Second thoughts

9 days past ovulation on a textbook cycle probably isn't the best time to be second-guessing whether one wants another child. Yet that is exactly what I am doing.

I'm thinking that having two is already lively.
I'm thinking that with three we would be outnumbered. And need a mini-van. That guzzles gas.
I'm thinking that we are already feeling the financial pinch of stagnant wages, high childcare costs, and inflation. How on earth can we be thinking about adding more expenses to the equation?
I'm thinking that botox/ microdermabrasion/ line filler might be a good fortieth birthday gift to self.
I'm thinking that my colleagues will not be pleased to have me working part-time for another semester.
I'm thinking that if we add a third child, my environmental studies students won't take me seriously.
I'm thinking that I've just started running again and I'm enjoying it. Maybe it is time to train for a marathon or half marathon.
I'm thinking that maybe this should be our last cycle trying to create my ideal family of five.

It isn't as if these second thoughts are completely new. . . when the second line appeared on my pregnancy test in January, my initial "two lines!" thrill was followed, without pause, by "Oh my god, oh my god." And this wasn't an "Oh my god, this is wonderful!" It was more of an "Oh my god, what have I done?"

Still, for four weeks, until I knew the sac was empty, I calculated and plotted and planned and decided that yes! we could definitely handle this. So when the pregnancy ended, I ordered ovulation tests and preseed and waited anxiously for my next cycle to start.

Here I am two cycles later with a major case of cold feet. Suddenly, I'm wondering if my push to have a third child had more to do with my infertility history than with what is best for my family. [Fuck you infertility! I can reproduce if I damn-well please.]


I had a pregnancy dream two nights ago that was similar to the dreams I had before discovering I was pregnant with Baby M and then with The Sac. I'm having major cramps that are similar to my early pregnancy cramping (in all fairness, these are also similar to menstrual cramps).

I'll probably test tomorrow morning. It is a bit early, but I feel the need to pee on a stick (which I have lots of because I ordered in bulk after my D&C).

34.5

That is how many hours I've been away from my girls. I miss them, but waking up at 8 a.m. was a dream. A dream I say! Still, I'll be glad to get home Saturday night.

Here is what I am missing:

Writing from a remote location

I've been too busy to post or read blogs, plus my iBook had to go back to the good folks at Apple, so it has been a while.

I don't have anything exciting to report. I seem to have recovered, from my two D & C procedures, but my hormones seem to be out of whack and I'm far from confident that we'll be able to conceive again. I started wheat grass pills this week (supposed to be good for fertility) and I ordered preseed*, but otherwise my health habits have been crap. I haven't been getting enough sleep, and my stress levels have been up there and I gained back all the weight I lost in the Fall.**

I took a train to Richmond, Va. today to attend a conference. I hate driving and found it to be a mostly pleasant way to travel, especially since it gave me time to finish the paper I will be presenting Friday morning. As we were boarding in Charleston, I noticed that several people had little coolers with them. I thought it odd since there is a dining car on the train. However, when I visited the dining car, I realized that the cooler bearers were veteran train passengers who are already familiar with the generally crappy dining car menu. Still, going hungry was a small price to pay for not having to drive and for finding time to finish the paper.

This is my first time away from Baby M and the longest time I've been away from Little E. I must confess that I shed a few tears at the train station as I kissed them goodbye. And yet, it was time. I know it was. Though I have been trying to get Baby M completely weaned since her first birthday in August, she is still nursing for about a minute--right boob only thank you very much--just before bed. This extended absence should spell the end of that. If this goes as I have planned, then last night should go down in history as our last nursing session. I am sad about it, but relieved at the same time.

The nicest thing about being away is that I will get to sleep in tonight. Actual sleep. No little one crawling into bed at 4 a.m. and stealing my covers, no dogs scratching at the back door, no 4 a.m. early wake-ups. I am about to get some honest to goodness sleep. If my hotel neighbors get loud, there is going to be trouble. Big trouble.




*We used it the cycle we conceived Baby M.
**I have A PLAN to deal with this. More on that next post.

What I don't like about daycare

Overall, we have been very happy with daycare/preschool. There are no nanny dramas, it is relatively affordable* and the socialization is good. With daycare, I don't worry that a caretaker is going to have a bad day and take it out on my child, and I don't worry about what to do when a nanny gets sick, has a personal crisis, or decides it is time to move on.

However, the last month (known hereafter as THE-MONTH-OF-SNOT-FEVER-AND-BARF-AND-MULTIPLE-D&Cs) has illustrated the one important shortcoming of group care: there is no care when the child is too sick for school. Until now, this has occasionally been inconvenient, but not devastating. The last four weeks have changed things, though.

Baby M has been sick a lot. First, it was the flu for a week. Shortly thereafter it was a stomach virus. She and her sister (who had by this time caught the flu) were home another week and a half. Then, after returning to school for only three days, Baby M caught another flu-like illness that had her out an additional three days.

