Ex Post Facto

Wiling away the hours...

I was petrified going into Thursday's OB appointment, scared that there would be no progress from my last exam three weeks ago because I swore up and down that I was having absolutely no contractions. Never even noticed a Braxton Hicks.

I was pleasantly surprised to learn that I would indeed be able to schedule my induction because I am 2 centimenters dilated, 80% effaced, soft, anterior cervix and LC is at a 0 station. So unless she comes on her own - we are scheduled to go in for an induction the day after my due date - Thursday, 2/22 at 7:30 am. 

To pass the time this afternoon (and quite enjoyably I add), Himself and I ventured into the land of "Our Future Life" and went to Lily's 1st birthday.  Witness the glimpses into my future?  Mind boggling, really to see kids everywhere.  I swear they are like little Mogwai a la Gremlins - you see one at your feet, then you turn your head and 4 more appear.  Anyways, Happy Birthday Lily - you've been a great motivator with your silly smiles and awesome dance moves to help me muster through HG and get to my own February little girl.

Lily's Mom, Lora will be updating my blog when Leah Catherine makes her much anticipated debut.  So we're counting down here...

Gravid Streams of Consciousness

**Warning - Belly Picture included in this post**

Wow, I am sitting up today and it's actually a pretty good day.  Read that as I have only puked 5 times - no, seriously that rocks!  So here I sit, prepared to ramble.  I have my 2nd bag of lactated ringers running and am souped up with my Zofran, Reglan and Phenergan. So what's happening here?

Guess I need to back up and tell what has been happening.  Umm, well I spent a week on the L&D floor as you know and successfully (albeit tearfully) fought off TPN for now.  The hospital's stupid nutrition panel was fighting for a damn NG tube rather than TPN through a PICC - which would have been more amenable. I don't want either option if I can avoid it. I am home with the instructions to just eat what I can and am being monitored with calorie counts.  The nutritionist also gave me this vile protein powder I am supposed to be adding to my milk.  My OB joined me in laughing at her - milk?  Surely you jest.  I can't handle the texture.  My calcium comes from an IV bag and the Tums I can manage to force down.   Oh well, just keep the TPN away from me. 

I have some pretty kickass home health nurses - apparently I have turned into something of a comic these days and I make them laugh with my snide remarks.  Sarcastic?  Who me?  I have had some scary moments with making the transition to what Himself calls "self-service health care".  In a fucked up turn of events, going through infertility treatments where you have to advocate for yourself really prepared me well for HG.  Its really hard to advocate when you feel like shit, though.  I have had a few freaky moments with clotted off lines and the such and I tell you, growing old is going to be hell.

Apparently this is going to be one of those stream of conciousness posts, so bear with me.  When I was most recently admitted through the ER on the 26th, the physican's assistant actually gave me an educational little blurb to read on HG.  Allow me to quote it for your mocking pleasure:

"Hyperemesis of pregnancy is a severe form of 'morning sickness', where vomiting is excessive and may cause dehydration and chemical imbalances in the body. It occurs in about 1% of pregnancies, and is usually worse during the 10th-12th week of pregnancy.  It gets better by the 16th week."

I shit you not.  Seriously, it really says that.  Too bad they handed me this paper on the precipice of my 19th week.  Morons.  At my last admission I was battling a lovely bladder infection thanks to dehydration as well as hypokalemia (intravenous potassium burns like a mutha!) - but I should have been better at 16 weeks.  Damn, I guess I didn't get the memo?  You just have to laugh otherwise you cry.

With the line in, I am unable to bathe myself, so Himself has to do the honors.  I can't tolerate the water very frequently, though - it is one of my triggers and makes me sick. He is definitely a straight man, because he can't style my hair very well, that is, unless rat's nest is in this year.  Oh well, I am just grateful to be at my house, with my dogs, my sofa and my bed and will do whatever I can to not be in the hospital.  My dogs know something is up and are very, very protective - we've had more than one run in with the home health nurses and my Shar Pei.  He feels that he has to stand between me and them - kind of makes it difficult for my nurse to change my dressings, eh?

Himself talked me into taking a belly picture - I try to avoid cameras as much as possible these days because I don't like how I look.  Please excuse the eyebrows - it looks like I have catepillars marching across my forehead.  My dance partner (my IV pole) cuts a rather dashing figure doesn't he?  You know, he really can dance - and it doesn't take any alcohol to get him to dance either.  It amazes me that the body shape still changes while you lose weight.

