Bedrest is horrible. I think I've made that abundantly clear. I cannot put into words the toll it has taken on not just me, but my entire family as well. But yesterday, as I was trying to cheer myself up, I came to the realization that some very positive things have come from this, too. Things that probably wouldn't have happened any other way.
I have actually had to slow down. And rest. Last summer, I caught pneumonia bad enough that it caused partial collapse of both lower lobes of my lungs. I had to miss some work and school, as I was in the hospital for a week. But as soon as I was released, I was back in full swing. My own illness was not enough to make me realize that I was pushing myself too much. But when the health of my unborn child hangs in the balance, I have no choice. I don't think anything else, barring (Heaven forbid!) E bcoming ill, could have made me do this.
I've actually spent the past 3 months of my life being with noone but my family. We take our moments with our loved ones completely for granted. In my hustle and bustle of school-to-work-to-school, I missed my boys. I knew I did, but I didn't realize how much I was missing until I was here with them, each and every day. For once, it is my signature on report cards and permission slips. I am the one who gets to help E with his math homework. I have the priviledge of hearing him come home from school and tell me all about his day, whether good or bad. I've been able to snuggle with him and read books or watch tv without worrying about what task it is that I am leaving undone. And J! We have spent the past few months being a couple again. Sure, it stinks that we can't do much more than talk--there are no trips to romantic restaurants or exciting "dates"-- but he has been here every step of the way. He reminds me daily of why I fell in love with him from the beginning.
And for the first time, I have been able to sit and reflect on what it is I truly want out of life. Free from the influence of my work or anyone else. And I've discovered that I really do love my career. I always thought that, while I love what I do, I wanted much more. While it is true that I will still want the higher degrees, because that is just my nature, I do not have to chase prestige and money to be fulfilled in that way. I can instead spend my efforts building on the foundation I have already established and still be just as happy.
I have always believed that everything happens for a reason. I would not call myself religious. Actually, the complete opposite is true of me. But I have always believed there is some force out there guiding us. I can honestly look back at the events of my life and come up with some positive life-altering result of even the worst crisis I have experienced. (And there have been quite a few, let me tell you!) The death of my mother rocked my world, but I can honestly say that I was forced to grow up, free from her coddling me, in a way I never would have otherwise. When Iwas told I had a brain tumor years ago, the scare was great enough to push me to pursue everything I wanted in life--returning to my hometown I had missed so much and finally going after the education I have always wanted. And when we lost everything during E's pregnancy, and I thought we would never bounce back? Well, that forced me to finally get the education needed to establish a career I love so much. Without it, I would have remained a college dropout for the rest of my life.
When I became pregnant this time, I knew in my mind that something was going to come from this. It was just too serendipitous. We used to want another, and had long since given up. I had not been on birth control for over 8 years, and it never happened. We were just about to pursue permanent birth control, anticipating the start of med school for me. Plus, I was so busy that I didn't even have time to do what it is one does to even become pregnant for months on end. (I will not permit myself to go into anymore detail than that. That would be....gross.) Yet still, in that tiny window of time, after 8 long years, I got pregnant. I just knew in my heart, once the feelings morphed from shock to disbelief to happiness, that Zachary would make a profound contribution to our lives. That he is here to fill some void we didn't even realize was there in the first place. For all I knew, he could grow up to contribute something amazing to medicine or society. But now???
Now, I'm starting to wonder. Is this Zachary's gift to me? I realize how horrible this sounds--children are not here for us, we're here for them. But seriously. Is this why he is coming to us? To force me to realize what I had been missing? To show me the true value and beauty of my family? To instill in me an appreciation for the life I have built for myself?
Showing posts with label bedrest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bedrest. Show all posts
Saturday, April 24, 2010
Friday, April 9, 2010
Driving Miss A
Remember Driving Miss Daisy? Well, forget about Daisy. This is about me. Me, the control freak who has had to surrender all control to J. Poor J. I drove him crazy yesterday.
After going to get J's diabetes supplies and medications yesterday, I tell him that, while E is in school and we were out and about, since I was having a good day, to take me to Babies 'R' Us. I want to get the remaining items on our list. So he does. I planned to waddle my way around the store, but they have these wheelchairs sitting there by the door--not scooters,but regular wheelchairs--and J insists I get in one. Bad idea. Very bad.
I sit in the chair, and he starts to push me around. It started out just fine. We needed bottles and they are at the front of the store. But I wasn't sure which ones I wanted, so I was going back and forth between the different brands, comparing them. Not a big deal, right? Wrong! Poor J had to keep inching me forward, then backward, forward and then backward, until I finally made my selection. He wouldn't say anything, but I kept hearing him sigh. So after getting all of the items needed from that section of the store, I tell him to go. Go where? I don't know. Just go, dammit. So he does, and he pushes me as slowly as possible, which drives me crazy. So we are going down this long aisle, and when I see something we need, I tell him to turn. Where? Just TURN!!!!! Here. Not that way, the other way.
And so it goes, through the entire store. But it gets a little worse with each item I add to the little shopping basket attached to the front of the wheelchair. The items are starting to pile up, but one of the things on my list is a Diaper Genie. Don't ask me how we got that thing in that little basket because I don't know how. But the only thing worse than being a control freak and having to rely on others to push you around in a wheelchair is doing so when you cannot see where you are going!
So here we are, with the enormous Diaper Genie, as well as mounds of baby stuff crammed into this little basket right in front of my face. Everything is teetering precariously, like the whole deal is about to come crashing down. J is talking to me, but other shoppers cannot see me behind all of the stuff, so he looks like some insane man, talking to himself as he is shopping. He's not paying too much attenton to what I am doing, as he is trying to drive me without maiming me or hitting a bump that would cause our pile of selections to end up on the floor around us.. We keep passing stuff that I see that I like, and I will grab them off of the shelf to look, but he doesn't realize I am looking, so he keeps going with the item still in my hand, and I keep having to tell him to back up. Back up? Where? Arrrrgh, THERE!
He keeps coming to random stops, and I keep telling him to Go! I can't see, nor does it even dawn on me, that there might be some poor grandmother in front of us trying to pick out a gift for a new grandchild. Normally, in those situations, I would sit quietly and wait until I could pass. But again, I can't see,and am barking at J to go, and finally he has to tell me, "Andrea! There is someone there!", as he smiles sweetly at the woman. And she just scowls at him like he is intentionally trying to rush her rather than trying to shut me up. We manage to piss off many people this way as we make our way through the store.
The worst part? The clothing section in the center of the store. It's a tight fit around the racks, and if my directions to J were bad before, they are really bad now. I don't really need any more baby clothes, other than a hat to match the cute take-home outfit I have bought for Zachary. I just want to look. Maybe there is something cute I cannot resist. Or maybe they have some killer sales and I can start adding outfits in the next sizes up. So J parks me in front of some rack so I can look. But I can't see. So he has to maneuver me at an angle where I can. But wait! What's on the other side of the round rack? What if I want something from there? Lemme See!!!! Finally, J gets exasperated enough that he starts making laps around all of the racks so I will just shut up. And for once he is mad at me for not buying something from that section because all of the efforts were wasted. (Well, I did get a couple more gowns, so not a total waste.)
Finally, he has had enough, and he simply tells me I am done. In that firm tone of voice that use with a disobedient toddler. As in Don't-even-ask, There-is-nothing-more-you-need-and-I-AM-ENDING-THIS-NOW!!!!!! We checkout and J pushes me to the car.
Once in the parking lot, things get a little tricky. I am stuck in the wheelchair and the basket is piled with plastic bags. The basket, incidentally, that has to swing upward to let me out. It's chilly outside and I am cold and shivering, so J is trying to hurry. He starts with the Diaper Genie, and as soon as he pulls it free from the basket and turns to put it in the car, the wheelchair, with me inside, starts to roll downhill. He doesn't even notice at first, as he is rearranging stuff in the back of the car to make room for our purchases. I try to free my arms enough to stop myself, and yell for him. He has to rush to catch me before I go rocketing to the end of the enormous parking lot. I'm sure it was quite the sight, as onlookers were staring.
Never. Again. Will. We. Do. THAT!
So this whole experience got me thinking. I think the worst part of bedrest,or at least of trying to minimize what I do to appease my doctors, is learning to relinquish control. I am used to doing everything for myself. I'm impatient with others and like things done a certain way. If it took J too long to get to the pile of laundry, I would simply do it myself, for example. I can't do that now without my uterus going into violent protest. I hate being at the mercy of others.
After going to get J's diabetes supplies and medications yesterday, I tell him that, while E is in school and we were out and about, since I was having a good day, to take me to Babies 'R' Us. I want to get the remaining items on our list. So he does. I planned to waddle my way around the store, but they have these wheelchairs sitting there by the door--not scooters,but regular wheelchairs--and J insists I get in one. Bad idea. Very bad.