If you are trying to do the math, we have had one or both children home for most of the last four weeks and the results have not been pretty. I'm behind at work, J is behind at work, the house is a mess (because we have been trying to work while tending to sick children), and tempers are short. I only missed one day of classes during all this, but I missed some rather important committee meetings and my students haven't had much access to me. My conference presentation on the 15th was rather so-so and I've not started my paper for my April conference (though the data analysis is mostly complete).

Tonight, I came close to a meltdown upon realizing that Baby M was running a fever of 101 again. However, her crankiness through much of the day left me suspicious that this might be an earache, and sure enough, her ear started draining tonight. The beauty of tubes is that we can just treat her with Motrin and antibiotic ear drops and she is usually fine within 12 hours. Hopefully, we will all go to work and school tomorrow and make it until Friday, the start of Spring Break.

One thing I am going to work on during Spring Break is coming up with a much better system for handling sick children and work. We have no family here so we don't have that sort of backup system. I wonder how other parents manage?


*If I could have afforded it, we would have started Baby M in group care a bit later, at 18-24 months like her big sister, but we had been through our savings for nanny care by the time she was born.

Best Laid Plans

Monday

The Plan: D&C at OB's office ; Recover at home while watching The Wire

Reality: D&C at OB's office ; Recover at home while watching The Wire


Tuesday

The Plan: Teach courses, write tests and quizzes for week, take a mid afternoon walk to deliver books and stretch legs.

Reality: Teach courses, write tests and quizzes for week, have walk interrupted by call from Baby M's center. Baby M is vomiting. Run back to car. Leave frantic messages on J's cell in case he is closer. Get Baby M. Take home. Get vomited on twice (it is me or the rugs and I am easier to clean). Take shower twice. Trail Baby M with towels and catch next five retching episodes. Rugs OK. Watch J walk in door with Little E. Inform him that Baby M is in bad shape. Watch in disbelief as J leaves to go to the the track because his Tuesday run is "very important" to him. Stew.

Wednesday

The Plan: Go to office and work on conference presentation; contact caterers for undergraduate conference I am chairing; go to gym.

Reality: Stay home with Baby M who is no longer vomiting, but who is having issues at the other end. Attempt to entertain Baby M and work on aforementioned presentation. Get call from Little E's teacher. Little E is lethargic, running a temperature of 104 and complaining of headache. Call J who is able to get her. Go downtown after hours to pick up tests and quizzes. Realize that student worker only copied ten tests because I neglected to tell her how many to copy. Curse. Loudly. Copy 80 tests and quizzes. Go home. Bathe children. Stay up all night with Little E who is miserable.

Thursday

The Plan: Give tests and quizzes; present research to my faculty committee; meet with independent studies student.

Reality: Take Little E to doctor where she tests positive for flu (despite having had the flu shot). Hand her off to J who had stayed home with M who is vomiting again. Get to school late for first quiz. Give test to second class. Get very annoyed because one idiot freshman takes an extra 15 minutes on test. Call chair of committee and tell her to put me on the agenda for the next meeting. Go fill Little E's prescription for Tamiflu. Tell J to give her the Tamiflu before he leaves for work. Watch J force liquid down her throat. Watch E vomit on him. Laugh. Am treated with silent treatment for the rest of the day.

Friday

The Plan: Arrive at office early, polish conference presentation; finish travel grant; clean deask; have lunch with friends; grade quizzes and tests.

Reality: Stay home with sick children AND sick husband (who has caught the stomach thing). Change diapers too foul to discuss. Listen to children and husband whine. Contemplate running away. Notice that own post D&C cramping is getting uncomfortable.

Saturday

The Plan: Go shopping for fabulous boots; clean house; declutter 15 minutes; relax

Reality: Children and husband still ill. Own cramps becoming nearly unbearable. Light bleeding turns heavy, turns to near hemorrhage. Pass golf ball to fist size clots. Call doctor and am told to go to Labor and Delivery. Am dropped at hospital by J and sick children. Call L, my oldest friend, and ask for a ride home for later. Sudden gush of blood gets me to front of line and I am admitted. Call L to tell her to take her time as I will probably need surgery. Ultrasound confirms "junk" in uterus. Am prepped for proper D&C. L arrives and we laugh and catch up as we wait for OR. Best time I have had in a week. Finally wheeled into OR. South American doctor with lovely accent gives me "medicine so you won't care." Informed after surgery that the pregnancy was possibly molar. Too blissed out from drugs to be concerned. L finally takes me home 7.5 hours after I was admitted. Realize this was the first night that I haven't nursed Baby M at bedtime. Too medicated to care.

Sunday

The Plan: Screw it. I'm over planning.

Glad it is over

After my Friday freak out, I was OK again; I just needed to get it out of my system. By Saturday, I was looking ahead and I even ordered 50 OPK sticks from one of the cheap Internet sites. I almost ordered pregnancy tests, too, but I didn't want to jinx myself.

