kate Gosselin? I hope not, but jeez!)
Although I wasn't supposed to spy it, I saw on the monitor at the end that the estimated age was 18 weeks, 2 days. If that was accurate, we were looking at an April 4 due date. The technician wouldn't answer any questions about our due date exactly, but she did say that the early ultrasounds (before 12 weeks) are usually more accurate because babies don't all grow at the same rate, and that ultrasounds at this point can be off by as much as two weeks. She also wouldn't say if everything looked okay (which I knew she wouldn't but I had to ask anyway). She did say, "... but I can tell you that I was able to take a lot of accurate measurements for your doctor. He should get the results within 2-3 business days, and congratulations." I assumed (and hoped) that the "congratulations" part was code for, "Yes, of course everything is fine with that baby of yours. Have you met the parents?!? How could it be otherwise?"
Once all the measurements were done, Tom did get to come in for what amounted to about 10 minutes of viewing. Although we knew nothing about the baby's sex, I told the technician that I was going to lie. And I did. Or I tried. When he came in I said, "We found out what the baby is since you weren't here... oh, alright, we didn't." I'm not good at lying (not really a problem for me, as it happens), and I can't hold out for more than a few milliseconds when giving it a shot. I still feel kind of like a bitch for even trying, honestly.
So, we didn't find out the gender, we didn't know for sure that everything was A-OK (did I mention that I had a hard time trusting everything was going smoothly?) and we didn't even have a definite due date. In fact, now we had six potential due dates, ranging from April 4 to April 25.
Here's what we did find out. It was a toad. He or she was face down a lot of the time and looked to be on it's hands and knees, but the feet kept kicking around. We considered naming it Prince.
I'd post pictures, but we forgot to grab them from the technician before we left.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
One Out of Three
Not long after we told our folks about our latest "project," the gifts started rolling in. The first was a gift card for Babies R Us from my dad and his wife. Now I was still six weeks or so from showing, so we hadn't even wrapped our brains around the shopping that lay ahead yet. I only knew that I didn't want to get caught up in all the you-need-this-and-10-of-those type stuff. Our place was too small for all but the absolute essentials plus, I'd had a baby before and remembered what had or hadn't worked so well.
If I remember correctly, we left Dad's and headed straight for the store anyway. No clue if we were having a boy or a girl. No intention (on Tom's part) of finding out when it was time for the ultrasound. No reason not to go look, right?
As we walked in, we talked about whether we thought the baby was a girl or a boy, and what we wanted. I had felt from the get-go that a girl was brewing... and I won't lie. I wanted a girl in a way that I could not have imagined daring to want when I was pregnant with Corey (whom I was pretty sure was a boy, by the way). I think that the miscarriages I'd suffered made me timid and grateful just to have a live baby en utero.
Tom wouldn't commit at that point to wanting a boy or a girl. He just pointed out that we had a 50/50 chance of a boy or a girl, and said that his work was done in that regard.
Corey asked what you called it when something was split three ways instead of two; what were the chances called then?
I said, "That'd be a 33/33/33, I guess."
Corey: "Well then I guess we have a 33% chance of having a boy. Or a girl. Or a hermaphrodite. Which is fine for me because then I'd get the brother and sister I've always wanted."
No matter what, this baby was already loved.
If I remember correctly, we left Dad's and headed straight for the store anyway. No clue if we were having a boy or a girl. No intention (on Tom's part) of finding out when it was time for the ultrasound. No reason not to go look, right?
As we walked in, we talked about whether we thought the baby was a girl or a boy, and what we wanted. I had felt from the get-go that a girl was brewing... and I won't lie. I wanted a girl in a way that I could not have imagined daring to want when I was pregnant with Corey (whom I was pretty sure was a boy, by the way). I think that the miscarriages I'd suffered made me timid and grateful just to have a live baby en utero.
Tom wouldn't commit at that point to wanting a boy or a girl. He just pointed out that we had a 50/50 chance of a boy or a girl, and said that his work was done in that regard.
Corey asked what you called it when something was split three ways instead of two; what were the chances called then?
I said, "That'd be a 33/33/33, I guess."
Corey: "Well then I guess we have a 33% chance of having a boy. Or a girl. Or a hermaphrodite. Which is fine for me because then I'd get the brother and sister I've always wanted."
No matter what, this baby was already loved.
Saturday, June 06, 2009
Pregnancy Brain
***This is from a post I'd made on my MySpace page in October of 2007.
In the last couple of weeks I have noticed that my memory isn't what it once was. I'm not saying it was great, but now it's not even up to my own low standards. This week I've been reading a lot about "pregnancy brain." It's basically the result of too many hormones floating around; keeping track of things and remembering stuff you'd usually remember becomes more difficult. I had a doctor tell me once that memory is the first thing to go when you get pregnant.
This is the thing I never had to deal with during my pregnancy with Corey that I'm having this time. Sort of like the flip side of the morning sickness experience (six months of heinous vomiting last time, only nausea this time).
This morning I got up and started getting dressed. Clothes are beginning to get a little tight, but not my clothes. Well, they're mine now; a friend gave me a bunch of pants in the next size up from mine, so I've got a little more time before maternity clothes than I would otherwise. So I put on a sweater, some underwear that I'm not sure I'm loving how they feel and a pair of the jeans I just received. The jeans felt a little more snug than I'd like, but I figured it was okay until I started putting my shoes on. Leaning over to tie them up was an exercise in holding my breath and feeling squashed, so I took the shoes off, removed the pants, decided to ditch the panties for a different pair and went back to put my shoes on. I immediately felt the difference as I leaned over to lace up and do all the little hooks on my hiking boots (they make comfy shoes on cold mornings). Just as I finished tightening up the laces I realized one serious mistake:
I hadn't put any pants on!!
Part of me was on the verge of tears, but then I started laughing. What a freaking dork!