I sit in the chair, and he starts to push me around. It started out just fine. We needed bottles and they are at the front of the store. But I wasn't sure which ones I wanted, so I was going back and forth between the different brands, comparing them. Not a big deal, right? Wrong! Poor J had to keep inching me forward, then backward, forward and then backward, until I finally made my selection. He wouldn't say anything, but I kept hearing him sigh. So after getting all of the items needed from that section of the store, I tell him to go. Go where? I don't know. Just go, dammit. So he does, and he pushes me as slowly as possible, which drives me crazy. So we are going down this long aisle, and when I see something we need, I tell him to turn. Where? Just TURN!!!!! Here. Not that way, the other way.
And so it goes, through the entire store. But it gets a little worse with each item I add to the little shopping basket attached to the front of the wheelchair. The items are starting to pile up, but one of the things on my list is a Diaper Genie. Don't ask me how we got that thing in that little basket because I don't know how. But the only thing worse than being a control freak and having to rely on others to push you around in a wheelchair is doing so when you cannot see where you are going!
So here we are, with the enormous Diaper Genie, as well as mounds of baby stuff crammed into this little basket right in front of my face. Everything is teetering precariously, like the whole deal is about to come crashing down. J is talking to me, but other shoppers cannot see me behind all of the stuff, so he looks like some insane man, talking to himself as he is shopping. He's not paying too much attenton to what I am doing, as he is trying to drive me without maiming me or hitting a bump that would cause our pile of selections to end up on the floor around us.. We keep passing stuff that I see that I like, and I will grab them off of the shelf to look, but he doesn't realize I am looking, so he keeps going with the item still in my hand, and I keep having to tell him to back up. Back up? Where? Arrrrgh, THERE!
He keeps coming to random stops, and I keep telling him to Go! I can't see, nor does it even dawn on me, that there might be some poor grandmother in front of us trying to pick out a gift for a new grandchild. Normally, in those situations, I would sit quietly and wait until I could pass. But again, I can't see,and am barking at J to go, and finally he has to tell me, "Andrea! There is someone there!", as he smiles sweetly at the woman. And she just scowls at him like he is intentionally trying to rush her rather than trying to shut me up. We manage to piss off many people this way as we make our way through the store.
The worst part? The clothing section in the center of the store. It's a tight fit around the racks, and if my directions to J were bad before, they are really bad now. I don't really need any more baby clothes, other than a hat to match the cute take-home outfit I have bought for Zachary. I just want to look. Maybe there is something cute I cannot resist. Or maybe they have some killer sales and I can start adding outfits in the next sizes up. So J parks me in front of some rack so I can look. But I can't see. So he has to maneuver me at an angle where I can. But wait! What's on the other side of the round rack? What if I want something from there? Lemme See!!!! Finally, J gets exasperated enough that he starts making laps around all of the racks so I will just shut up. And for once he is mad at me for not buying something from that section because all of the efforts were wasted. (Well, I did get a couple more gowns, so not a total waste.)
Finally, he has had enough, and he simply tells me I am done. In that firm tone of voice that use with a disobedient toddler. As in Don't-even-ask, There-is-nothing-more-you-need-and-I-AM-ENDING-THIS-NOW!!!!!! We checkout and J pushes me to the car.
Once in the parking lot, things get a little tricky. I am stuck in the wheelchair and the basket is piled with plastic bags. The basket, incidentally, that has to swing upward to let me out. It's chilly outside and I am cold and shivering, so J is trying to hurry. He starts with the Diaper Genie, and as soon as he pulls it free from the basket and turns to put it in the car, the wheelchair, with me inside, starts to roll downhill. He doesn't even notice at first, as he is rearranging stuff in the back of the car to make room for our purchases. I try to free my arms enough to stop myself, and yell for him. He has to rush to catch me before I go rocketing to the end of the enormous parking lot. I'm sure it was quite the sight, as onlookers were staring.
Never. Again. Will. We. Do. THAT!
So this whole experience got me thinking. I think the worst part of bedrest,or at least of trying to minimize what I do to appease my doctors, is learning to relinquish control. I am used to doing everything for myself. I'm impatient with others and like things done a certain way. If it took J too long to get to the pile of laundry, I would simply do it myself, for example. I can't do that now without my uterus going into violent protest. I hate being at the mercy of others.
Thursday, April 8, 2010
30 Wks, 3 Days: I've Been a Bad Girl, But I Have Excuses
For someone who is on bedrest, I have been horrible this week. I have done entirely too much, but with good reason.
First was the fiasco to cash my check on Monday, and we all know how that went.
On Tuesday, I get it in my head that I am going to go to the store and purchase the remainder of the baby items we need. I shouldn't have, but I figure I can use the little scooter. I got in the car, with J driving, and off we went. But I didn't feel well from the start. I had eaten a salad and a slice of pizza for lunch that sat on my stomach like a ton of bricks. But a friend who has just had a baby got tons of duplicates at her shower, and informed me that she had taken some of the never-used items to a consignment shop, and I was trying to get there and snatch them up. I'm hesitant to buy anything used, but these were brand new. We go to the store and of course her items are already gone. But then I think that maybe she meant another store, so we try to head there. Ha. About halfway there, I am too sick to continue, and we turn around and head home empty-handed.
And Wednesday? Wednesday was just a mess. J has not been feeling well for a while now. Nothing specific, just feeling blah. Looking back, I feel bad because I assumed that he was pulling a fast one to get out of cleaning while I am unable. But then I noticed that he was short of breath when coming up the stairs from doing laundry. This is my Marine husband--the one who used to run 5 miles twice a day for fun! Yes, he has allowed himself to get out of shape, but really? Up one flight of stairs? This is when I kick into Respiratory Therapist Mode. I listen to his lungs, thinking maybe the years he spent as a smoker have finally caught up with him, even though he quit some time ago....No wheezes, though that is the most action my top-of-the-line stethoscope has seen in months. So if it isn't his lungs, it has to be cardiac, and then I get really worried. He calls to make an appointment, and tells the receptionist he wants to be seen right away, but they are booked, so she is going to have to call back. Instead a nurse calls us back and talks to me, as J is asleep, taking one of the naps he can't seem to function without these days. I tell her what I am worried about, and she agrees with me on the course of action, and sends him for labs yesterday morning, first thing, then schedules an appointment for yesterday afternoon. I wasn't going to go with him for either, but instead gave him a pep talk about being sure to tell the doctor everything he is feeling instead of assuming the symptoms are all unrelated. At this point, I don't care what she orders as a result, as we have good insurance. Very good. But then, about 3 hours after he has his fasting labs drawn, one of the other doctors in the practice calls to inform us of his lab values and to make sure he is being seen pronto!
Of course by this time there is no question: I am going with him to the doctor. It turns out J is very, very, very diabetic. Normal fasting blood sugar should be 80 to 100, and J's is 368. What's more is he is also hypertensive. So we meet with the doctor, who is one of the third-year residents I work with. I love seeing the residents for uncomplicated stuff--they know me professionally, as we have spent years together in the trenches, working codes together in the middle of the night. They know that I know how to do my job well, and so they listen to me. The one J sees in particular. She does everything for my husband that I would have wanted. We know J can probably fix a great deal of this by losing the weight he has gained, but he is too far gone to wait, and she puts him on meds to control it while he is working on the weight loss. J tells her about the dyspnea on exertion, but when I tell her I noticed it, she gets concerned. She brings a nurse in to do the bedside pulmonary function test, and we all get a laugh when the doctor tells her to be sure to do a good job, as the patient's wife is a "pulmonary guru". J has a hard time doing the test as both the nurse and I bark instructions at him, as he is laughing too much. But it turns out his lungs are perfect, which I already knew. So I mention something about his blood pressure and the doctor raises her eyebrows as she is typing away on her computer. She asks what it was, we tell her, and she tells me to take it again for her, as the nurse has already left the room to print his PFT results. I do, and it is still high, so we add a script for an anti-hypertensive to the list, along with the glucometer, testing supplies, and diabetes medication. She also refers us to a diabetes educator, which I love. I was going to take it upon myself to schedule us a meeting with a dietician, but she says this will be better, serving to educate J about diabetes as well as any diet restrictions. And when I pointed to my burgeoning belly and told her I am a time bomb, she devised a plan to see J weekly to get this under conrol before Zachary makes his entrance into the world. Perfect!
So today, we have to go to the pharmacy and schedule the diabetes education. I need to go to both. As a medical professional, everyone in the family relies on me to keep abreast of all of the medical issues, to make informed decisions. I feel like I have to be there for J.