Quite recently, the Uterine Hitchiker has begun to move - well move so I can feel it.  I have an anterior placenta so movements are still pretty infrequent.  It really is a relief to feel her bebop around in there, but don't expect me to be returning the doppler anytime soon. Speaking of which, she actually has a name now - Leah Catherine. 

Last Saturday, after taking four hours to get me in good enough shape to be functional, Himself took me to Babies R Us.  Thanks to a lot of hard work preparing on the front end, a wheelchair and a puke bucket in my lap, we completed our entire registry in under 45 minutes.  Be impressed.  Be very impressed.  That outing has wiped me out for the following 3 days - but it was worth it to just see other people.

Well, that's about all the post I have in me for today - I have so much I want to say and talk to you about.  This week marks 21 weeks.   I am still incredibly grateful to have been one of the lucky ones that IVF worked for.  I just wish I could ditch the HG and maybe get a chance to enjoy what we worked so hard for. 

From Wandmonkeys to WeePukes: Himself is a trooper

A friend recently asked how Himself was coping with all of this lately and at the suggestion of another friend I thought I'd share my response here with you guys so you know I haven't fallen off the face of the earth (yet).

I'm doing okay today - my foods for today seem to be sucking on pickles (don't ask, and its Clausen pickles only) and mashed potatos with lots of salt. My guess is the salt cravings are my body trying to reestablish the electrolyte balance. Apparently the severe food craving/aversion cycle is common in HG. Who knows? I still can't do water - but am finding some success with sweet tea and lots of lemon.

The cravings are day to day - so its hard to plan. I can't even go in the pantry and opening the fridge is sure to make me gag. It is a daily battle trying to find what will work, and the weird thing is that what will work today won't work tomorrow. I also have to think about foods in terms on how its return path will be should that happen - which is pretty often. Crackers are out for that reason. I tried boiled eggs hoping for some protein and let's just say I will NEVER eat them again for the rest of my life. My calcium comes in the form of Tums, cause dairy is bad, bad, bad. Well, cheese is okay sometimes but it makes the side effects of Zofran worse.

As for Himself, honestly, I married a saint. The man has more patience in his little finger than I do in my whole body. He eats out every meal because I can't stand the smell of things cooking or the sight of a lot of foods. He has been known to drive all over town to find my latest craving - because my OB says if she craves it, get it to her quickly because most likely she will eat it and be able to keep it down long enough to get some nutririton from it. He also is good about quickly taking the food away if I start to turn green - which does happen, I will crave something that will not work and when it gets here its not a good thing. He is awesome about sitting with me in the middle of the night (even though he leaves for work at 6 am) when I am in an especially bad cycle of getting sick. He checks my meds bottles daily to make sure I have enough left - getting stuck without the Zofran or Phenergan is an ugly sight to behold. He is freaking wonderful about cleaning bathrooms and sinks and empyting trash cans immediately. He offers a car ride daily - some days I can, but most I can't - just to get me out. We have to go at night because heat and light mess with me - kind of like the hypersensitivity that comes with a migraine, now that I think about it. The TMI part: when the vomiting gets so violent that I lose control of my bladder - and yes, can you tell *just* how much fun HG is? (now dubbed weepukes at our house) - he will get my clothes off me and in the wash and get me in the shower and let me lean on him (the shower often makes me sick unfortunately). I will say that on bad days, I often want to die and I wish I could not be pregnant (there are some serious dark moments with this shit and the guilt after being infertile is a bitch), he is what keeps me going. We have the huge focus on names right now because I desperately need to find a way to connect with this baby - because I am very detached from the baby itself. Okay enough of whining. Thanks for asking about us"

Anyways - I am still around.  I selfishly have no clue what's going on in blog world - that scroll thing - not so good. Thankfully, I have a great friend who has come over to see me a couple of times - frankly I am quite sick of seeing only my parents and my husband since August.  I will have big news (I hope) come Tuesday after my Level II scan with the perinatalogist - so I will either post or get Himself to share the news of who's in there - boy or girl.

In which I ramble aimlessly

Tomorrow is supposed to be the big turning point.  Thirteen weeks.  Second trimester.  Wow.  What have I learned since then?  Hmmm.