You'd think a day could only go up from there, and you'd probably be right, except you'd be missing the part where I accidentally snagged Nancy's phone before heading back to the office this afternoon. (It's the same model as mine.) As I drove away, I wondered why she hadn't started out, too. So I stopped to wait for her. After a few minutes I decided to call her and see what was up. Imagine my chagrin when I heard her phone ringing from my purse!
Well, at least I didn't have clothing or phone issues every day this week. The only other problem was on Wednesday. I went straight to a high school career center to meet with the woman who's issuing work permits for some of my students. As I was speaking with her, I went to tug on the bottom of my shirt. When I did, I thought I noticed the seam on the outside. Which it was.
In my extremely smooth manner, I pretty much shrieked, Oh my god, I've got my shirt on inside out! To which the mild-mannered woman in front of my responded by saying she had noticed but thought it was "one of those shirts, you know, with the seams on the outside like they wear these days."
If only I could have kept my mouth shut, but no, that is never my way. At least I haven't forgotten everything!
In the last couple of weeks I have noticed that my memory isn't what it once was. I'm not saying it was great, but now it's not even up to my own low standards. This week I've been reading a lot about "pregnancy brain." It's basically the result of too many hormones floating around; keeping track of things and remembering stuff you'd usually remember becomes more difficult. I had a doctor tell me once that memory is the first thing to go when you get pregnant.
This is the thing I never had to deal with during my pregnancy with Corey that I'm having this time. Sort of like the flip side of the morning sickness experience (six months of heinous vomiting last time, only nausea this time).
This morning I got up and started getting dressed. Clothes are beginning to get a little tight, but not my clothes. Well, they're mine now; a friend gave me a bunch of pants in the next size up from mine, so I've got a little more time before maternity clothes than I would otherwise. So I put on a sweater, some underwear that I'm not sure I'm loving how they feel and a pair of the jeans I just received. The jeans felt a little more snug than I'd like, but I figured it was okay until I started putting my shoes on. Leaning over to tie them up was an exercise in holding my breath and feeling squashed, so I took the shoes off, removed the pants, decided to ditch the panties for a different pair and went back to put my shoes on. I immediately felt the difference as I leaned over to lace up and do all the little hooks on my hiking boots (they make comfy shoes on cold mornings). Just as I finished tightening up the laces I realized one serious mistake:
I hadn't put any pants on!!
Part of me was on the verge of tears, but then I started laughing. What a freaking dork!
You'd think a day could only go up from there, and you'd probably be right, except you'd be missing the part where I accidentally snagged Nancy's phone before heading back to the office this afternoon. (It's the same model as mine.) As I drove away, I wondered why she hadn't started out, too. So I stopped to wait for her. After a few minutes I decided to call her and see what was up. Imagine my chagrin when I heard her phone ringing from my purse!
Well, at least I didn't have clothing or phone issues every day this week. The only other problem was on Wednesday. I went straight to a high school career center to meet with the woman who's issuing work permits for some of my students. As I was speaking with her, I went to tug on the bottom of my shirt. When I did, I thought I noticed the seam on the outside. Which it was.
In my extremely smooth manner, I pretty much shrieked, Oh my god, I've got my shirt on inside out! To which the mild-mannered woman in front of my responded by saying she had noticed but thought it was "one of those shirts, you know, with the seams on the outside like they wear these days."
If only I could have kept my mouth shut, but no, that is never my way. At least I haven't forgotten everything!
Monday, June 01, 2009
Oh, Fine. Whatever!
When I was pregnant with Corey, I followed every piece of advice and guidance as if it were etched in stone. Not so much with Madelyn.
Did I go crazy with rule breaking? Nope. In fact, some of the guidance I didn't follow includes
I arrived right after they opened, because this time I was told it was a fasting test. As the first person in, I got to get the blood test and drink the nasty stuff right away. Last time I'd gotten a choice of "soda" flavors and opted for orange because I was afraid the "7Up" flavor would be similar to the "lemon lime" flavored Alka-Seltzer I'd had to have once when I was sick and which induced vomiting. This time, no choice.
"Lemon lime for you!"
My initial plan was to just pound the stuff. There's a limited time to drink it, but it's way longer than it would normally take me to drink a glass of water.
I made it about 2/3 of the way through before I realized Plan A wasn't working. The lab tech eyed me warily, waiting to see if I would urp all over her. Not sure how I managed to keep it down... and finish the rest... but I did. (Thank god, too, because one of my friends didn't and she had to redo it... twice!)
When the drinking and initial bloodletting was done, I was made to go into the lobby and wait for an hour. I had to return at exactly five minutes to the hour or be forced to start over. No, I could not leave the office.
I brought a book, but I'm a people watcher by nature. Kind of awkward when you're watching people go into a bathroom and come out with a cup filled with their own pee, but whatever.
About 10 minutes before I had to go back for the second set of blood draws, a woman walked in with her grandchild. In an otherwise empty, spacious lobby, they chose seats right next to the pregnant woman. And they stood there, not two feet away, coughing and hacking all over one another and me.
I covered my mouth and nose, but it was too late.
Hours later the verdict was in: I had the flu.
I will admit to holding a grudge against these people... well, the adult anyway... even today. Why do people do that? Forget that I was pregnant for a sec. If you're sick, stay the hell away from other people! I don't care if you're in a medical lab because you're ill. I'm not! Bastards!
Because I am opposed to taking medications while pregnant (it's just one of many potential causes on my list of "what do you suppose happened to make Corey have so many problems?"), my goal was to deal with this naturally. So no matter how much I didn't want to, I made myself drink extra water. I used a humidifier to keep the cough away. I slept a lot. And I slathered myself in Vick's. Oh, and I probably went through two boxes of tissue (with lotion!) in three days. I flushed out my body every way I could. I did not spike a fever over 101, so I never went to the doctor.
Yes, I did tell him.
No, to his credit, he did not say, "I told you so."
Oh, and I didn't have gestational diabetes.