On a side note, I'm glad I went with J to the appointment. I have been feeling down about the work situation, knowing that I run out of FMLA job protection here in a few weeks,and knowing that my employer can post my job if desired. The doctor and I were talking about some of the newer RT's in the department, and she said that she had written one up who was "bitchy". Later, I guess she was telling some of the other residents about it, and they asked if it was me. Instead of being offended, I laughed. Because, yes, I can be bitchy. Residents may be doctors, but by all rights, they are also students. In order to get my credentials, I studied nothing but lungs and heart for years. So when I am working with them, and I think they are messing up in any way, I speak up. I can become a pitbull in an instant for one of my patients, especially in a critical situation. Well, she confirmed this for me. She said she told them that "Andrea is a good type of bitchy". That I'm funny, and if I am truly "bitching", they need to listen because I know what I'm talking about. I started to have images in my head of spending downtime with the residents, teaching them how I interpret blood gases or explaining the different modes of mechanical vntilation and why method A would be better for a particular patient than method B. And I realized that, in the event I find myself looking for another job at the end of this ordeal, I have a team of professionals from which to draw references. That there is an entire group of people in the hospital who trust me over the others. That I have done what I set out to do: gain professional respect. It's a really great feeling to have at a time when my professional life hangs in the balance.
First was the fiasco to cash my check on Monday, and we all know how that went.
On Tuesday, I get it in my head that I am going to go to the store and purchase the remainder of the baby items we need. I shouldn't have, but I figure I can use the little scooter. I got in the car, with J driving, and off we went. But I didn't feel well from the start. I had eaten a salad and a slice of pizza for lunch that sat on my stomach like a ton of bricks. But a friend who has just had a baby got tons of duplicates at her shower, and informed me that she had taken some of the never-used items to a consignment shop, and I was trying to get there and snatch them up. I'm hesitant to buy anything used, but these were brand new. We go to the store and of course her items are already gone. But then I think that maybe she meant another store, so we try to head there. Ha. About halfway there, I am too sick to continue, and we turn around and head home empty-handed.
And Wednesday? Wednesday was just a mess. J has not been feeling well for a while now. Nothing specific, just feeling blah. Looking back, I feel bad because I assumed that he was pulling a fast one to get out of cleaning while I am unable. But then I noticed that he was short of breath when coming up the stairs from doing laundry. This is my Marine husband--the one who used to run 5 miles twice a day for fun! Yes, he has allowed himself to get out of shape, but really? Up one flight of stairs? This is when I kick into Respiratory Therapist Mode. I listen to his lungs, thinking maybe the years he spent as a smoker have finally caught up with him, even though he quit some time ago....No wheezes, though that is the most action my top-of-the-line stethoscope has seen in months. So if it isn't his lungs, it has to be cardiac, and then I get really worried. He calls to make an appointment, and tells the receptionist he wants to be seen right away, but they are booked, so she is going to have to call back. Instead a nurse calls us back and talks to me, as J is asleep, taking one of the naps he can't seem to function without these days. I tell her what I am worried about, and she agrees with me on the course of action, and sends him for labs yesterday morning, first thing, then schedules an appointment for yesterday afternoon. I wasn't going to go with him for either, but instead gave him a pep talk about being sure to tell the doctor everything he is feeling instead of assuming the symptoms are all unrelated. At this point, I don't care what she orders as a result, as we have good insurance. Very good. But then, about 3 hours after he has his fasting labs drawn, one of the other doctors in the practice calls to inform us of his lab values and to make sure he is being seen pronto!
Of course by this time there is no question: I am going with him to the doctor. It turns out J is very, very, very diabetic. Normal fasting blood sugar should be 80 to 100, and J's is 368. What's more is he is also hypertensive. So we meet with the doctor, who is one of the third-year residents I work with. I love seeing the residents for uncomplicated stuff--they know me professionally, as we have spent years together in the trenches, working codes together in the middle of the night. They know that I know how to do my job well, and so they listen to me. The one J sees in particular. She does everything for my husband that I would have wanted. We know J can probably fix a great deal of this by losing the weight he has gained, but he is too far gone to wait, and she puts him on meds to control it while he is working on the weight loss. J tells her about the dyspnea on exertion, but when I tell her I noticed it, she gets concerned. She brings a nurse in to do the bedside pulmonary function test, and we all get a laugh when the doctor tells her to be sure to do a good job, as the patient's wife is a "pulmonary guru". J has a hard time doing the test as both the nurse and I bark instructions at him, as he is laughing too much. But it turns out his lungs are perfect, which I already knew. So I mention something about his blood pressure and the doctor raises her eyebrows as she is typing away on her computer. She asks what it was, we tell her, and she tells me to take it again for her, as the nurse has already left the room to print his PFT results. I do, and it is still high, so we add a script for an anti-hypertensive to the list, along with the glucometer, testing supplies, and diabetes medication. She also refers us to a diabetes educator, which I love. I was going to take it upon myself to schedule us a meeting with a dietician, but she says this will be better, serving to educate J about diabetes as well as any diet restrictions. And when I pointed to my burgeoning belly and told her I am a time bomb, she devised a plan to see J weekly to get this under conrol before Zachary makes his entrance into the world. Perfect!
So today, we have to go to the pharmacy and schedule the diabetes education. I need to go to both. As a medical professional, everyone in the family relies on me to keep abreast of all of the medical issues, to make informed decisions. I feel like I have to be there for J.
On a side note, I'm glad I went with J to the appointment. I have been feeling down about the work situation, knowing that I run out of FMLA job protection here in a few weeks,and knowing that my employer can post my job if desired. The doctor and I were talking about some of the newer RT's in the department, and she said that she had written one up who was "bitchy". Later, I guess she was telling some of the other residents about it, and they asked if it was me. Instead of being offended, I laughed. Because, yes, I can be bitchy. Residents may be doctors, but by all rights, they are also students. In order to get my credentials, I studied nothing but lungs and heart for years. So when I am working with them, and I think they are messing up in any way, I speak up. I can become a pitbull in an instant for one of my patients, especially in a critical situation. Well, she confirmed this for me. She said she told them that "Andrea is a good type of bitchy". That I'm funny, and if I am truly "bitching", they need to listen because I know what I'm talking about. I started to have images in my head of spending downtime with the residents, teaching them how I interpret blood gases or explaining the different modes of mechanical vntilation and why method A would be better for a particular patient than method B. And I realized that, in the event I find myself looking for another job at the end of this ordeal, I have a team of professionals from which to draw references. That there is an entire group of people in the hospital who trust me over the others. That I have done what I set out to do: gain professional respect. It's a really great feeling to have at a time when my professional life hangs in the balance.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
29 Wks, 5 Days: Saving Easter
Look outside! Well, if you're in the Southwestern Ohio/ Northern Kentucky area, anyway. It's SPRING! Easter lillies are blooming everywhere, the sun is shining, and it is upwards of 70 degrees outside. Tomorrow is Easter Sunday. I don't know if E still believes in the Easter Bunny or not, but he is still a kid...And it is Easter...And I am stuck in the house brewing his baby brother.
I was going to have J go to the store and get the goods to make his basket. I make E's basket every year. My husband would rather buy one of the store-bought ones at Wal-Mart, which I hate--The toys in them are cheap, as is the candy, and there really isn't much to them. I tend to buy more expensive baskets that can be reused for another purpose in the house, and stuff them with all sorts of candy, a book or two, and maybe some other smaller toys. As kids, my brothers and sisters and I would always have some sort of stuffed toy too, but I don't do that. What purpose do they serve? Years later, you have this army of plush bunnies and chicks that just collect dust. So I choose to buy things E will actually like.
So back to J and Easter shopping: I am having visions of last Easter. I got stuck working a 10 day stretch in the days leading up to and following Easter. If you don't work in healthcare and have never done this, it is Hell! After day 3 or 4, you are on auto-pilot. So I go into work on the 7th or 8th night, I cannot remember which, and all of my coworkers are talking about Easter. It is 6:30 PM the night before. The next morning was Easter. And I had just clocked in for 12 hours of ICU fun. I had completely forgotten about E's basket. So I call J and frantically tell him he has to put on his Superhero Daddy Hat and save the holiday. He has my debit card, he can do this right? He assures me it is no problem. E can play with the neighbors' kids while he runs to the store to Save Easter! I am reassured.
Until later that night. After E has gone to bed and J is free to talk to me on the phone out of E's little earshot. What did J do? Did he buy one of the cheesy store-made baskets? No, I wish. He bought my kid a package of Reese's eggs. That's it. Reese's eggs. Happy Easter, E! I was so upset my heart broke and I cried for hours from the mix of sleep deprivation and disappointment for my baby boy. That, and when you have kept the schedule I have kept for years, you don't exactly feel like Mother of the Year. So any shortcoming makes you feel even worse. In my mind, it was my fault. I should've been there. And I wasn't. I tried to salvage what I could of the holiday on my way home in the morning, but the stores were all out of Easter-style baskets. E, instead, got some non-Easter candy in a plastic bin. The worst Easter basket. Ever. But he is E. That means nothing to you because you don't know him, but let me explain. My baby has the kindest, gentlest heart there is. I have seen him give away toys to kids on the street. I have seen him cry over beggars with "Will Work For Food" signs. Just a month or so ago, he overheard J and I talking about our finances and the strain this pregnancy has put on us, and came upstairs with his piggy bank, offering to help. I don't know where he got all of this: he has been an only child and completely over-indulged all of his life. Instead of being greedy and having that sense of entitlement most spoiled, priviledged children have, my son has a kind, generous heart. So when he got the Easter basket from Hell, and was still completely thrilled and appreciative, it made my heart weep even more. When you have a child like him, you want to give them everything.