My procedure was today at 1 p.m. It hurt, and I wouldn't care to repeat it, but the nurses and doctor were very compassionate (for people who clamp your cervix, inject it, jam a catheter into your uterus, and then apply suction). They let J sit with me and hold my hand which was comforting. They sent the tissue t pathology, but I told them that chromosomal analysis was unnecessary. I mean, we know something went wrong, but I don't see any point in knowing what particular genetic accident may have occurred.

I'm cramping badly now, but I have just taken a Valium, a percocet, and some ibuprofen (all sanctioned by the OB) so I should be feeling better soon. J has gone to pick up the girls, and I am going to head upstairs to hide out for a bit. A generous friend is bringing dinner by later. Her kindness is a salve.

While the sadness is still there, I am mainly feeling relieved to have this behind me. I'm looking forward to losing the three to four pounds I gained over the last eight weeks and I'm looking forward to drinking margaritas this weekend. As soon as I start cycling again, we'll give it another go. If it works, great. If not, I have two beautiful daughters, and I am truly thankful for that.

Wuss

I'm a wuss.

Despite the doomed pregnancy, I functioned fairly normally all week. I taught my classes, attended one semi-contentious department meeting, advised, worked on a conference presentation, wrote my self-evaluation* and cared for my family. The pregnancy was always on my mind, of course, but I didn't allow myself to be completely distracted by it. Emotionally, I was strong.

That changed this afternoon after my appointment to confirm the blighted ovum. While the sac grew some since last Friday, it was still empty, a black hole in my uterus. I didn't expect a baby to suddenly appear, but when the ultrasound confirmed the diagnosis, I was shaken: There is knowing and then there is knowing.

The OB and I discussed my options. Seeing as how what goes in must come out, something needs to be done lest I am surprised one day in the middle of teaching, or while caring for my children alone, or while out of town at a conference, by a natural miscarriage. That won't do.

After reading a ton of negative Cytotec posts on internet message boards and after talking to a friend who had used Cytotec only to need a follow-up D&C, I decided that being knocked out for a pain-free D&C would be my best option. However, we hit a snag-- my OB and I have incompatible schedules. His surgery days next week are my class and meeting days. Missing would require a very, very good excuse, but I can't think of one. ** I could wait, but emotionally, I need this behind me, plus there is that small problem of an unscheduled miscarriage in middle of something important.

He suggested, instead, that I have an office procedure on Monday in which he will numb my cervix*** and use a vacuum to evacuate the uterus. I agreed to it, just to get this over. The fun part is that I will be totally awake and aware for it. He gave me a prescription for 5 mg of Valium to "take the edge off," but I don't think that is going to help much. In the past (before my spinal surgery), it has taken a much higher dose of Valium to even make me drowsy.

I asked about pain and the OB said that I will feel strong cramping, but that it will be over quickly and to take 800mg of ibuprofen. As if that is going to help. They are going to hoover my uterus and all I will get is lousy ibuprofen. Like I said, I am a wuss. Yes, I labored and gave birth without a working epidural (the first catheter came out and the second epidural numbed my left side only), so I know pain. But I don't embrace pain. I am not one with it. I don't go looking for it. I run from it.

I made it out of the building, but started crying as soon as I closed the door to my car. I sobbed all the way home (I must have looked alarming). I don't know whether I was crying over the loss of this pregnancy, or over the fear of a painful procedure, or maybe just over my feeling of complete lack of control. But I haven't cried that hard in a very long time. I'm still weepy and it has been eight hours.

[Note to self: Must get a grip.]

I know that anticipation is often the hardest part when faced with the unknown, and I know that I will survive the procedure on Monday, but that doesn't help much.

In the meantime I have a torture session visit with the in-laws! to endure look forward to. They called tonight and said that they are coming for the day! Tomorrow! Joy!

Can one of you kind readers please just shoot me now? Please?





*Summary: I am a superior professor, but I need to work on being less of a perfectionist.
Translation: Give me a merit raise, fools.

**Would rather tell colleagues and students that I had been abducted by aliens then let them know that I am miscarrying.

***Does the joint use of the words "needle" and "cervix" make you nervous? I broke into a cold sweat just thinking about it.

A rotten week

It has been a bad, bad week.

First, Baby M managed to come down with the flu* despite having had the flu shot in the fall. She was miserable, and I must observe that there is nothing sadder than a 17-month-old who has the shakes from a 104.5 degree fever. She spent a good bit of time limp in our arms and spent a couple of fitful nights in our room because I was too worried to leave her in her crib. It was exhausting for all of us.

Coupled with the worry and stress of having a sick baby, was the stress of juggling her care during a particularly busy work week. Because we were interviewing candidates for a faculty position in my department, there were meetings, job talks, and lunches with candidates that I could not miss. This meant that J and I spent the week frantically shuffling what we could shuffle and trying not to fight about whose commitments were more important at any given moment. We managed to muddle through, but it was not pretty and by week's end we were both exhausted from it.**

On Friday, I woke to light pinkish-brown spotting. It stopped quickly and I had no cramping so I wasn't terribly worried. I called the nurse for reassurance and she felt that it was probably just irritation from the progesterone suppositories given that I was having no heavy cramps. Even so, she put me in with my OB so that I wouldn't spend the next week (until my 8 week appointment) worrying.