Did I go crazy with rule breaking? Nope. In fact, some of the guidance I didn't follow includes
- A little alchohol is okay (yeah, I don't think the wine industry had made that "finding" yet when I was pregnant with Corey)
- Two cups of coffee a day is a-okay (hmm... it used to be one, but now that there's Starbucks on every corner, two is a good number?... plus, I've always been sensitive to caffeine, so it has to be out while I'm pregnant)
- Chocolate is what every pregnant woman needs (not with the caffeine in it, thanks anyway... dammit!)
- "You can eat whatever you want to now" or "You're eating for two, right?" (yeah, but one of us is the size of a pinhead!... wish I could recall the comedian who said that not long before I got pregnant with Corey)
I arrived right after they opened, because this time I was told it was a fasting test. As the first person in, I got to get the blood test and drink the nasty stuff right away. Last time I'd gotten a choice of "soda" flavors and opted for orange because I was afraid the "7Up" flavor would be similar to the "lemon lime" flavored Alka-Seltzer I'd had to have once when I was sick and which induced vomiting. This time, no choice.
"Lemon lime for you!"
My initial plan was to just pound the stuff. There's a limited time to drink it, but it's way longer than it would normally take me to drink a glass of water.
I made it about 2/3 of the way through before I realized Plan A wasn't working. The lab tech eyed me warily, waiting to see if I would urp all over her. Not sure how I managed to keep it down... and finish the rest... but I did. (Thank god, too, because one of my friends didn't and she had to redo it... twice!)
When the drinking and initial bloodletting was done, I was made to go into the lobby and wait for an hour. I had to return at exactly five minutes to the hour or be forced to start over. No, I could not leave the office.
I brought a book, but I'm a people watcher by nature. Kind of awkward when you're watching people go into a bathroom and come out with a cup filled with their own pee, but whatever.
About 10 minutes before I had to go back for the second set of blood draws, a woman walked in with her grandchild. In an otherwise empty, spacious lobby, they chose seats right next to the pregnant woman. And they stood there, not two feet away, coughing and hacking all over one another and me.
I covered my mouth and nose, but it was too late.
Hours later the verdict was in: I had the flu.
I will admit to holding a grudge against these people... well, the adult anyway... even today. Why do people do that? Forget that I was pregnant for a sec. If you're sick, stay the hell away from other people! I don't care if you're in a medical lab because you're ill. I'm not! Bastards!
Because I am opposed to taking medications while pregnant (it's just one of many potential causes on my list of "what do you suppose happened to make Corey have so many problems?"), my goal was to deal with this naturally. So no matter how much I didn't want to, I made myself drink extra water. I used a humidifier to keep the cough away. I slept a lot. And I slathered myself in Vick's. Oh, and I probably went through two boxes of tissue (with lotion!) in three days. I flushed out my body every way I could. I did not spike a fever over 101, so I never went to the doctor.
Yes, I did tell him.
No, to his credit, he did not say, "I told you so."
Oh, and I didn't have gestational diabetes.
Friday, May 29, 2009
I Wanna Know... Do You Wanna Know?
Corey was born in 1993, a time when women were just starting to find out during pregnancy whether they were having a boy or a girl. Unless a woman needed amniocentesis or they had excellent insurance... or private funding, I suppose... it just wasn't that common. And for those who found out via an ultrasound, chances were high that the doctor was wrong. My first husband was in the military, so our insurance was pretty good. And if memory serves, we were told that we might be able to find out the baby's sex. I do recall very clearly wanting to wait for that grand announcement from the doctor. So whether we could or not, we did not find out Corey was male until he was born.
When I look back on those days, I see a different me. Back then I knew I wasn't grown up yet. I couldn't even formulate an opinion and keep it for long. Present a great opposing argument and count me on your side! Along with that was an easy acceptance of life as it came. I wasn't much of a planner (except for when it came to diapers... I was very concerned about not having money any time we needed them, so I insisted we start buying a pack a week somewhere around the five months mark... I clearly had no idea how long an infant wears newborn diapers). Mom isn't a planner either, so it probably comes from her. I was flow-er... I went with the flow. Not finding out fit in with this philosophy.
Fast forward to the end of 2007 and the me I have become. I am a woman who generally has very strong opinions... though I can be swayed, but you'd better bring your best arguments. Having spent 12 of the previous 14 years as a single mother, I can plan out my budget for the year in less than an hour (not that I do... but I have already mapped out the money through the middle of July). Planning is fun, exciting. I love being ready. I am not fond of unpleasant surprises (happy surprises? yay!). It all flows together, if you will, quite nicely.
Finding out the baby's sex was a no-brainer to me. Not only could we pick names, but we could decorate (this from the woman whose walls are still bare... egad!) and buy clothes. With Corey, I chose a ton of white onesies and a pastel blue and green Winnie-the-Pooh bedding set. It was cute and definitely served its purpose, but c'mon!, these days everything is either for a girl or for a boy, because everybody finds out.
Somebody forgot that Tom wasn't having his second baby, and he didn't want to know. I did not nag or stomp my feet to get my way... those tactics work with Tom right up to the point where he realizes he's been had and then he's pissed. It ruins everything, so I gave up that method six or seven years ago. Instead I cleverly countered his argument.
"Well it'll ruin the surprise."
"No it won't. The surprise happens when you find it out... it'll just happen sooner, that's all." (Said with my most innocent and convincing smile.) It seemed to be working, too.
Although my doc had an internal ultrasound that was used freely during the first few weeks, once the heartbeat could be heard, the ultrasound machine was nowhere to be found. So we planned for the "big" ultrasound that would be coming sometime in November. I wanted it as early as possible to, once again, verify that everything was okay. But we also wanted to have the best chance of finding out if we were having a boy or a girl, which probably meant doing it later. We mentioned our plans to Doc, who already thought we had our priorities mixed up because:
"I've been delivering babies for over 40 years and I can always tell. You can always tell when the parents know. It changes things. It just does."
And then the final blow to any argument I could ever make:
"The joy. is. not. the. same."
Tom ate it up and my cause was lost.