So this year, I am on bedrest, and we are quite honestly broke from months of the breadwinner (me) in the house not working. And paying medical bills from our worst nightmares. What am I to do? There is no way my baby will have a repeat of last year. No way!!! So off we went to Wally World. Apparently so did everyone else in the free world. There were no scooters available for me to ride, so I had to sit in the car and trust J once again. But his time? I put the fear of God in the man. I think I told him something to the effect that he would be singing soprano until next Easter if he didn't come through for me. So E and I sat in the car, and J did the shopping. And he did remarkably well. He bought a bag of every Easter candy they had. And he loaded it into the back of the car without E even knowing there was anything in those bags other than some groceries we needed. And we got home, and E happily ran from the car to his swing in the back yard while we snuck it all in the house and assembled the basket. There was so much candy that there are still bags full, even though the kid's basket must weigh at least 20 pounds. He didn't get the books and stuff like I would've, but no one can ever do it like Mama can. But he still did well with an adorable deep blue wicker basket that is absolutely overflowing.
Thank you, J.
So E comes in long after the basket and candy is stashed away in the closet, and he wants a cup of juice. I mention that tomorrow is Easter, and that I wonder if the Easter bunny will find us in or new house this year. E ran off, and I assumed he had gone back outside until I heard his little footsteps on the stairs. He showed up at my side with a few plastic eggs filled with candy, leftover from their Easter party at school, and he proudly thrust them at me: "Here, Mama," he said. "If the Easter Bunny can't find us tomorrow, I'll share my candy with you and baby Zachary."
See what I mean? Where, oh where, did this most amazing, perfect, angel of a child come from, and who thought I was good enough to deserve him?
(Image: E, with the most gorgeous brown eyes you will ever see, taken last year at 7 years of age.)
I was going to have J go to the store and get the goods to make his basket. I make E's basket every year. My husband would rather buy one of the store-bought ones at Wal-Mart, which I hate--The toys in them are cheap, as is the candy, and there really isn't much to them. I tend to buy more expensive baskets that can be reused for another purpose in the house, and stuff them with all sorts of candy, a book or two, and maybe some other smaller toys. As kids, my brothers and sisters and I would always have some sort of stuffed toy too, but I don't do that. What purpose do they serve? Years later, you have this army of plush bunnies and chicks that just collect dust. So I choose to buy things E will actually like.
So back to J and Easter shopping: I am having visions of last Easter. I got stuck working a 10 day stretch in the days leading up to and following Easter. If you don't work in healthcare and have never done this, it is Hell! After day 3 or 4, you are on auto-pilot. So I go into work on the 7th or 8th night, I cannot remember which, and all of my coworkers are talking about Easter. It is 6:30 PM the night before. The next morning was Easter. And I had just clocked in for 12 hours of ICU fun. I had completely forgotten about E's basket. So I call J and frantically tell him he has to put on his Superhero Daddy Hat and save the holiday. He has my debit card, he can do this right? He assures me it is no problem. E can play with the neighbors' kids while he runs to the store to Save Easter! I am reassured.
Until later that night. After E has gone to bed and J is free to talk to me on the phone out of E's little earshot. What did J do? Did he buy one of the cheesy store-made baskets? No, I wish. He bought my kid a package of Reese's eggs. That's it. Reese's eggs. Happy Easter, E! I was so upset my heart broke and I cried for hours from the mix of sleep deprivation and disappointment for my baby boy. That, and when you have kept the schedule I have kept for years, you don't exactly feel like Mother of the Year. So any shortcoming makes you feel even worse. In my mind, it was my fault. I should've been there. And I wasn't. I tried to salvage what I could of the holiday on my way home in the morning, but the stores were all out of Easter-style baskets. E, instead, got some non-Easter candy in a plastic bin. The worst Easter basket. Ever. But he is E. That means nothing to you because you don't know him, but let me explain. My baby has the kindest, gentlest heart there is. I have seen him give away toys to kids on the street. I have seen him cry over beggars with "Will Work For Food" signs. Just a month or so ago, he overheard J and I talking about our finances and the strain this pregnancy has put on us, and came upstairs with his piggy bank, offering to help. I don't know where he got all of this: he has been an only child and completely over-indulged all of his life. Instead of being greedy and having that sense of entitlement most spoiled, priviledged children have, my son has a kind, generous heart. So when he got the Easter basket from Hell, and was still completely thrilled and appreciative, it made my heart weep even more. When you have a child like him, you want to give them everything.
So this year, I am on bedrest, and we are quite honestly broke from months of the breadwinner (me) in the house not working. And paying medical bills from our worst nightmares. What am I to do? There is no way my baby will have a repeat of last year. No way!!! So off we went to Wally World. Apparently so did everyone else in the free world. There were no scooters available for me to ride, so I had to sit in the car and trust J once again. But his time? I put the fear of God in the man. I think I told him something to the effect that he would be singing soprano until next Easter if he didn't come through for me. So E and I sat in the car, and J did the shopping. And he did remarkably well. He bought a bag of every Easter candy they had. And he loaded it into the back of the car without E even knowing there was anything in those bags other than some groceries we needed. And we got home, and E happily ran from the car to his swing in the back yard while we snuck it all in the house and assembled the basket. There was so much candy that there are still bags full, even though the kid's basket must weigh at least 20 pounds. He didn't get the books and stuff like I would've, but no one can ever do it like Mama can. But he still did well with an adorable deep blue wicker basket that is absolutely overflowing.
Thank you, J.
So E comes in long after the basket and candy is stashed away in the closet, and he wants a cup of juice. I mention that tomorrow is Easter, and that I wonder if the Easter bunny will find us in or new house this year. E ran off, and I assumed he had gone back outside until I heard his little footsteps on the stairs. He showed up at my side with a few plastic eggs filled with candy, leftover from their Easter party at school, and he proudly thrust them at me: "Here, Mama," he said. "If the Easter Bunny can't find us tomorrow, I'll share my candy with you and baby Zachary."
See what I mean? Where, oh where, did this most amazing, perfect, angel of a child come from, and who thought I was good enough to deserve him?
(Image: E, with the most gorgeous brown eyes you will ever see, taken last year at 7 years of age.)
Thursday, March 25, 2010
28 wks, 4 days: On Easy Amusement and Getting Busted
So after my ultrasound yesterday, J decides we need some things from the store. He wants to stop at Wally World on the way home. I'm game. I was going to sit in the car like always, but I thought, since I now know for sure that I am not going anywhere but to doctors' appointments and tests for at least the next month, I would look for things to amuse me. No, not knitting again!
So I get on the little motorized wheelchair and off we go. I ended up getting a stack of cheesy paperbacks that I normally would not read. The kind that provide no mental stimulation, but are quick entertainment. All of them are suspense novels, so they should be fun. I find myself excited to read them, and cannot wait to finish the book I am currently reading so I can start on the first one. Isn't that silly? I remember when my sources of excitement were perfect scores in organic chemistry or another perfect 4.0 pre-med quarter (by the way, I did that again with the courses I finished up from home this quarter--still a 4.0, but it means more when you aren't even allowed to go to class). To get this excited over a $8 paperback I picked up at Wally World? I feel so frivolous and silly. I guess it is just another side effect of bedrest. I will take amusement in any form these days.
So we get the books, we get the grocery items we need, and as I am rounding the corner on my little motorized cart, who do I see? Ha!
"OhMyGod! J! It's my DOCTOR!!!!!!!" And it wasn't just any doctor from the practice. As a high-risk patient, I see them all, but know some better than others by sheer luck of who is on call when I am suffering from my dysfunctional uterus. But this was the one who had, just the day before, discharged me from the hospital. Just the day before! The same one who had told me to give up on even trying to go back to work. In fact, his exact words were that I was to do "absolutely nothing" until delivery. And here I was zipping around Wally World on a scooter. Oh. Crap. I was sure I was busted. But he kept walking as I was preparing my defense in my head. As in "You know, Doc, I am only out of the house because I just returned from the ultrasound YOU ordered." Plus I was on the cart instead of walking the store, and my little brethine pump was dangling by my leg. Had I been walking, I am sure I would've been noticed. You can't miss a huge, waddling pregnant woman, holding her belly like she is gonna deliver at any minute, especially when you are an OB/GYN. It's kinda like me not being able to avoid noticing the huffing-and-puffing emphysematous patient with their oxygen. It's my field, so I pay more attention to that. But as it was, I was on the cart, and way below his eye level. And I may or may not have been hidden by a huge display of cases of Pepsi products that were on sale in the aisle between us as he passed me.