At my appointment, the OB went through the checklist again:

Any more spotting? No? Good.
It was brown, not red? Yes? Excellent.
Still having nausea? Yes? Good sign.
Strong cramping/ contractions? No. Very good.
So let's take a look.

Out came the ultrasound machine. First he tries the abdominal probe. I see my uterus and the black gestational sac and nothing else. He says he is having a hard time scanning through because of my retroverted uterus, so let's try the internal probe, OK?

Again, he scans. Again a black hole. Nothingness. Nurse and doctor exchange looks. The nurse moves Kleenex box closer to the exam table.

"I'm concerned because by now we should see the contents of the gestational sac," he says at last.

"Blighted ovum?" I ask, knowing the answer already. I am calm, detached.

"It is certainly suspicious," he concedes.

He decides that I should return in a week to confirm. If I haven't passed it on my own by then, I can either take a pill to induce contractions or I can schedule a D&C. ***

So I am pregnant, but not. My breasts ache, my tummy is bloated, waves of nausea grip me, and I am in the grips of that bone deep fatigue that is exclusive to pregnancy. But there will be no baby. No payoff for the hard work my body has done. No sweet baby kicks and no ultrasound peeks at my sweet one. Nothing.

I'm OK. I've shed no tears. I am numb. I am empty.




*This was confirmed with a rapid flu test at the pediatrician's office.
**On the bright side, Baby M is feeling better and should be able to return to her center on Monday.
***Thoughts on this?

My Little Houdini

To celebrate surviving the first OB appointment--complete with a breast exam, pap smear, internal exam, labs and ultrasound*-- I decided to go buy some fabulous boots. After cooking dinner, bathing the girls, and putting Baby M to bed, I left the house for some serious shopping.

As I was walking into the first shoe store, J called to inform me that Baby M had climbed out of her crib, walked to her door, and started knocking on it like a Jehovah's Witness on a mission. He lowered the crib the last two inches and she repeated her escape act. Another call. Could I please come home? Now?

Bootless, I headed home. By the time I walked through the door, Baby M was asleep in her crib. I asked J how he had managed to settle her down, to which he replied, "Duct tape."

Somehow, given his propensity to use duct tape on, well, everything, this seemed more than slightly plausible. So it was with great trepidation I opened the door to Baby M's room.

This is our crib:





I am happy to report that no duct tape was used. What J did was to turn the crib around so that the lower side is facing the wall and the high side is facing outward into the room. It is only a matter of time before she manages to hoist herself out the sides, but it buys us time to get one of these fancy crib tents:









*Gestational sac spotted; repeat ultrasound in two weeks to look for a fetus and heartbeat.

Quick update

Thanks for the kind thoughts in response to my last two posts. I've been intending to update, but there isn't much to say at this point. The hard thing about being a "regular" OB patient is the lack of early monitoring. Here is all I have to share at this point:

My first (and only) beta was 86. I surged on December 20th so I'm assuming I ovulated on the 21st. I think that 86 is a decent beta for 14 dpo--not as high as Baby M, but high enough. My anxiety would be lower (or higher) had I had a second beta, but the OB wouldn't order another-- I had the sense that he was indulging me with the first. I almost called Dr. Negative for monitoring, but I decided against it.

All I can say is thank goodness for HPTs. I've taken a LOT of them. At first, I just took pleasure in watching the First Response brand get progressively darker. Then I switched to the cheap dollar store hpts. These are great because they keep getting darker for quite a while. Did I mention that I have bought a LOT of these? Even the clerk at the dollar store looked at me funny when I was checking out, prompting me to snap, "Yes, I'm a bit obsessed, Okay?" I remember my grandmother, a gentle alcoholic*, used to hide her wine bottles so her sister wouldn't find them. I've started to do that with HPTs so that J doesn't think I've gone completely insane.


I'm going to see the OB on Monday. His nurse said that he was concerned that my one beta was low. I was confused about this until I realized that he was going by my last menstrual cycle start date, assuming that I ovulated on day 14 rather than day 21. I could have cleared this up by telling the nurse that I was sure I ovulated late, but when I realized I would probably get an early scan out of it, I said nothing. I'm evil that way. My name is Em, and I am an ultrasound whore.


*Seriously, I named little E after her. She was the best grandmother in the world. She just happened to be an alcoholic, too.

What does it take to get a beta around here?

Little E was conceived on an injectable/ IUI cycle. We tried on our own six months and then had eight months of fertility treatment. Had we not conceived that cycle, we would have moved on to IVF. We started trying for Baby M when little E was six or seven months old. That took eight months. She was conceived naturally, with progesterone support while we were waiting to travel to a high FSH friendly fertility center for IVF.