When I look back on those days, I see a different me. Back then I knew I wasn't grown up yet. I couldn't even formulate an opinion and keep it for long. Present a great opposing argument and count me on your side! Along with that was an easy acceptance of life as it came. I wasn't much of a planner (except for when it came to diapers... I was very concerned about not having money any time we needed them, so I insisted we start buying a pack a week somewhere around the five months mark... I clearly had no idea how long an infant wears newborn diapers). Mom isn't a planner either, so it probably comes from her. I was flow-er... I went with the flow. Not finding out fit in with this philosophy.
Fast forward to the end of 2007 and the me I have become. I am a woman who generally has very strong opinions... though I can be swayed, but you'd better bring your best arguments. Having spent 12 of the previous 14 years as a single mother, I can plan out my budget for the year in less than an hour (not that I do... but I have already mapped out the money through the middle of July). Planning is fun, exciting. I love being ready. I am not fond of unpleasant surprises (happy surprises? yay!). It all flows together, if you will, quite nicely.
Finding out the baby's sex was a no-brainer to me. Not only could we pick names, but we could decorate (this from the woman whose walls are still bare... egad!) and buy clothes. With Corey, I chose a ton of white onesies and a pastel blue and green Winnie-the-Pooh bedding set. It was cute and definitely served its purpose, but c'mon!, these days everything is either for a girl or for a boy, because everybody finds out.
Somebody forgot that Tom wasn't having his second baby, and he didn't want to know. I did not nag or stomp my feet to get my way... those tactics work with Tom right up to the point where he realizes he's been had and then he's pissed. It ruins everything, so I gave up that method six or seven years ago. Instead I cleverly countered his argument.
"Well it'll ruin the surprise."
"No it won't. The surprise happens when you find it out... it'll just happen sooner, that's all." (Said with my most innocent and convincing smile.) It seemed to be working, too.
Although my doc had an internal ultrasound that was used freely during the first few weeks, once the heartbeat could be heard, the ultrasound machine was nowhere to be found. So we planned for the "big" ultrasound that would be coming sometime in November. I wanted it as early as possible to, once again, verify that everything was okay. But we also wanted to have the best chance of finding out if we were having a boy or a girl, which probably meant doing it later. We mentioned our plans to Doc, who already thought we had our priorities mixed up because:
- I wouldn't get the amnio test done despite my advanced maternal age of 36 (I realize that my anecdotal information is nowhere near the statistical info, but knowing that 2/3 women whom I've known to have them had subsequently lost their babies is really enough for me... and what would it get us if there was something wrong? Five months of worry and stress, that's what. We couldn't go through with an abortion on the off-chance that we were one of the many "false positives" out there. Thanks, but no.)
- I wouldn't get the flu shot (the last time I'd had the flu was in 1991)
- We questioned every test and procedure
- We had already stated we weren't getting the newborn eye drops since I don't have gonorrhea or chlamydia and that's what they're protecting against
- We dared to ask if there was any medical reason to support getting a circumcision if we had a boy ("The only reason I need is that GOD. TOLD. ABRAHAM. 5000 years ago and that's good enough for me." "Uh, okay, but what about medical reasons?")
"I've been delivering babies for over 40 years and I can always tell. You can always tell when the parents know. It changes things. It just does."
And then the final blow to any argument I could ever make:
"The joy. is. not. the. same."
Tom ate it up and my cause was lost.
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
Under Pressure
When I was pregnant with Corey my mom told me that people would be falling all over themselves to open doors and take packages out of my arms. It just wasn't true. The only person who ever did help me, came to my rescue when I was trying to go to the laundry room with a newborn placed on top of a pile of his dirty clothes. But she didn't stay to help, she just got me to the room and that was it. So I didn't expect much when I was pregnant with Mad. However, I have a job that can involve some pretty heavy lifting at times, and that had to be cut back. My doc recommended, but didn't insist on, a 10 pound limit. I mentioned that to Nance and my days of lifting anything were over.
My office consists of a group of women, all but three of whom are mothers and/or grandmothers,(oh, and one happy-to-be-the-lone-male guy). Women declared themselves surrogate grandmas. One person said it really was the *place of business* baby, not just mine. All of this was said in good humor and with love. I was extremely well cared for during my pregnancy.
In the beginning I was exceptionally concerned that I could lose the baby or that the baby might at that very moment not be doing well. So I was at the Ob/Gyn more frequently than the average mama bear in the beginning. It's sort of strange, because I'd taken exactly the opposite stance with Corey... I figured that if "this one took" after so many miscarriages, then it was meant to be and if not, I was done trying for a while. I didn't even rush off to the doctor as soon as I suspected I might be pregnant. Once I heard his heartbeat at the doctor's office, I don't recall ever worrying again that he would be anything other than perfect. And he wasn't.
But I put so much pressure on myself regarding having a healthy baby with Tom and avoiding anything that would cause heartbreak and disappointment for him and his parents, especially his mom. Not to mention that my own father had been plotting and scheming to convince somebody... anybody... to give him another grandchild. Nobody else put this pressure on me; it was an overactive congeniality gene or something. I just wanted to please them and let them be pleased for themselves. And since Mad wasn't planned, I especially wanted her to be as beautiful as Corey had been. Of course, she was, as evidenced by this, her best photo EVER:
But back then, I didn't know that this was the glorious girl who was waiting to meet us. So I fretted a bit. Okay, Nance would say a lot. But she got to "meet" Madelyn via ultrasound because I just had to confirm one last time that everything was okay before we told the fam, so I don't think she'd complain too much about it.
Pregnancy and I get on very well. I had raging morning sickness for the first and last three months of my pregnancy with Corey, but I still loved every minute of it (well, I didn't especially love puking my guts out in the mall shopping center between expensive cars every time I couldn't make it to McDonald's from the bus stop... and heck, making it there wasn't so great because it always seemed to be filled with moms and kids listening to my insides hit the bowl... but aside from that, it was pretty great).