Of course we get to the checkout, and I am trying to be as quick and discreet as possible in case he didn't notice me. Well, as discreet as possible for a hugely pregnant woman in a bright red maternity blouse, on a motorized cart. It's kind of hard to blend into your surroundings with those conditions. And of course E starts throwing a fit for some candy he sees in the checkout lane, after I have bought him a book and a toy plane at the store we originally visited to get a "few items". He's making me even more obvious, and he knows I am trying to avoid the doctor, so he uses this to get what he wants. Smart kid. I am acting fishy, so J explains to the checkout girl that I am supposed to be on bedrest and just ran into my doctor. She laughs at us the entire time she is bagging our purchases. The rest of the trip is carried out like some covert operation. I try to speed from the checkout to the exit, but the battery is going low on the cart, so it is going s-l-o-w. I can't walk to the car through the vast parking lot, so I have to wait at the door for J to pull the car up to the door. Even more chance to be noticed. E waits with me, and draws even more attention as he starts begging me for quarters for gumball machines. I only have my debit card, so I have to tell him no, which makes it a thousand times worse. I finally get into the car and we whisk away without my doctor passing me again.
So now I am wondering. Did he see me? Is he bound by the same etiquette that affects all of us in healthcare, in that you do not acknowledge your patients in public to protect their privacy and personal space? Or did the Pepsi cases save me? Will I get grilled at my appointment on Tuesday about why I was at the store? If he did see me, I wish he would've said somthing. I could've explained, and I would've gotten high marks for the fresh fruits and veggies in my cart. But nope. Now I am just left to wonder!
So I get on the little motorized wheelchair and off we go. I ended up getting a stack of cheesy paperbacks that I normally would not read. The kind that provide no mental stimulation, but are quick entertainment. All of them are suspense novels, so they should be fun. I find myself excited to read them, and cannot wait to finish the book I am currently reading so I can start on the first one. Isn't that silly? I remember when my sources of excitement were perfect scores in organic chemistry or another perfect 4.0 pre-med quarter (by the way, I did that again with the courses I finished up from home this quarter--still a 4.0, but it means more when you aren't even allowed to go to class). To get this excited over a $8 paperback I picked up at Wally World? I feel so frivolous and silly. I guess it is just another side effect of bedrest. I will take amusement in any form these days.
So we get the books, we get the grocery items we need, and as I am rounding the corner on my little motorized cart, who do I see? Ha!
"OhMyGod! J! It's my DOCTOR!!!!!!!" And it wasn't just any doctor from the practice. As a high-risk patient, I see them all, but know some better than others by sheer luck of who is on call when I am suffering from my dysfunctional uterus. But this was the one who had, just the day before, discharged me from the hospital. Just the day before! The same one who had told me to give up on even trying to go back to work. In fact, his exact words were that I was to do "absolutely nothing" until delivery. And here I was zipping around Wally World on a scooter. Oh. Crap. I was sure I was busted. But he kept walking as I was preparing my defense in my head. As in "You know, Doc, I am only out of the house because I just returned from the ultrasound YOU ordered." Plus I was on the cart instead of walking the store, and my little brethine pump was dangling by my leg. Had I been walking, I am sure I would've been noticed. You can't miss a huge, waddling pregnant woman, holding her belly like she is gonna deliver at any minute, especially when you are an OB/GYN. It's kinda like me not being able to avoid noticing the huffing-and-puffing emphysematous patient with their oxygen. It's my field, so I pay more attention to that. But as it was, I was on the cart, and way below his eye level. And I may or may not have been hidden by a huge display of cases of Pepsi products that were on sale in the aisle between us as he passed me.
Of course we get to the checkout, and I am trying to be as quick and discreet as possible in case he didn't notice me. Well, as discreet as possible for a hugely pregnant woman in a bright red maternity blouse, on a motorized cart. It's kind of hard to blend into your surroundings with those conditions. And of course E starts throwing a fit for some candy he sees in the checkout lane, after I have bought him a book and a toy plane at the store we originally visited to get a "few items". He's making me even more obvious, and he knows I am trying to avoid the doctor, so he uses this to get what he wants. Smart kid. I am acting fishy, so J explains to the checkout girl that I am supposed to be on bedrest and just ran into my doctor. She laughs at us the entire time she is bagging our purchases. The rest of the trip is carried out like some covert operation. I try to speed from the checkout to the exit, but the battery is going low on the cart, so it is going s-l-o-w. I can't walk to the car through the vast parking lot, so I have to wait at the door for J to pull the car up to the door. Even more chance to be noticed. E waits with me, and draws even more attention as he starts begging me for quarters for gumball machines. I only have my debit card, so I have to tell him no, which makes it a thousand times worse. I finally get into the car and we whisk away without my doctor passing me again.
So now I am wondering. Did he see me? Is he bound by the same etiquette that affects all of us in healthcare, in that you do not acknowledge your patients in public to protect their privacy and personal space? Or did the Pepsi cases save me? Will I get grilled at my appointment on Tuesday about why I was at the store? If he did see me, I wish he would've said somthing. I could've explained, and I would've gotten high marks for the fresh fruits and veggies in my cart. But nope. Now I am just left to wonder!
Saturday, March 20, 2010
27 wks, 5 Days: The Catch-22
I found some disturbing info out yesterday: I only have 4.8 weeks of FMLA job protection left. Does this mean I am fired at that point? Not necessarily. It is then at the discretion of my supervisors to either hold my job or post it as available. The good news is that by then, I will be beyond 30 weeks along, and will probably deliver soon thereafter. Unless they find another RT who wants my job from within the hospital, they will have to interview, hire, and orient someone new. For a new hire, that is about an 8-week process at best. By that point, I will be recovering from delivery and would be back sooner than they could do that. But that is only if there isn't a cowoker who wants to snag my position...
My big worry is my health coverage. After 4.8 weeks, my short-term disability pay ends. If my job is no longer, so is my health coverage. Which means that I will have to pay for a c-section without the benefit of health coverage. My only hope is that our premiums are paid a month in advance an I will have about 4 weeks or so left of coverage after the last premium is paid. If that is the case, my delivery will be covered.
So now I feel like I am in a bind: do I demand that the doctor deliver this baby early so I know it is paid and I can get back to work sooner to preserve my job? Do I just let it ride and hope it all works out for the best? Or do I go into the office on Monday with guns blazin' and demand that I be allowed to return to work? My boss did agree to accomodate a reduced work schedule. I can get a scooter from work to eliminate the running all over the hospital. That is a big deal right there. As it is right now, I am allowd to get up and cook for myself, shower, go to the bathroom. I see no difference betwen that and riding to a patient's room and giving them a treatment. Except for the whole job-preservation thing. And the whole paycheck and insurance thing. And if I make it even easier by only working 8-hr. nights? The 8 hours in the middle of the night are the slowest. It can get busy, but it is less likely. Taking the 4 hours off the top of my shift is taking the busiest part away, and while it wouldn't seem so to someone who has never worked in healthcare, shortening from a 12-hour shift to an 8-hour shift is a big difference.
This seems like the most favorable option. It will help with our finances right now. It will preserve my health coverage, and buy some more time so I can use the remainder of my leave for after the baby comes, when I am recovering from a c-section.
But will my doctors go for it?
My big worry is my health coverage. After 4.8 weeks, my short-term disability pay ends. If my job is no longer, so is my health coverage. Which means that I will have to pay for a c-section without the benefit of health coverage. My only hope is that our premiums are paid a month in advance an I will have about 4 weeks or so left of coverage after the last premium is paid. If that is the case, my delivery will be covered.
So now I feel like I am in a bind: do I demand that the doctor deliver this baby early so I know it is paid and I can get back to work sooner to preserve my job? Do I just let it ride and hope it all works out for the best? Or do I go into the office on Monday with guns blazin' and demand that I be allowed to return to work? My boss did agree to accomodate a reduced work schedule. I can get a scooter from work to eliminate the running all over the hospital. That is a big deal right there. As it is right now, I am allowd to get up and cook for myself, shower, go to the bathroom. I see no difference betwen that and riding to a patient's room and giving them a treatment. Except for the whole job-preservation thing. And the whole paycheck and insurance thing. And if I make it even easier by only working 8-hr. nights? The 8 hours in the middle of the night are the slowest. It can get busy, but it is less likely. Taking the 4 hours off the top of my shift is taking the busiest part away, and while it wouldn't seem so to someone who has never worked in healthcare, shortening from a 12-hour shift to an 8-hour shift is a big difference.