This time, we tried once. Once. I've read that pregnancy cures infertility, but damn. Once.

While conception was alarmingly easy, getting a beta was a battle. First I called the OB's office at 8:30 a.m. and the receptionist cheerfully took my information and said, "We'll see you February 1."

Having had my first two pregnancies monitored closely by an RE for the first two months, I thought I had missed something. So I asked when my blood work and ultrasounds were happening.

She said, "We don't do anything before eight weeks."

So I asked to speak to a nurse.

Who called me back at 11:30 and said there was no need for a beta as long as the pregnancy was progressing normally.

So I asked how one can tell the pregnancy is progressing normally in the absence of repeat betas and ultrasounds.

She said she would talk to the doctor.

So I reminded her of my thyroid cancer and thyroid replacement and asked that they check my levels to be sure that things are OK there.

She said she would speak to the doctor.

She finally called back at 3:15 and said that I could have my beta and thyroid labs on Monday morning. When I asked why I couldn't have it today, she said that they were closing at 4:00.

I'll be there, I said. And I was. Barely. With a wide-eyed three-year-old in tow.

But now I have to wait until Monday for beta results (and it doesn't sound like there will be repeat betas). So I went to the store and bought six more HPTs.* Just to get me through the weekend.




*I just used one. Line is definitely darker.

Stick Confusion, Part II

I'm freaking out a little right now. I tested Tuesday and it was snowy white. So I:

--indulged in alcohol

--indulged in a ton of caffeine

--took advil for these "menstrual" cramps

--took cold medicine

I also convinced myself that it would be better wait a little longer to really try since having a baby in September would mean I would have to start teaching again when the baby was three months old.

Tonight I decided to test again, not because I really suspected anything, but because my luteal phase has lasted so long. I was absolutely shocked to get a positive. I mean, we did it once, no preseed, no wheat grass, no progesterone support, no charting.

I'm elated. I'm scared. I'm thinking this isn't very dark for 14 days past ovulation. I'll call my doctor for a beta tomorrow and will report back when I have word.

39

That's my age as of today.

My in-laws invited themselves to our house for Christmas so I spent my birthday cooking, cleaning, serving, and cleaning again. I did get a birthday card.

Tonight, I'm tired. And feeling old. I want to go to bed. And yet, I feel like I should continue my practice of using my birthday to reflect upon the previous year and to think about how I would like the next year to unfold.

Here are my wishes from last year with updates:

That I find the will to finish the text. No. But I found the will to pull the plug which was major.

That the publisher is nicer. Sadly, no, she is a rotten flower.

That my daughters are healthy. Yes!

That daycare is more traumatic for me than for Baby M. I think so. She adjusted easily, but overall, I think that I would prefer a nanny if we had the funds.

That E figures out the potty training thing. Yes! She worked this out around 30 months or so.

That J and I have time to reconnect. We need to continue working on this. It has been a rough year, but I think we are doing better.

That I can breastfeed M until she is one or until I feel good about stopping. Yes! I bet my 38-year-old-self would have been surprised to know we would still be doing this.

That I lose the baby weight. Mostly, yes, though I think I have gained weight with this week's baking and feasts!

Peace on Earth. Is it more peaceful this year?

That I become better organized. Woefully, no.

That I keep writing in this space for therapy. Happily, yes.

That fewer hairs show up on my chin. Sigh.

That I give more to worthwhile causes and charities. I could do better.



Here are my wishes for the next year:

That I step up my research efforts.

That I make getting more sleep a priority.

That my girls are healthy.

That I find ways to deal with my children's tantrums without losing my cool.

That J and I continue to work on better communication.

That we have another healthy pregnancy.

That we are able to retire our debt and start saving beyond what we are putting into retirement.

That I work on becoming better organized and home and at work.

That I take time to take care of myself.

That fewer stray hairs show up on my chin and jawline.

That my growing-out hair gets past the awkward stage quickly.

That I see my friends more often.

That I keep writing in this space.

Stick confusion

After over 15 months of breastfeeding*, I finally started cycling again around Thanksgiving. Yesterday, I used an ovulation prediction test and thought it might be positive, but I couldn't be sure. This morning, I repeated and it was definitely positive (yes, I know you aren't supposed to do them in the morning, so sue me). I was so excited to have a clearly positive test stick that I walked out to show it to J.

I handed it over and said, "maybe you can come home during lunch." He looked at the stick and and then gave me an awkward little hug and kiss with an "Oh, wow!" I thought it was a slightly odd response to an LH surge, but it wasn't until I walked back to the bedroom that I realized what had happened. It had not occurred to me that J, not counting cycle days or fertility signs, might assume I was handing him a positive pregnancy test. I walked back to the kitchen and told him about the stick confusion and we both had a little smile over it.