There is no such thing as a pregnancy book for an infertile. I was given the old standby What to Expect When You're Expecting and immediately subjected it to my IF-friendly monitor.  My method of testing a book's acceptability entails scanning the index for mention of IVF, IUI or infertility and then reading what the erudite author has to say on the subject.  Needles to say, WTEWYE is the cause of a scuff mark on my bedroom wall where I booted that bastard after reading a blurb about embryos being implanted in the woman's uterus. No further explanation required on that one. I mean if I know more than the author about my conception, why in the hell should I trust them to tell me anything about pregnancy?  So I said screw it and am now reading The Ladies Auxillary, which is much more enjoyable.

Himself seems to have become the walking, talking poster child for both SNATCH and infertility.  Since accepting his new job with other mammoth bank in town (read my competitor) he rides the bus on days that he doesn't need to travel.  About a week ago I get a call on my cell phone around 6:30.  Its Himself, wanting to know what the address for my blog is again.  When I inquire why, it appears that he has butted into 3 ladies conversation about trying to conceive and found that one of them is working with an RE at SNATCH and is on the precipice of IVF.  (If you're reading, Hello and I wish you the best.  I can also direct you to others in the blogosphere who have cycled with SNATCH - drop me a line).  What man does this?  Remember that guy that every girl knew in college; the one that hung out with you and would listen (really listen) to you bitch about every guy who did you wrong and was honestly just interested in talking to you and not trying to get into your pants?  Yeah, well I married him and this is what he becomes.  Himself is so earnest and so unafraid to lay it all on the table about our infertility - he just wants to help someone else if he can.  Sometimes I think he may be too nice for the likes of catty old me, but damn if I'm not lucky while I have him fooled.  Anyways, this is not the first time Himself has figuratively lain himself prostrate for others vis-a-vis infertility.  Back when we were still doing IUIs Himself got several of his male friends and even a colleague to open up about their male factor - when I had no clue these couples were even trying. I guess he's just a damn good listener and because he has no shame in the fact in talking about our male factor infertility (or all the bullshit issues of my fucked up system); it blows me away to see others open up to him the way they do.

I have always bitched about those folks who have a single roll in the hay and then, golly gee, pee on a stick and guess what? They're pregnant with a baybeeee.  That part doesn't get me, its more how they think others aren't doing it right if it doesn't work that way for them.  Unbelievably, I have found something that pisses me off more.  One of my male colleagues and I were playing golf together at a work retreat around the 8 week mark and he shared with me that he and his wife were expecting twins.  Of course I was extremely congratulatory and asked all the appropriate questions (EDD, how she was feeling, etc).  He has no idea about our background with IF, so I was quite suprised when he volunteered that he and his wife had to use (said in the faux whisper tone that people use when they are trying to act like they are letting you in on a dramatic secret) "FERTILITY TREATMENTS".  He blathered on and on for quite some time about how much they went through (without actually saying what they went through) and how emotionally trying it was for them.  After 20 minutes of this drivel, I bit the bullet and asked, "So did you do IVF?"  I wish you could have seen the expression on his face.  He looked utterly appalled; almost as if I had suggested that he spend the night with a goat.  He said, "Oh my goodness no, we'd never do that.  We aren't that desperate.  I mean, we only tried for 8 months and knew something was wrong when we weren't pregnant yet."  I swear to God those are his exact words - I know, 'cause I wrote them down on the score card for posterity's sake and I still have it. Somehow I maintained my game face and inquired, "Well, what kind of treatments did you do?"

I really hope you aren't reading this post standing up, because his reply is going to shock you.  He said, "We did Clomid, its a fertility drug that my wife had to take for 5 days and we ended up with twins."  It took everything I had not to wrap one of my clubs around that bastard's neck in that moment.  Of course this conversation segued into him asking if we were ever going to have children, to which I gleefully replied, "Yep, we're one of those desparate couples that did IVF" and headed off to the clubhouse.  Sometimes its just so beautiful to hand an asshat a mirror and make them look at how stupid they are.