This seems like the most favorable option. It will help with our finances right now. It will preserve my health coverage, and buy some more time so I can use the remainder of my leave for after the baby comes, when I am recovering from a c-section.
But will my doctors go for it?
Thursday, March 18, 2010
27 Wks, 3 Days: Down
I hate to post anything else that is negative in nature. I get kinda sick of it, to be honest. But I started this little blog to document this pregnancy and that is what I am going to do...
I am completely down right now. It goes beyond boredom. I can surf the 'net, read a book, watch a movie to cure that. My favorite is watching tv on the internet. I love when networks post tons of episodes of shows on their websites, so even shows I haven't watched I can catch up with. I thought about taking up knitting or crocheting or some other crafty pasttime, but then I had flashbacks of bedrest with E's pregnancy. I was determined then that I was going to learn how to knit. I figured I am a bright person and could figure it out, so I went on a frenzy. I got all of the stuff I needed, along with some how-to books, and started my attempt. Ha! That was not a good idea for several reasons. First, I don't take failure very well. I am a perfectionist, so if whatever I produced didn't come out looking like a commercially manufactured product, I would've died. Second, I am easily frustrated, and didn't handle it well when my first attempts at stitches came unraveled in my hands, over and over again. Third, I cannot leave a task unfinished. It does something to me. I have to finish what I start, right then and there. So the three of those combined made the attempt at knitting even more stressful than the boredom. I learned a lesson there. So then I got the idea, with this pregnancy, to make some of those fleece no-sew blankets. They're adorable, and seem easy: you just knot the fabric at the edges. So I looked at materials to make those and made a discovery: fleece is expensive. Well, it wouldn't be bad if my income were not drastically reduced right now, but it is, so that prohibited that experience. Any extra money right now needs to go to paying bills in advance, and getting baby stuff. That leaves me with books. Lots and lots of books.
And E. E does not get it, no matter how hard I try to explain. He wants his Mommy. The other day, they had some sort of skate party after school. I had no warning of it, whatsoever. We didn't even know where the skating rink was, but if I would have had notice, I could have planned ahead and sent him with J. I, obviously,cannot go. But I still tried. I found the rink, and tried to contact them to get info on when-where-how-etc. No answer. J was going to try to take him. Of course E made the raisin face, as we call it, where his eyes crinkle up and he really cries. He wanted not only to go, but for me to go with him. And yesterday he came home with one of those Scholastic book order forms, with an itemized list of what he wanted from it. This is sort of my fault. We have always had this little unwritten policy in the house: toys and video games come with a limit, as do dvd's. But books? If the kid wants books, he gets them. Books are good for you, are educational, and more. We don't limit books. But he wanted about $300 worth of books from this book order! I had to say no. I tried to explain that while mommy isn't working, we are on a tighter budget, and I may have to temporarily say no to some of the extras right now, but that it will not always be that way. That before he knows it, we will all be back to our old selves. He didn't buy it, and I think it was less about him understanding and more about my delivery. After all, I am starting to doubt if things will ever be back to normal. I doubt if I was very convincing. It breaks my heart not to be able to give him the things he wants, and this is made even worse by the fact that he just doesn't get it.
And J. Poor J. On two seperate occasions, I have had to call him home from school. We have one car, and they won't let me taxi him around, so he takes E to school in the morning then heads to his classes. So if my doctor or team of nurses see fit to send me somewhere, I have to either call him or call an ambulance. I'm not calling an ambulance. The result is that when they are overly cautious with me and send me to the hospital, J has to come home and take me. It makes me feel horrible. Then I try to talk myself out of feeling bad by rationalizing that this is his baby too. I have to deal with the pokes and prods, the needles and contractions and medications with their side effects. He can't be the one to do any of that. But he can be the one to have to take me where I need to go. I just know that if he fails a class, I will feel responsible. I shouldn't. He just has school. For years, I have juggled school, work, family with no problems. He should be able to handle school and driving me places. But this is me. I can't rationalize my way out of my feelings for some reason--I don't want to be a burden to anyone. And I have turned into nothing more than a burden.
Work--I shouldn't even care, but I have found myself being snubbed lately by coworkers. These are coworkers who, by the way, I have covered for on countless occasions. There was a period of time when we were so short-staffed at night that I would work as many as 7 12-hr. shifts in a week, not only to cover for people who were sick or out on leave, but also to pad the staffing so the ones who were there didn't have to work quite as hard. There was one period of time where we had three full-time night-shift therapists off on FMLA: one was sick and the other 2 had babies. I worked for them, and though I may have been grouchy and tired, I didn't complain. And I was in school full-time then, too. Now the tables have turned and I am the one out, and they won't even speak to me. Again, I shouldn't care, but I would be lying if I said I didn't. It makes me wonder how I am going to be treated when I return after all of this time off.
I guess I just feel a little alienated. J and E go to school all day, leaving me here with nothing but my thoughts. I'm bored and had my life virtually ripped out from under me. I'm under financial strain, when I am used to simply picking up extra shifts at work when money gets tight. That isn't an option now. Everything has changed, and I am feeling low, so these other issues feel a thousand times worse than they would have under normal circumstances. This, too, shall pass, I guess.
I am completely down right now. It goes beyond boredom. I can surf the 'net, read a book, watch a movie to cure that. My favorite is watching tv on the internet. I love when networks post tons of episodes of shows on their websites, so even shows I haven't watched I can catch up with. I thought about taking up knitting or crocheting or some other crafty pasttime, but then I had flashbacks of bedrest with E's pregnancy. I was determined then that I was going to learn how to knit. I figured I am a bright person and could figure it out, so I went on a frenzy. I got all of the stuff I needed, along with some how-to books, and started my attempt. Ha! That was not a good idea for several reasons. First, I don't take failure very well. I am a perfectionist, so if whatever I produced didn't come out looking like a commercially manufactured product, I would've died. Second, I am easily frustrated, and didn't handle it well when my first attempts at stitches came unraveled in my hands, over and over again. Third, I cannot leave a task unfinished. It does something to me. I have to finish what I start, right then and there. So the three of those combined made the attempt at knitting even more stressful than the boredom. I learned a lesson there. So then I got the idea, with this pregnancy, to make some of those fleece no-sew blankets. They're adorable, and seem easy: you just knot the fabric at the edges. So I looked at materials to make those and made a discovery: fleece is expensive. Well, it wouldn't be bad if my income were not drastically reduced right now, but it is, so that prohibited that experience. Any extra money right now needs to go to paying bills in advance, and getting baby stuff. That leaves me with books. Lots and lots of books.
And E. E does not get it, no matter how hard I try to explain. He wants his Mommy. The other day, they had some sort of skate party after school. I had no warning of it, whatsoever. We didn't even know where the skating rink was, but if I would have had notice, I could have planned ahead and sent him with J. I, obviously,cannot go. But I still tried. I found the rink, and tried to contact them to get info on when-where-how-etc. No answer. J was going to try to take him. Of course E made the raisin face, as we call it, where his eyes crinkle up and he really cries. He wanted not only to go, but for me to go with him. And yesterday he came home with one of those Scholastic book order forms, with an itemized list of what he wanted from it. This is sort of my fault. We have always had this little unwritten policy in the house: toys and video games come with a limit, as do dvd's. But books? If the kid wants books, he gets them. Books are good for you, are educational, and more. We don't limit books. But he wanted about $300 worth of books from this book order! I had to say no. I tried to explain that while mommy isn't working, we are on a tighter budget, and I may have to temporarily say no to some of the extras right now, but that it will not always be that way. That before he knows it, we will all be back to our old selves. He didn't buy it, and I think it was less about him understanding and more about my delivery. After all, I am starting to doubt if things will ever be back to normal. I doubt if I was very convincing. It breaks my heart not to be able to give him the things he wants, and this is made even worse by the fact that he just doesn't get it.
And J. Poor J. On two seperate occasions, I have had to call him home from school. We have one car, and they won't let me taxi him around, so he takes E to school in the morning then heads to his classes. So if my doctor or team of nurses see fit to send me somewhere, I have to either call him or call an ambulance. I'm not calling an ambulance. The result is that when they are overly cautious with me and send me to the hospital, J has to come home and take me. It makes me feel horrible. Then I try to talk myself out of feeling bad by rationalizing that this is his baby too. I have to deal with the pokes and prods, the needles and contractions and medications with their side effects. He can't be the one to do any of that. But he can be the one to have to take me where I need to go. I just know that if he fails a class, I will feel responsible. I shouldn't. He just has school. For years, I have juggled school, work, family with no problems. He should be able to handle school and driving me places. But this is me. I can't rationalize my way out of my feelings for some reason--I don't want to be a burden to anyone. And I have turned into nothing more than a burden.