So, yes, I guess we have decided to try for one more. I'm going to be 39 in a few days and I have high FSH; I know our chances are low. I refuse to chart, obsess, or do anything more than use an OPK to pinpoint days, but here we go again.

*Still, breastfeeding now, but barely.

Photos

Sometime in the mid 90s, I flew to Seattle with my mother to attend my cousin J’s wedding. I hadn’t seen J since we were children, but my mother wanted a traveling companion, the trip was free, and I was curious about Seattle and the four cousins who I perceived as being quite glamorous. At the time, my aunt and uncle lived in Bremerton where they had views of Puget Sound from their small horse farm. I remember it being lovely and picturesque, but what I remember most vividly is the smell of evergreen and moist, cool air.

The trip must have taken place fairly shortly after the suicide of Kurt Cobain because I recall asking my cousins if they had been to a Nirvana show before the band hit big. They all looked at me blankly and said they knew nothing of the Seattle music scene. I soon learned that not only were my cousins not into the grunge scene, they did not approve of it. Though they were raised Catholic like me, three of my four cousins had recently been born again and were now nondenominational, evangelical, conservative Christians. In other words, they were just like much of the population I had happily left behind in South Carolina. It was disappointing to say the least. If my references to non-Christian bands didn’t already set me up as a sinner in my cousin’s eyes, my casual mention of how J and I lived together for a year an a half before we were married certainly did the trick. For the rest of my visit, my cousins kept a polite and wary distance from me, which meant I ended up hanging out with my elders.

My aunt, who is quite thrifty and skilled in the kitchen, decided to bypass a caterer and cater the wedding reception herself. It was a significant undertaking, but with all the extra hands in the kitchen, she made it work. For two days before the wedding, al the women of the family cooked and then decorated the church. While I was somewhat bemused at the time, I’m glad we had the opportunity to stay in that kitchen for as long as we did. Bonding was had by all, except, of course, by the cousins who were keeping their prayerful distance.

The wedding was interesting. The preacher explained how it is a busy and confusing world and that cousin J, being a woman, just couldn’t be expected to process it all. Her new husband’s duties would include explaining the world to his bride, shielding her from its harsh realities, and leading her through it.* As the preacher intoned, “As God is to man, husband is to wife.” I developed an inappropriate set of giggles and was pinched, HARD, by my mother and an aunt.

The morning after the wedding we again congregated in my aunt’s kitchen. Along with coffee and pastry, photos were passed around the kitchen. Vacations, children, home improvements—there was no theme. Eventually, my mother pulled a set of treasured photos from her purse. There were oohs and ahs as the pictures made their way through the room. Curious about what my elders were so excitedly viewing, I waited impatiently for my turn. As I held them at last, I realized that rather than show photos of her home, husband, children, or vacations, my mother selected photos from her recent colonoscopy for show and tell. Yes, my mother not only kept the photos of her first colonoscopy and polyps (a full decade before going on to develop full blown colon cancer), but she carried them across the country. To breakfast. And no one objected. What does this say about my mother? About my extended family?

Today I noticed that my doctor had included photos of my “normal colon” with my discharge paperwork from my Monday colonoscopy. I briefly considered filing the images in my medical files. However, upon remembering the breakfast of coffee, pastry and polyps, I decided to toss my colon pictures into the trash lest I suddenly be tempted to pull them out during Christmas dinner.


*They divorced after only two years, which tells me that cousin J must have wised up.

Back

This is the first time I’ve had a chance to post or catch up on my favorite blogs in nearly a month. I feel like I have run a marathon–make that an ultra marathon- what with the end of the semester, with neurotic seniors working frantically to complete their practicum research, with J’s two weeks of travel, with final exams, with meetings, with conference papers due, with letters of reference to write, with Christmas to plan, with in-laws acting up. It has all been a bit much.

It feels good to be back.


I should give a real update, but a brief run down will have to do for tonight. I’ll post about each of these separately now that I am finally on a two-week break.

-M was assessed and diagnosed with a speech delay. In theory, she will start speech therapy after the holidays. I’ll know more after meeting with the service coordinator this Thursday.

-We are cohosting, with J’s brother and sister-in-law, a 50th anniversary party for J’s parents. It is out of control. I’m dreading the party.

–More than dreading the party, I’m dreading Christmas Day. J’s mother invited the rest of the family to my home for Christmas. Which is my birthday. Today when she asked about my Christmas menu, she informed me that my brother-in-law can’t digest the shrimp in my main dish. Much more on this later.

– I could never be a single parent. Two weeks without J during the last week of school and the first week of exams convinced me of this.

–I had a colonoscopy today. Preparation: horrible. Procedure: tolerable. Results: excellent.

–Grades will be released to students tomorrow and I know that I will receive angry/ frantic. bewildered email messages from students who performed poorly or failed my classes. Am very worried for and somewhat scared of one senior who failed my practicum.

–E is out of preschool for almost four weeks. This means that she will have to accompany me to my office as I prepare for the new semester. Four weeks scares me a bit.