With Mad I was nauseated most of the time for just over half the pregnancy. One time the nausea was so bad that I went into the bathroom absolutely sure that this was it. I couldn't bring myself to look at the toilet because I knew the sight of it would bring me down faster than anything. So I stood in front of the toilet, facing the wall and talking to myself about how I needed to tighten the towel bar and how I was not going to turn around. Thoughts of the watery bowl behind me kept trying to creep in, but I shot them down with, "what a lovely shade of lavender the wall is despite how shockingingly bright it'd seemed at first, lalala."
It worked. I didn't throw up once during my pregnancy.
My office consists of a group of women, all but three of whom are mothers and/or grandmothers,(oh, and one happy-to-be-the-lone-male guy). Women declared themselves surrogate grandmas. One person said it really was the *place of business* baby, not just mine. All of this was said in good humor and with love. I was extremely well cared for during my pregnancy.
In the beginning I was exceptionally concerned that I could lose the baby or that the baby might at that very moment not be doing well. So I was at the Ob/Gyn more frequently than the average mama bear in the beginning. It's sort of strange, because I'd taken exactly the opposite stance with Corey... I figured that if "this one took" after so many miscarriages, then it was meant to be and if not, I was done trying for a while. I didn't even rush off to the doctor as soon as I suspected I might be pregnant. Once I heard his heartbeat at the doctor's office, I don't recall ever worrying again that he would be anything other than perfect. And he wasn't.
But I put so much pressure on myself regarding having a healthy baby with Tom and avoiding anything that would cause heartbreak and disappointment for him and his parents, especially his mom. Not to mention that my own father had been plotting and scheming to convince somebody... anybody... to give him another grandchild. Nobody else put this pressure on me; it was an overactive congeniality gene or something. I just wanted to please them and let them be pleased for themselves. And since Mad wasn't planned, I especially wanted her to be as beautiful as Corey had been. Of course, she was, as evidenced by this, her best photo EVER:
But back then, I didn't know that this was the glorious girl who was waiting to meet us. So I fretted a bit. Okay, Nance would say a lot. But she got to "meet" Madelyn via ultrasound because I just had to confirm one last time that everything was okay before we told the fam, so I don't think she'd complain too much about it.Pregnancy and I get on very well. I had raging morning sickness for the first and last three months of my pregnancy with Corey, but I still loved every minute of it (well, I didn't especially love puking my guts out in the mall shopping center between expensive cars every time I couldn't make it to McDonald's from the bus stop... and heck, making it there wasn't so great because it always seemed to be filled with moms and kids listening to my insides hit the bowl... but aside from that, it was pretty great).
With Mad I was nauseated most of the time for just over half the pregnancy. One time the nausea was so bad that I went into the bathroom absolutely sure that this was it. I couldn't bring myself to look at the toilet because I knew the sight of it would bring me down faster than anything. So I stood in front of the toilet, facing the wall and talking to myself about how I needed to tighten the towel bar and how I was not going to turn around. Thoughts of the watery bowl behind me kept trying to creep in, but I shot them down with, "what a lovely shade of lavender the wall is despite how shockingingly bright it'd seemed at first, lalala."
It worked. I didn't throw up once during my pregnancy.
History of the Madelyn Girl
I was reading some of the responses on The One Minute Writer today and it took me back to last year, when Madelyn was born. I had written most of it down... or typed it up... on the computer, but when we had that crash in January, everything was lost. So I'm going to put some of what I remember about my pregnancy and delivery and Mad's early days here. This first bit is from an article I submitted to DivineCaroline in November of 2007.
My husband and I have been together for nearly eight years and married for two. We’ve discussed having children together. Sometimes I felt the pull of the daughter who is “out there” waiting for me. Other times I knew for sure I didn’t want to go through that again. For my husband, I think he has worried about how good of a father he’d be “from the get-go.” I have been married once before and have a fourteen-year old son. Tom has been wonderful with my son, who is now our son.
For the better part of a year we had been discussing whether or not we wanted to have a child together. If we weren’t having a baby, then I wanted to get my tubes tied so I could go off the pill and live a less chemical life.
Sometime early this summer we both decided that not having a baby was the better decision for us. We’ve been working on some financial goals and enjoying the freedom that comes with having a teenager. I was in agreement with the decision, but I wasn’t ecstatic about it. I told Tom that I would take a little time to absorb the finality and then I’d make the appointment. However, our summer schedule was insane. Our son started an independent study program that meant I was essentially his teacher. When we weren’t working eight hours a day on schoolwork, we were off camping. We had so many trips scheduled, and not all with definite dates. So there wasn’t really time to have surgery. I planned to make the appointment for early October, when life would be back to normal and taking a few days off work wouldn’t be such a big deal.
I remember the time that I think the baby was conceived. In a small part of my mind, I thought about our decision ... but I had thought about it other times as well. This particular time, though, was so incredible and magical. It felt like making a baby.
A few weeks later when my period didn’t come on Sunday, as it had been for a few months, I wasn’t too worried. The original reason I got on the pill was to regulate my period, and even with that help, the only thing I could guarantee was the week that my period would start and stop ... not which day. When my period didn’t come on Wednesday ... typically the latest day ... I started to wonder. When nothing had happened by Sunday night and I was starting to feel “different,” I was concerned.
One night while Corey was away and Tom was playing tennis, I did a little online research to see if maybe I had cancer or something else that caused my missed period. It sounds crazy, and it probably is, to say that a major ailment could be better than being pregnant. But this is where I was at: Life was so good. Tom, Corey and I were settling well into married life. We had been incredibly happy. Getting pregnant without both sides consenting seems to me a lot like betrayal. I know I didn’t do it on purpose, but I think that the part of me that wanted to have a child with him feels guilty anyway. The thing I kept thinking was that this pregnancy could be the key to unlock the happiness of our marriage and send it away for good.
I stopped sleeping well. I couldn’t fall asleep and I couldn’t stay asleep. For the next couple of nights, I probably averaged two to three hours over the course of the night. Even though I’m off during summers, I couldn’t sleep late because I was now home schooling our son.