Work--I shouldn't even care, but I have found myself being snubbed lately by coworkers. These are coworkers who, by the way, I have covered for on countless occasions. There was a period of time when we were so short-staffed at night that I would work as many as 7 12-hr. shifts in a week, not only to cover for people who were sick or out on leave, but also to pad the staffing so the ones who were there didn't have to work quite as hard. There was one period of time where we had three full-time night-shift therapists off on FMLA: one was sick and the other 2 had babies. I worked for them, and though I may have been grouchy and tired, I didn't complain. And I was in school full-time then, too. Now the tables have turned and I am the one out, and they won't even speak to me. Again, I shouldn't care, but I would be lying if I said I didn't. It makes me wonder how I am going to be treated when I return after all of this time off.
I guess I just feel a little alienated. J and E go to school all day, leaving me here with nothing but my thoughts. I'm bored and had my life virtually ripped out from under me. I'm under financial strain, when I am used to simply picking up extra shifts at work when money gets tight. That isn't an option now. Everything has changed, and I am feeling low, so these other issues feel a thousand times worse than they would have under normal circumstances. This, too, shall pass, I guess.
Friday, March 12, 2010
26 Wks,3 Days: Kick Counts and More
Baby Z was trying to kill me last night. Kill me!
This little booger can't be very long yet, but I was feeling him kick down by my groin, and at the same time, up by my rib cage on the opposite side of my body. I couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything to get comfortable. I lifted my shirt to look at my belly and J busted out laughing. Apparently, he had stretched out, and all that could be seen from the outside was this diagonal ridge that ran from my right rib border down to my left hip. I picture him in there, stretched out, arms over head, just chillaxin'.
The doctor wanted me to start doing kick counts this week, twice a day. I understand the value of this, and so I have been complying. Everytime I go to count the kicks, I do as it says in the instructions. I get comfy in a quiet place, settle in on my left side, and wait. And within five to ten minutes, Zachary provides enough movement to satisfy the doctor for 2 whole hours. At first, I did exactly as I was told: I laid there and counted the kicks for 2 hours. One time there was 48,and another time there was 54. They tell you they look for at least 10 in 2 hours. So eventually I started stopping after he got to 20 or so. The whole point is to make sure he is okay in there. I assure you, he's fine.
What I'm worried about, however, is his sleep-wake cycle. I know this seems silly, but when E was born, the patterns he showed in his sleep were identical to the ones he had in utero. Awake all night, asleep all day. But Zachary? Zachary is awake all of the time. He kicks all of the time. All day, everyday. He even keeps me up at night with it. Don't get me wrong: I love his little kicks. It tells me he is okay in there. If I don't feel them, I start to feel this twinge of panic. But what is this baby going to be like when he is born? Either this kid is not going to sleep, or he is going to have restless leg syndrome.
Other than that, this week has been uneventful. No crazy contractions since Saturday. I will have a few here or there, but nothing consistent that would send us to the hospital. I am afraid to admit this, but I think being grounded from work has done the trick. I won't be seeing my doctor this week, but I am sort of afraid. I was planning on trying to get them to allow me to return to work on a reduced schedule. The financial picture in this house is getting pretty ugly. And they could take my lack of contractions as a sign that I can, or they can take it as evidence that I really do need to be on bedrest. It could go either way. Not to mention, I will be seeing the only doctor in the practice I have yet to meet at my next appointment. They want us to meet all of them so we will see a familiar face when it comes time to deliver, in the event that someone new is on call. The only exception is for the women who are to have repeat c-sections. I was in that group, so got to pick the doctor I saw each time, as we knew who would be delivering me. But then my uterus had to go and get all dysfunctional, and I got placed in their high-risk group of patients, and now I have to rotate. Oh well. I have my favorites in the practice, the ones I click with better than the others, but they are all wonderful.
The only other thing I have to mention right now is that J noticed a trend this past weekend that may be the answer to my problems. When the contractions get to be at their worst, it is always at the end of the week. I just thought it was bad luck: weekends, doctors not in the office, etc. But he reminded me that I get my progesterone injections early in the week. When I start contracting like crazy, it is closer to the day I am due for the next shot. Hmmmmm.
This little booger can't be very long yet, but I was feeling him kick down by my groin, and at the same time, up by my rib cage on the opposite side of my body. I couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything to get comfortable. I lifted my shirt to look at my belly and J busted out laughing. Apparently, he had stretched out, and all that could be seen from the outside was this diagonal ridge that ran from my right rib border down to my left hip. I picture him in there, stretched out, arms over head, just chillaxin'.
The doctor wanted me to start doing kick counts this week, twice a day. I understand the value of this, and so I have been complying. Everytime I go to count the kicks, I do as it says in the instructions. I get comfy in a quiet place, settle in on my left side, and wait. And within five to ten minutes, Zachary provides enough movement to satisfy the doctor for 2 whole hours. At first, I did exactly as I was told: I laid there and counted the kicks for 2 hours. One time there was 48,and another time there was 54. They tell you they look for at least 10 in 2 hours. So eventually I started stopping after he got to 20 or so. The whole point is to make sure he is okay in there. I assure you, he's fine.
What I'm worried about, however, is his sleep-wake cycle. I know this seems silly, but when E was born, the patterns he showed in his sleep were identical to the ones he had in utero. Awake all night, asleep all day. But Zachary? Zachary is awake all of the time. He kicks all of the time. All day, everyday. He even keeps me up at night with it. Don't get me wrong: I love his little kicks. It tells me he is okay in there. If I don't feel them, I start to feel this twinge of panic. But what is this baby going to be like when he is born? Either this kid is not going to sleep, or he is going to have restless leg syndrome.
Other than that, this week has been uneventful. No crazy contractions since Saturday. I will have a few here or there, but nothing consistent that would send us to the hospital. I am afraid to admit this, but I think being grounded from work has done the trick. I won't be seeing my doctor this week, but I am sort of afraid. I was planning on trying to get them to allow me to return to work on a reduced schedule. The financial picture in this house is getting pretty ugly. And they could take my lack of contractions as a sign that I can, or they can take it as evidence that I really do need to be on bedrest. It could go either way. Not to mention, I will be seeing the only doctor in the practice I have yet to meet at my next appointment. They want us to meet all of them so we will see a familiar face when it comes time to deliver, in the event that someone new is on call. The only exception is for the women who are to have repeat c-sections. I was in that group, so got to pick the doctor I saw each time, as we knew who would be delivering me. But then my uterus had to go and get all dysfunctional, and I got placed in their high-risk group of patients, and now I have to rotate. Oh well. I have my favorites in the practice, the ones I click with better than the others, but they are all wonderful.
The only other thing I have to mention right now is that J noticed a trend this past weekend that may be the answer to my problems. When the contractions get to be at their worst, it is always at the end of the week. I just thought it was bad luck: weekends, doctors not in the office, etc. But he reminded me that I get my progesterone injections early in the week. When I start contracting like crazy, it is closer to the day I am due for the next shot. Hmmmmm.
Why??? A Rant
We aren't destitute.....yet. I have been going over our family's finances for the entire week. Over and over and over. The bottom hasn't fallen out yet, but by crunching numbers, I have determined that it will. So I started making phone calls. Don't I pay taxes that go to fund programs that help people like us? Yes, yes I do. $28K in taxes last year, to be exact. What I found is disturbing...
I have been told that I cannot receive any sort of aid because I am married, because I made too much last year, and any other myriad of poor excuses.
I am a college-educated woman who has worked. Brought home the bacon. Been the breadwinner. Yet now, unable to work, I find that I cannot get help? Yet my taxes can go to others who want to, or feel they are entitled to, sit on their butts. There is something wrong with this. Seriously. And what is most disturbig to me is that, in a matter of 12 to 16 weeks, I will be back to my old self, working like a dog and earning a salary far above the average in the U.S. This is as temporary as the definition of temporary can get.
This is what is wrong with our public assistance programs! We talk of welfare reform, and say that we want to see change that produces individuals who eventuall work toward self-sufficiency, but someone like me can't get approved. This is what we need: programs that help hard-working Amecans who, for one reason or another, cannot work. Temporarily. Not as a lifestyle choice, or as a permanent condition, but temporarily. For the permanently disabled, we have disability and social security. And don't penalize me for having a degree and being in the middle class prior to my downfall. Or for being married. Isn't the middle class supposed to be th heart and soul of America? No, being in the middle class is like a shove into the world, saying "You're on your own, kid!". We can be upwardly mobile socioeconomically. W can work and achieve education, and better our status. But don't let anything happen to decrease your income, because there is no safety net. And when you fall, you will fall hard.
I have been told that I cannot receive any sort of aid because I am married, because I made too much last year, and any other myriad of poor excuses.