I am back to Zofran these days because the Phenergan wasn't cutting it.  For my international friends, Zofran is a drug that helps prevent nausea and vomiting in chemotherapy patients. It is now often prescribed for women with severe morning all fucking day long sickness; a condition that I am thrilled to be afflicted with despite the er, inconvenience because it means I am pregnant. Because there is no generic for the drug, it tends to be somewhat expensive - I've heard tales of it being $45 a tablet.  I've lucked out on the insurance coverage and my dr was able to get my plan to cover it at $30 for a 7 day supply of pills.  The beauty of Zofran is that you don't have to chew it or swallow it with water; it simply dissolves on your tongue.  Which is always a perk for someone who can't keep down any liquids or chicken broth.  Fortunately, I seem to be getting a reprieve this morning, but that's because I've learned not to let the Zofran lapse during the workday.  Speaking of work, perhaps I should go do some?

Word for (my life?) the Day

i·ro·ny (r-n, r-)
n. pl. i·ro·nies

French ironie, from Old French, from Latin rna, from Greek eirneia, feigned ignorance, from eirn, dissembler, probably from eirein, to say.

1. The use of words to express something different from and often opposite to their literal meaning.
2. An expression or utterance marked by a deliberate contrast between apparent and intended meaning.
3. A literary style employing such contrasts for humorous or rhetorical effect.
4. Incongruity between what might be expected and what actually occurs: “Hyde noted the irony of Ireland's copying the nation she most hated” (Richard Kain).
5. An occurrence, result, or circumstance notable for such incongruity.
6. Dramatic irony.
7. Socratic irony.
8. Himself accepting a new job today that has full IVF coverage.

Thousands of Comedians Out of Work & Himself Wants to be One

Himself decided it was time to amuse me and presented me with a gift at PIO time last night...

   

He's lucky I didn't chase him around the house with the PIO needle. 

She Needs A Total Cooter Hookup

Tonight Himself and I were driving home from Old Navy where I had just purchased a couple of pairs of yoga pants to wear post surgery and chatting. My clinic is called REACH, which is an acronym for Reproductive Endocrinology Associates of My City. Our conversation follows:

Me: "So I filed all my copayments and the cost of meds with my health care savings account today - it was over $700."

Himself: "You mean all the ones from SNATCH?"

Me: "SNATCH? What are you talking about?"

Himself: "You know, Dr. Git-R-Done's practice."

Me: [laughing hysterically]

Himself: "What? What! What is so damn funny that you are laughing so hard that you are crying?"

[A few minutes pass so that I can compose myself enough to speak]

Me: "Honey, its REACH, not SNATCH."

Himself: "Really?" [said very, very seriously - he really thought it was SNATCH]

Me: "Yes. What would SNATCH even stand for?" [still laughing]

Himself: "She needs a total cooter hookup?"

Oh. my. God. Amazingly I still want to reproduce with this man.

Original Comments

Introducing Himself

Himself (Him*self"), pron.1. An emphasized form of the third person masculine pronoun; -- used as a subject usually with he; as, he himself will bear the blame; used alone in the predicate, either in the nominative or objective case; as, it is himself who saved himself. "But he himself returned from the quarries." Judges iii. 19. "David hid himself in the field." 1 Sam. xx. 24. "The Lord himself shall give you a sign." Is. vii. 14. "Who gave himself for us, that he might . . . purify unto himself a peculiar people." Titus ii. 14. "With shame remembers, while himself was one Of the same herd, himself the same had done." Denham.^ Himself was formerly used instead of itself. See Note under Him. "It comprehendeth in himself all good." Chaucer.2. One's true or real character; one's natural temper and disposition; the state of being in one's right or sane mind (after unconsciousness, passion, delirium, or abasement); as, the man has come to himself. Throughout the blogosphere, I have seen other IF bloggers refer to their partners using their first initial, a pseudonym or as the dreaded DP/DH (wait, that's only on the message board circuit). Over the past few days, I have been pondering just what to call mine.

I have settled on Himself. It calls to mind the literay theme that places a character against his own will, his own confusion, or his own fears. The crux of the man versus himself theme is the struggle of the human being to come to a decision, to resolve an issue, to progress forward.

Think Jack London's short story, "To Build A Fire" for a classic example of this theme. I certainly hope for a better end, but I digress.

As my biggest supporter and often the only rational one in this household, Himself is the one who, like the proverbial Little Engine that Could, helps me press forward. He encourages me to continue to try and he brings a great deal of humor to the mix.

So from here on out, Himself it shall be.