–I’m about to take on an administrative position in my department as program director for my discipline (we are a two-discipline department).

–I’ve been watching Season One of Heroes on DVD for a few nights. Perfect escapism after a lousy month.

How have you been?

Gym Rat: Part II

Did I mention that the shower at the second gym is awful? I went by today and asked to check it out. One of the girls walked me back and showed me that, yes, one of the two stalls does have enough water pressure to rinse shampoo out of hair. The other shower has no water pressure, but it has hot water. So, if I join, I can take a shower with just enough pressure to rinse my hair OR I can stand under a trickle of hot water, but I can't have water pressure and hot water at the same time. Bummer.

I spoke to the manager and asked him if he was aware of the plumbing issues. His responded that yes, he was well aware of the issues in the women's locker room and that they have had plumbers out several times. Furthermore the owners are aware of the issue. He then told me that the showers in the men's locker room are "perfect." Somehow that was not reassuring though I think he meant it to be. Despite this, I'm 99 percent sure I'm joining. While the family center would be nice for the swimming pool (and swim lessons), it is too easy for me to make excuses not to go.

Now I have to decide between a two year contract that is $29 a month or a one year contract that is $39 a month.

Gym Rat

Okay, I'm not a gym rat yet, but I plan to join a gym. Believe it or not, this doesn't have a lot to do with vanity or not being able to find jeans that fit. It is about health. My bones' health, specifically.

Nine and a half years ago I was diagnosed with thyroid cancer. It was really no big deal. I had surgery to remove my thyroid and radiation to kill any lingering thyroid or cancer cells. Since then I have been on a fairly high dose of thyroid replacement hormone. The idea is to suppress the production of TSH which can fuel any cancer cells that escaped radiation. The problem with long-term suppression of TSH is that it can lead to accelerated bone loss and osteoporosis. The problem with not doing long-term suppression is that thyroid cancer can be tenacious and come back even after 15 or 20 years. A definite balancing act is in order.

Unfortunately for me, I have risk factors other than thyroid treatment for osteoporosis including my build (small boned and thin*), family history of osteoporosis (my father has a hump now), and European descent. Even nursing can leach needed calcium and lead to bone loss. Because of my risk factors, I've had three bone density scans since my initial thyroid cancer treatment. The first, my baseline, came soon after treatment and showed that I already had comparatively low bone mass for my age. My second bone scan was similar to my first; I still had ostepenia, but it looked like I was holding my own. My third test, done last winter, was dismal. I had lost bone mass in both my hips and my spine. In fact, I had lost over 20 percent of my already low bone spinal bone mass in just four years: I'm closing in on osteoporosis.

At my appointment a few weeks ago, my endocrinologist/ oncologist said that she was alarmed by my results. She wants me to think about using one of the bone building drugs and to increase my calcium intake (my blood calcium is always a bit low which is common for thyroid cancer patients, particularly if the parathyroid glands were traumatized during surgery, which mine were). She also backed off my thyroid replacement dose a bit with the stipulation that if my labs change (protein cancer markers), then they will have to be amped up again.

I'm not wild about the bone building drugs. I've pored over the research, and it seems that this class of drugs is not the best idea for premenopausal women. Instead, I want to make a concerted effort to increase my calcium and vitamin D intake. I also want to get religious about strength training and weight bearing exercise, both of which preserve bone mass. Thus, my desire to join a gym.

I have narrowed my gym search to three facilities, but I'm having a hard time choosing among them.

The first is a family wellness center not far from our home, but about six miles from my office. We were members there for a year, but we let the membership lapse because we weren't using it enough. The center is large, has a pool, and there is a free nursery. There are free weights, two sets of nautilus equipment, plenty of cardio equipment, and a wide range of classes. The problem with this center is that to use it, I will either have to drive to our downtown campus to drop E off and then drive back out to the gym or try to leave her in the gym nursery. She used to flip out about the gym nursery so I'm just not sure if this will work.

The second facility is only a block from my office. It is sleek and new. The cardio equipment is awesome and the weight equipment is easy to use. It is incredibly clean. There is no pool, no childcare, and fitness classes are limited, but that doesn't concern me too much because of the convenience. With it so close to my office, it would be easy for me to work out several mornings a week. The biggest negative (and possible deal breaker) is the shower in the facility. I signed up for three free visits over the summer and was horrified at the shower situation. There was no water pressure and the water temperature was unpredictable--lukewarm one day and scalding hot the next. Those were the worst showers I have ever taken. I told the staff about them, but an acquaintance told me that nothing has been done. I'm not sure that I can join a gym where I can't get a decent shower.

The last gym is a few blocks from my office. There is no childcare and no pool, but there are yoga and pilates classes. The facility has a ton of cardio equipment as well as free weights and nautilus. The showers appear to be functioning well. However, there are several problems with this facility. First, it is the most expensive of the three. Second, the cardio equipment is situated along a window that overlooks a busy sidewalk and street--to exercise there is to be on display. Third, it doesn't seem like they are fastidious about making sure the machines are wiped clean and disinfected. Given the surge in nasty superbugs, I prefer a clean gym. Finally, this gym is very popular with the student set and I'm not sure that I could work out there without feeling self conscious and old.