I am a college-educated woman who has worked. Brought home the bacon. Been the breadwinner. Yet now, unable to work, I find that I cannot get help? Yet my taxes can go to others who want to, or feel they are entitled to, sit on their butts. There is something wrong with this. Seriously. And what is most disturbig to me is that, in a matter of 12 to 16 weeks, I will be back to my old self, working like a dog and earning a salary far above the average in the U.S. This is as temporary as the definition of temporary can get.
This is what is wrong with our public assistance programs! We talk of welfare reform, and say that we want to see change that produces individuals who eventuall work toward self-sufficiency, but someone like me can't get approved. This is what we need: programs that help hard-working Amecans who, for one reason or another, cannot work. Temporarily. Not as a lifestyle choice, or as a permanent condition, but temporarily. For the permanently disabled, we have disability and social security. And don't penalize me for having a degree and being in the middle class prior to my downfall. Or for being married. Isn't the middle class supposed to be th heart and soul of America? No, being in the middle class is like a shove into the world, saying "You're on your own, kid!". We can be upwardly mobile socioeconomically. W can work and achieve education, and better our status. But don't let anything happen to decrease your income, because there is no safety net. And when you fall, you will fall hard.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
25 Wks, 5 Days: Bedrest and the Eight-Year Anesthetic
Bedrest.
I have dreaded that word, but have anticipated it from the time I saw 2 pink lines on the home pregnancy test. I didn't want this. I used to work for a hospital where I would come home at the end of the day hating my job. That isn't the case anymore. I love my job. I love my coworkers, from the nurses and doctors I work with, to the other RT's, to the nurses, and all the way down to the housekeepers. I don't want to jeopardize that. And I am worried about the financial well-being of my little family. We have had some rough times, and we always bounce back, but after so many of those, you get tired. I mean really tired of having to rebuild. I know somehow we will survive this also. I just don't know how at this point. I'll cut expenses as much as possible, save as much as possible, and get help if I need it. I guess I'll have to wait and see, which is the hardest part for a type-A control freak like myself.
Yesterday, as I was contracting every 3 minutes, I hung my head and asked J if it was this hard with E. "Yes, baby, it was," he says. " But it was different because we were at a different place in our life and our marriage." It seems like a funny question for me to be asking him. I, of all people, should know. I was there.
They tell you that you will forget the pain of bearing a child as soon as you hold your baby. In some ways, I agree with this. I can tell you that E's pregnancy was a nightmare. I remember that much. I can tell you about the time a doctor told us we should just abort him and try again. I can recall other bits and pieces. The viscosity of the mag sulfate, cranked to the highest possible dose, and the throbbing in my arms as it entered the vessels. The purple-black bruises up both arms from both failed IV attempts and having to have labs drawn every 2 days. My white-knuckled fist grasping the bedrail as the contractions ripped through me. But that's it. Little tiny snapshots. Heartbeats, really, in the 34 weeks my body managed to both maintain him and try desperately to rid itself of him. Back then, I could have told you the entire story, in great detail. Somewhere along the line, the edges blurred, as if the 8 wonderful years of my life since he entered it have served as an anesthetic. As if Mother Nature or God, either one, is whispering in my ear, "It's all okay. You survived that, and now look at the reward. Look at this beautiful person who is here as a result of your toughness and grit." I can tell you the story, but the raw emotion is removed from it. It is just another event in my life. I think I needed the 8 years of watching him grow and giggle and learn and laugh in order to recover from the manner in which he entered the world.
So now here we are, fighting the same battle and it feels both the same and completely different. E's pregnancy seems easier now, looking back, and I don't know if this is because of different circumstances, or if it just seems so because I know E, and that has erased the degree of difficulty from my mind. 8 years from now, when Zachary is 8, will I have forgotten? Will knowing him and holding him and watching him grow serve to take all of this from me? One can only hope.
I have dreaded that word, but have anticipated it from the time I saw 2 pink lines on the home pregnancy test. I didn't want this. I used to work for a hospital where I would come home at the end of the day hating my job. That isn't the case anymore. I love my job. I love my coworkers, from the nurses and doctors I work with, to the other RT's, to the nurses, and all the way down to the housekeepers. I don't want to jeopardize that. And I am worried about the financial well-being of my little family. We have had some rough times, and we always bounce back, but after so many of those, you get tired. I mean really tired of having to rebuild. I know somehow we will survive this also. I just don't know how at this point. I'll cut expenses as much as possible, save as much as possible, and get help if I need it. I guess I'll have to wait and see, which is the hardest part for a type-A control freak like myself.
Yesterday, as I was contracting every 3 minutes, I hung my head and asked J if it was this hard with E. "Yes, baby, it was," he says. " But it was different because we were at a different place in our life and our marriage." It seems like a funny question for me to be asking him. I, of all people, should know. I was there.
They tell you that you will forget the pain of bearing a child as soon as you hold your baby. In some ways, I agree with this. I can tell you that E's pregnancy was a nightmare. I remember that much. I can tell you about the time a doctor told us we should just abort him and try again. I can recall other bits and pieces. The viscosity of the mag sulfate, cranked to the highest possible dose, and the throbbing in my arms as it entered the vessels. The purple-black bruises up both arms from both failed IV attempts and having to have labs drawn every 2 days. My white-knuckled fist grasping the bedrail as the contractions ripped through me. But that's it. Little tiny snapshots. Heartbeats, really, in the 34 weeks my body managed to both maintain him and try desperately to rid itself of him. Back then, I could have told you the entire story, in great detail. Somewhere along the line, the edges blurred, as if the 8 wonderful years of my life since he entered it have served as an anesthetic. As if Mother Nature or God, either one, is whispering in my ear, "It's all okay. You survived that, and now look at the reward. Look at this beautiful person who is here as a result of your toughness and grit." I can tell you the story, but the raw emotion is removed from it. It is just another event in my life. I think I needed the 8 years of watching him grow and giggle and learn and laugh in order to recover from the manner in which he entered the world.
So now here we are, fighting the same battle and it feels both the same and completely different. E's pregnancy seems easier now, looking back, and I don't know if this is because of different circumstances, or if it just seems so because I know E, and that has erased the degree of difficulty from my mind. 8 years from now, when Zachary is 8, will I have forgotten? Will knowing him and holding him and watching him grow serve to take all of this from me? One can only hope.
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
24 wks, 1 day/ 2 days: Unrelenting
So on this day, I go back to work, and am assigned an ICU at the hospital. This has to be the favorite part of my job, as I get to really use my brain, to an extent. And this is the first time since all of these complications have started that I have had such an assignment. But an ICU assignment can either be easy or hard, and there is no way to tell from one day to the next which it is going to be. This one started easy. It didn't finish that way. I started with 3 ventilator patients and ended my shift with 9. The night was full of patient transports and receiving full arrests from other facilities and other areas of the hospital. I really gave the brethine pump a run for it's money. By about 4 AM, my belly felt so tight I could barely stand it. I couldn't feel any distinct contractions, just tightness and pain. So one of OB RN friends runs into me in the hall, and tells me how crappy I look. Somehow, I ended up on a monitor just to see, and was contracting every 3 minutes. Gah!
The contractions weren't the biggest issue though. My phone started ringing off the hook. This patient had blood coming out of his endotracheal tube. Another patient needed to go for a stat head CT. And they were relying on me. I could have put my foot down and called one of my coworkers to do it, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. After all, my problems are not their problems. I am so tired of feeling like a nuisance, like a non-contributory party. And no one has said anything to me to make me feel this way. I do on my own. I am so used to being independent that have a hard time asking for help that is not offered. Yeah, I talk a good game. I know that the baby comes first and all, but I cannot just suck it up when push comes to shove. In the end, it made for a very exhausting night at work, both physically and emotionally.
The night did have a slight silver lining, however, when I returned home contracting every 3 minutes. Through the home monitor and the brethine pump, and several phone calls between myself and a home health nurse, I was able to get everything stopped without having to go back to the hospital. She would have me run a strip, then call and have me give myself a bolus, then repeat. We did this until the contractions were completely stopped! Sweet!
The contractions weren't the biggest issue though. My phone started ringing off the hook. This patient had blood coming out of his endotracheal tube. Another patient needed to go for a stat head CT. And they were relying on me. I could have put my foot down and called one of my coworkers to do it, but I couldn't bring myself to do it. After all, my problems are not their problems. I am so tired of feeling like a nuisance, like a non-contributory party. And no one has said anything to me to make me feel this way. I do on my own. I am so used to being independent that have a hard time asking for help that is not offered. Yeah, I talk a good game. I know that the baby comes first and all, but I cannot just suck it up when push comes to shove. In the end, it made for a very exhausting night at work, both physically and emotionally.
The night did have a slight silver lining, however, when I returned home contracting every 3 minutes. Through the home monitor and the brethine pump, and several phone calls between myself and a home health nurse, I was able to get everything stopped without having to go back to the hospital. She would have me run a strip, then call and have me give myself a bolus, then repeat. We did this until the contractions were completely stopped! Sweet!
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