Relief came in the form of a camping trip with my brother and his family. Tom couldn’t join us, so Corey and I headed out to the Eastern Sierras without him. By the time Corey finished setting up the tent, I was so exhausted that I went to take a nap. This is not something I normally do on vacation, and especially not on camping trips. I slept for an hour and then when we all headed to bed later, I crashed right away. Part of me knew this was probably a bit of being pregnant and a lot of not having to face Tom with this news.
We stayed away for three nights. I slept so well for the first two, but the night before we went home, I could feel the tension welling up again. I couldn’t sleep to save my life. When I did sleep, I dreamt that his best friend tried to kiss me and that I was sort of letting him when Tom walked up. I don’t remember it as clearly now, but one of us said to the other, “We have a lot of things to talk about.”
When we got home that night, it was too beautiful outside and too stuffy inside, so I spent most of the evening on the grass in the yard. When Tom got home and joined me, I listened to the events of his past few days without us and told him a little about our time in the mountains. I told him about the dream and then, without my meaning to, but also without my being able to stop, I told him that I thought I was pregnant. Well, I told him that I was either pregnant or very sick and that I’d done research that pretty much negated the possibility of very sick.
I thought I saw him smile (or grimace) a little and I saw tears welling in his eyes. I didn’t have a clue as to what he was going through. I was as ready as I could be for, “You know I said no, so you can deal with it on your own.” (This really wouldn’t be like him.) To my complete relief, what he said was, “Well this is just another adventure for us, isn’t it?”
The next morning we went together to buy a pregnancy test. He waited for me to take it and made me promise not to look without him. Once it was confirmed, we went to the bookstore, where each of us got a pregnancy book. He has attended every appointment with me, and insisted after the first one that we change doctors because of the demeanor of that doctor and his staff. He gets to decide if we find out or not about the baby’s gender, and we both have to love the names we choose.
When it came to telling our families, he made me wait until his was out here in late September (we found out in August). In reality, this made perfect sense because I have a history of miscarriages prior to having Corey, and I was only a few weeks along. And telling all of our parents at the same time would be fairer. I’m glad we waited, but it was one of the most difficult things I’ve had to do in a few years.
Our son is thrilled to finally be getting the brother or sister he’s always wanted. My father almost knocked me down when he came to hug me after getting a copy of the first ultrasound photo. My mother, who is almost blind, just sat there perplexed as to why she was given a photo of an owl until she heard my mother-in-law gasp and saw her come running up to hug me. My father-in-law, who’s never been one to think women can’t do anything they want to, has suddenly become very concerned that I not go out of my way to do things for others, or otherwise over-exert myself.
And somehow, this news, this pregnancy, did unlock a key to the happiness in our marriage, but instead of letting it fly away, it has deepened and become more intense and exciting and fun. Life is good.
My husband and I have been together for nearly eight years and married for two. We’ve discussed having children together. Sometimes I felt the pull of the daughter who is “out there” waiting for me. Other times I knew for sure I didn’t want to go through that again. For my husband, I think he has worried about how good of a father he’d be “from the get-go.” I have been married once before and have a fourteen-year old son. Tom has been wonderful with my son, who is now our son.
For the better part of a year we had been discussing whether or not we wanted to have a child together. If we weren’t having a baby, then I wanted to get my tubes tied so I could go off the pill and live a less chemical life.
Sometime early this summer we both decided that not having a baby was the better decision for us. We’ve been working on some financial goals and enjoying the freedom that comes with having a teenager. I was in agreement with the decision, but I wasn’t ecstatic about it. I told Tom that I would take a little time to absorb the finality and then I’d make the appointment. However, our summer schedule was insane. Our son started an independent study program that meant I was essentially his teacher. When we weren’t working eight hours a day on schoolwork, we were off camping. We had so many trips scheduled, and not all with definite dates. So there wasn’t really time to have surgery. I planned to make the appointment for early October, when life would be back to normal and taking a few days off work wouldn’t be such a big deal.
I remember the time that I think the baby was conceived. In a small part of my mind, I thought about our decision ... but I had thought about it other times as well. This particular time, though, was so incredible and magical. It felt like making a baby.
A few weeks later when my period didn’t come on Sunday, as it had been for a few months, I wasn’t too worried. The original reason I got on the pill was to regulate my period, and even with that help, the only thing I could guarantee was the week that my period would start and stop ... not which day. When my period didn’t come on Wednesday ... typically the latest day ... I started to wonder. When nothing had happened by Sunday night and I was starting to feel “different,” I was concerned.
One night while Corey was away and Tom was playing tennis, I did a little online research to see if maybe I had cancer or something else that caused my missed period. It sounds crazy, and it probably is, to say that a major ailment could be better than being pregnant. But this is where I was at: Life was so good. Tom, Corey and I were settling well into married life. We had been incredibly happy. Getting pregnant without both sides consenting seems to me a lot like betrayal. I know I didn’t do it on purpose, but I think that the part of me that wanted to have a child with him feels guilty anyway. The thing I kept thinking was that this pregnancy could be the key to unlock the happiness of our marriage and send it away for good.
I stopped sleeping well. I couldn’t fall asleep and I couldn’t stay asleep. For the next couple of nights, I probably averaged two to three hours over the course of the night. Even though I’m off during summers, I couldn’t sleep late because I was now home schooling our son.
Relief came in the form of a camping trip with my brother and his family. Tom couldn’t join us, so Corey and I headed out to the Eastern Sierras without him. By the time Corey finished setting up the tent, I was so exhausted that I went to take a nap. This is not something I normally do on vacation, and especially not on camping trips. I slept for an hour and then when we all headed to bed later, I crashed right away. Part of me knew this was probably a bit of being pregnant and a lot of not having to face Tom with this news.
We stayed away for three nights. I slept so well for the first two, but the night before we went home, I could feel the tension welling up again. I couldn’t sleep to save my life. When I did sleep, I dreamt that his best friend tried to kiss me and that I was sort of letting him when Tom walked up. I don’t remember it as clearly now, but one of us said to the other, “We have a lot of things to talk about.”