So I'm stuck. I just can't make up my mind. Will I really use the family center if I have to take E downtown to campus and then drive all the way back? Will I use the beautiful center a block from my office and just deal with the trickle of water and unpredictable water temperatures? Or will I take stock in purell, get over my self-consciousness and join the gym where there a lot of student types? What would you do?

*Yes, yes. I have been complaining about my weight, but extra pounds on a small frame make a difference.

Public Service Announcement

Is it possible that those pounds I have lost have all come from my chest?

I ask because I spent much time trying on new jeans this weekend. Twelve pairs to be exact. None fit. None flattered. While my weight is back near its prepregnancy state, my hips are not. I've decided that jean shopping is a close second to bathing suit shopping on the things-to-do-to-feel-completely-demoralized list. Bra shopping runs a close third. As it happens, grading senior research papers is up there. *

The jean shopping made me realize that 1) my weight loss may not be proportional and 2) my chest is going to win my body's biggest loser-a-thon. You see, M is barely nursing anymore; she likes a quick nip at bedtime and when she wakes, but she isn't getting much. These days it is all about comfort and not much about nutrition. My boobs have responded to the decrease in demand by doing the incredible shrinking tits act. I have gone from a 36DD just two months ago back to my prepregnancy size of 34 C. I suspect there may be more shrinkage once we are truly done with the comfort nursing. I don't really mind the shrinking-- after all, exercise is easier with a smaller chest--but I do mind that my nipples aren't pointing the right way.

That's right. You heard me. My nipples can no longer be counted on to point straight out (remember the headlight jokes in middle school?). Nope. They tend to point to the sides a bit. Sometimes they stare at each other, cross-eyed. Other times, they look away from each other as if repulsed by each other. It isn't pretty. In fact, I find it somewhat alarming. My friends warned me that after nursing I might droop or sag; in fact my sister-in-law had implants after nursing two children left her with "two empty tube socks." But no one told me that nipples can end up out of alignment.

S0 here is a public service announcement. In addition to shrinkage, droopage and stretch markage, nipple misalignment is a very real possibility. Consider yourself warned.




*Holy Mother of God, whose class have they been sitting in all semester? Why can't they write? Did their English teachers give them multiple choice essays? Why can't they form simple hypotheses? How am I supposed to grade these? Why me? Why me? Whaaaaa.

November

Do you remember how in old movies the passage of time is shown as a the whirling hands on a clock or as the pages of a calendar flipping by in staccato? October went by like that. Supersonic. How is it already November?

November is OK. It's no October, but the month has its charms. The cool weather is lovely, and wearing flannel pajamas is delicious, if not sexy. I don't much care for the shorter days and for getting home after dark, but I do like the smell of wood smoke from neighbors' chimneys and sleeping under a pile of quilts. In November, my impulse is to hunker down and ready myself for the long pause of winter. This November, I'll fight that urge.

Last month, I vowed to lose weight. The baby pounds were getting old, and I felt disgust every time I pulled on my fat pants. My weight loss plan was simple: eat less and exercise more. I stayed away from sweets and tried to take walks whenever I had a few minutes to spare. By October 30th, I had dropped six pounds and was back in my favorite jeans.* Yes, I overindulged a bit around Halloween,** but I'm back on the wagon and I'm hoping to drop another three to four pounds by the end of the month and to be back at my pre-fertility treatment weight by year's end.

As silly as it sounds, my confidence was boosted by being able to reach my weight loss goal. I've had a down year professionally, my three-year-old has started copping serious attitude, and my 14 month old isn't speaking; it's all been a bit much and I've been feeling downright glum, out of control, rudderless. Losing the weight reminded me that I do have some command over my life. And that is a good thing.

I've decided that setting one manageable goal a month may be just the thing to keep my outlook more sunny, which is why I'm declaring November the month of the FROG. For those of you lucky enough not to live in suburban hell, that is Finished Room Over the Garage.

My FROG is the dumping ground for the entire house. It is supposed to be my home office, and indeed, my computer, printer, fax and other office gear are here. But it isn't a peaceful office because there are boxes, scattered paperwork, toys, books, and various odds and ends. It is so disorganized and cluttered that I have put off having the roof fixed because workers would have to pass through the FROG to get to the trusses. For about a year, I've been promising myself that I would clear it out, but I've put it off. It has just seemed too overwhelming.
I'm ready now. By the end of the month, I want this to be a peaceful and organized office/ playroom. My plan is to spend at least 15 minutes every day until I get it in order. I hope that I can chip away at the task bit by bit until I can report mission accomplished.


*OK-they are still a little tight, but it isn't scandalous.
**Chocolate.