When we got home that night, it was too beautiful outside and too stuffy inside, so I spent most of the evening on the grass in the yard. When Tom got home and joined me, I listened to the events of his past few days without us and told him a little about our time in the mountains. I told him about the dream and then, without my meaning to, but also without my being able to stop, I told him that I thought I was pregnant. Well, I told him that I was either pregnant or very sick and that I’d done research that pretty much negated the possibility of very sick.
I thought I saw him smile (or grimace) a little and I saw tears welling in his eyes. I didn’t have a clue as to what he was going through. I was as ready as I could be for, “You know I said no, so you can deal with it on your own.” (This really wouldn’t be like him.) To my complete relief, what he said was, “Well this is just another adventure for us, isn’t it?”
The next morning we went together to buy a pregnancy test. He waited for me to take it and made me promise not to look without him. Once it was confirmed, we went to the bookstore, where each of us got a pregnancy book. He has attended every appointment with me, and insisted after the first one that we change doctors because of the demeanor of that doctor and his staff. He gets to decide if we find out or not about the baby’s gender, and we both have to love the names we choose.
When it came to telling our families, he made me wait until his was out here in late September (we found out in August). In reality, this made perfect sense because I have a history of miscarriages prior to having Corey, and I was only a few weeks along. And telling all of our parents at the same time would be fairer. I’m glad we waited, but it was one of the most difficult things I’ve had to do in a few years.
Our son is thrilled to finally be getting the brother or sister he’s always wanted. My father almost knocked me down when he came to hug me after getting a copy of the first ultrasound photo. My mother, who is almost blind, just sat there perplexed as to why she was given a photo of an owl until she heard my mother-in-law gasp and saw her come running up to hug me. My father-in-law, who’s never been one to think women can’t do anything they want to, has suddenly become very concerned that I not go out of my way to do things for others, or otherwise over-exert myself.
And somehow, this news, this pregnancy, did unlock a key to the happiness in our marriage, but instead of letting it fly away, it has deepened and become more intense and exciting and fun. Life is good.
Saturday, May 23, 2009
Ah-Ah-Ah-Allergies
Did you know that pregnancy offers significant protection against allergies? Well it can, and it did for me. Prior to getting knocked up with Mad, I'd been on various allergy meds for nearly 10 years. According to my allergist, I am significantly allergic to nearly every plant that grows in our area (well, our area when we lived down the hill anyway). Every animal, but cows, too (don't tell me not to have a cow!). I would have been an excellent candidate for shot therapy, except that I'd had an allergic reaction to a half dose of children's benadryl (that doctor's rescue medicine of choice). Ugh!
It took a couple of itchy, sneezy months for the "pregnancy protection" to kick in, but once it did I was like a new woman. I noticed that my allergies have gotten worse the less I nurse Madelyn. Since she doesn't nurse every day now, I feel like a character from The Simpsons.
Now that we have Maisy, my allergies are getting out of control. As I sit here, my eyes are red and irritated and I have what sounds like a smoker's cough. Much more of this and I'll be back on an inhaler, something I haven't had to deal with since taking the meds.
It was in this condition, coupled with areas of itchy skin I might add), that I blurted out to Tom in front of Corey, "I either need to get pregnant or get back on medication stat!"
I didn't see Corey's reaction, and I'm not going into Tom's exact response. I'll just say that my man makes me smile happy smiles.
Mad has brought many good and beautiful things into our lives, including new music. Sometime around her birth, I heard a story on NPR about Barenaked Ladies' new album, SnackTime. Their alphabet song was what sucked me in ("P is for pneumonic, pterodactyl and psychosis"). There are many excellent songs on the CD.
Another great one is "Allergies":
It took a couple of itchy, sneezy months for the "pregnancy protection" to kick in, but once it did I was like a new woman. I noticed that my allergies have gotten worse the less I nurse Madelyn. Since she doesn't nurse every day now, I feel like a character from The Simpsons.
Now that we have Maisy, my allergies are getting out of control. As I sit here, my eyes are red and irritated and I have what sounds like a smoker's cough. Much more of this and I'll be back on an inhaler, something I haven't had to deal with since taking the meds.
It was in this condition, coupled with areas of itchy skin I might add), that I blurted out to Tom in front of Corey, "I either need to get pregnant or get back on medication stat!"
I didn't see Corey's reaction, and I'm not going into Tom's exact response. I'll just say that my man makes me smile happy smiles.
Mad has brought many good and beautiful things into our lives, including new music. Sometime around her birth, I heard a story on NPR about Barenaked Ladies' new album, SnackTime. Their alphabet song was what sucked me in ("P is for pneumonic, pterodactyl and psychosis"). There are many excellent songs on the CD.
Another great one is "Allergies":
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Work
Aside from a recent rant, I generally don't talk about work here. That being said, I have to get this out.
I work with high school students who have moderate- to severe developmental disabilities. They can stay in high school until they are 22; I've had this job for six years. Even though there isn't much time to "hang out" in any one class, I have gotten to know some of my students pretty well over the years.
My first year was more about not screwing up than really getting to know people, since I'd bumped a beloved woman out of the job. So when three students died that year, it was shocking, but not personal. Almost every year we have lost students to congenital illnesses, one to cancer (who, regardless of her level of disability, was eventually able to say "no more" to the treatments; she was over 18, unlike the boy in the news). We've had kids age out of foster care and have to leave school prematurely. The grandmother who cared for one of my favorite students ever (he had Grandma buy work boots so he do the jobs I brought to class... even though the jobs involved envelope stuffing and the like, not anything requiring steel toes and good traction) passed away, so he was taken in by an aunt and uncle. He now goes to school about 25 miles away.
Two years ago I even "lost" a student to runaway marriage. That was an experience, let me tell you.
Last year, no one died. All of the "losses" were simply due to aging out of the program.
This year, knock on wood, so far so good.
Except that things aren't all that good.
Today I learned that the heart of one girl is essentially giving out. The parents are "happy" that she will likely make it to graduation, since she was never meant to live this long. This girl isn't all that aware of her situation, which is a sort of comfort.
Another one of my students, I'll call him Raj, has a brain tumor "so deep they can't operate." The good news is that it's not untreatable, but the boy is understandably upset about the whole thing. He's one of my exceptional kids. Any set of tests and assessments would indicate that Raj is well within the mentally retarded range of functioning, but he gets things. A neighboring teacher mentioned that they'd just gotten the news and that Raj was crying earlier. Fortunately, he's surrounded by loving adults at school (which is not always the case, despite what most people think). Before I left his school this morning, I pulled him out of class briefly to tell him I'd heard, that I'd be pulling for him, that I love him and that everything will be okay. I gave him a hug.
One of the persnickety parts of working in education is the righteous outrage toward adults who physically overstep their bounds with students. So part of me was thinking, "You could lose your job for this." Displays of affection, no matter how innocent or well-meant can be misconstrued. I'm not seriously worried about it; the hug took about 1.5 seconds. Still, it did pop into my mind.
When I was talking with Raj, I acknowledged that he can't have surgery. Even though his eyes showed his emotions, his response was classic teenaged boy: "Yeah, but it's good, because then they'd have to shave my hair off." He ran his hand over his head as he said that, and I could feel his relief. I didn't chuckle, but it wasn't easy. We talked briefly about alternatives to surgery. He seemed to have a pretty good understanding of the basics and we didn't drag things out.
After leaving I wanted to call Nance and tell her, but it's hard to know when to say what to someone who's already dealing with so much medical drama. Yesterday Ken was re-admitted to the hospital, into ICU no less, for a rapid heartbeat. Hopefully he'll be home again soon. So I didn't call her. I'm telling you instead.
I work with high school students who have moderate- to severe developmental disabilities. They can stay in high school until they are 22; I've had this job for six years. Even though there isn't much time to "hang out" in any one class, I have gotten to know some of my students pretty well over the years.
My first year was more about not screwing up than really getting to know people, since I'd bumped a beloved woman out of the job. So when three students died that year, it was shocking, but not personal. Almost every year we have lost students to congenital illnesses, one to cancer (who, regardless of her level of disability, was eventually able to say "no more" to the treatments; she was over 18, unlike the boy in the news). We've had kids age out of foster care and have to leave school prematurely. The grandmother who cared for one of my favorite students ever (he had Grandma buy work boots so he do the jobs I brought to class... even though the jobs involved envelope stuffing and the like, not anything requiring steel toes and good traction) passed away, so he was taken in by an aunt and uncle. He now goes to school about 25 miles away.
Two years ago I even "lost" a student to runaway marriage. That was an experience, let me tell you.
Last year, no one died. All of the "losses" were simply due to aging out of the program.
This year, knock on wood, so far so good.
Except that things aren't all that good.
Today I learned that the heart of one girl is essentially giving out. The parents are "happy" that she will likely make it to graduation, since she was never meant to live this long. This girl isn't all that aware of her situation, which is a sort of comfort.
Another one of my students, I'll call him Raj, has a brain tumor "so deep they can't operate." The good news is that it's not untreatable, but the boy is understandably upset about the whole thing. He's one of my exceptional kids. Any set of tests and assessments would indicate that Raj is well within the mentally retarded range of functioning, but he gets things. A neighboring teacher mentioned that they'd just gotten the news and that Raj was crying earlier. Fortunately, he's surrounded by loving adults at school (which is not always the case, despite what most people think). Before I left his school this morning, I pulled him out of class briefly to tell him I'd heard, that I'd be pulling for him, that I love him and that everything will be okay. I gave him a hug.
One of the persnickety parts of working in education is the righteous outrage toward adults who physically overstep their bounds with students. So part of me was thinking, "You could lose your job for this." Displays of affection, no matter how innocent or well-meant can be misconstrued. I'm not seriously worried about it; the hug took about 1.5 seconds. Still, it did pop into my mind.
When I was talking with Raj, I acknowledged that he can't have surgery. Even though his eyes showed his emotions, his response was classic teenaged boy: "Yeah, but it's good, because then they'd have to shave my hair off." He ran his hand over his head as he said that, and I could feel his relief. I didn't chuckle, but it wasn't easy. We talked briefly about alternatives to surgery. He seemed to have a pretty good understanding of the basics and we didn't drag things out.
After leaving I wanted to call Nance and tell her, but it's hard to know when to say what to someone who's already dealing with so much medical drama. Yesterday Ken was re-admitted to the hospital, into ICU no less, for a rapid heartbeat. Hopefully he'll be home again soon. So I didn't call her. I'm telling you instead.
Monday, May 18, 2009
Tattle-Tale
I drive a lot for work, regardless of the commute. Driving that much helps a person put things into perspective. So I slowed down a bit and stopped getting involved in little tete-a-tetes with what my mother always called "the other crazy people out there" (as in, "it's not you I worry about, it's the other crazy people out there"... um... what does that make me?... oh).
Once I started slowing down, I noticed a new unattractive habit popping up. If someone's being a jerk on the road, I don't slam on my brakes in front of them (a brilliant tactic passed down to me from Mom). Even if I want to, I don't stay in front of them just to piss them off and I try very hard to avoid all visible hand gestures. Instead I imagine them getting pulled over by the police... for something completely unrelated to their "crimes" against me. Here's where I am extremely lame:
I picture myself pulling over with them and telling the cop, "You know what else they did?!?"
Still working on achieving adulthood over here.
Once I started slowing down, I noticed a new unattractive habit popping up. If someone's being a jerk on the road, I don't slam on my brakes in front of them (a brilliant tactic passed down to me from Mom). Even if I want to, I don't stay in front of them just to piss them off and I try very hard to avoid all visible hand gestures. Instead I imagine them getting pulled over by the police... for something completely unrelated to their "crimes" against me. Here's where I am extremely lame:
I picture myself pulling over with them and telling the cop, "You know what else they did?!?"
Still working on achieving adulthood over here.
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