60 Days...

60 days are up and there still isn't a plan in place for where Eleventh Kid goes next.  He's super nervous about it, and he gets agitated about it when he thinks about it.  But I need to remind him, that it is partially due to the choices HE ALONE made.  There was an opening in another program and he was offered a screening and he refused to go.  Now he wants into that same program and is having trouble getting a screening.  I feel bad, but, man, you made your own bed on that one.

He continues to eat like a champ.  He says he's put on 40 pounds (I don't quite believe that), but he's also gained some inches since being here.  Nothing like nutrition to support a growth spurt!  He never quite got around to helping me in the kitchen, preferring to otherwise occupy himself with episodes of "Saved by the Bell" and "Gossip Girl."

He also never quite got around to playing video games.  We have rules about how much reading you have to do make up your time playing video games.  Somehow, even though he's a reader, he is never quite up to doing it.  Huh.

He is super-helpful around the house, or at least has been for the past couple of weeks.  He's good about checking his chore chart for things to do and ways to earn allowance.  It's really great when he's on it.  Yesterday we got a ton of work done around the yard in about an hour-and-a-half, just because we had so many hands working.  Backyard is finally all cleaned up from the wedding in July!  Ha!

I guess we are a little nervous about his next placement, also.  DW is still in her first year of teaching, and doesn't get any breaks or sick days or anything.  She's been sick three different times in the past seven weeks and she's running on empty.  Reserves are all tapped out.  So I'm doing a lot of solo-parenting, which is mostly fine, but I really like it (and he really likes it) when we can all do things together.

When Eleventh Kid moves on, I'm taking DW out of town somewhere where nobody can find us and we can just chill out for a few days and not worry about a damned thing.  Can't wait.

Anyway, blessings and love for the Holidays!

A Few Months Later...

Hello, lovelies.  I've missed you.

There were a couple of times I had something to post, but I never really felt like actually sitting down and doing it.  But today seems like a good day.

So, it's been a few months since we lost Little Homer.  My body is mostly back to normal, minus that my periods are far heavier than they've been in many years.  But I can handle that, and my acupuncturist helps.

My heart is healing, I'm far less grumpy generally speaking, but I get caught in moments sometimes when I can't stop the tears from coming.  And that's really okay.

I had a religious weekend a little over a month ago, and I was confronted with someone who I love very much.  As soon as I saw her, I hugged her, and I fell apart.  Big, loud sobs.  I couldn't help it.  I wanted the rest of the world to go away.  I just needed to cry in her arms, so I let myself cry in her arms.  She said, "This is why you have me in your life.  You can come and talk with me and cry with me whenever you want."  Then she reminded me, "You have to let the sadness out of your heart so that you can make room for more blessings."

RIGHT.

I am allowed to be sad, and I'm allowed to be sad for as long as I need.  But I also don't need to hang on to bad feelings out of guilt.  I am not disrespecting the memory of Little Homer -- or the lessons that his/her passing taught me -- by moving on and allowing more blessings into my life.  That's actually probably part of the lesson!

So, what am I doing?  Everyone wants to know if I'm going to try again, and honestly, I just don't know.  I've signed up with some Fost-Adopt websites and resources trying to get a handle on what I need to do to start that process.  Adoption is fairly common in my family, so I know I can tap that knowledge base and get their full support.  I also have friends and acquaintances who've done the same thing and I can tap them when I'm ready.

I've also been working on opening my heart and thinking about dating again.  I've just been too tenderhearted to try to throw any more emotions in the mix while I'm still licking my wounds.  But I'm starting to think a summer with a few dates will be fun.  

Also: Gardening.  My vegetables went in last weekend -- right before the rain started again -- and I'm really excited about that.  I go and look at them every day.  And smile.  Eggplant, two kinds of beans and three kinds of tomatoes.

 

More later.  My quest toward motherhood is not over.

Peace -- Big Dyke Mama

Call if Anything Changes

After getting back from Kauai, I was spotting pink and brown for a few days.  I felt fine, I went to work, Dr. T had advised me that light spotting was okay so long as it didn't get heavy like a real period.

On the fourth day of spotting, it got a little heavier, but still not heavy-heavy.  I called the doctor anyway, and talked with the medical assistant, L.  L reassured me that it was normal, and to monitor it until our next appointment.  But, of course, to call if anything changed.

That night (Tuesday), it turned to fresh, red blood.  I called a few friends asking for prayers, knowing that I could make it through the night and call the doctor in the morning, because it still wasn't heavy.

Wednesday morning, it was back to brown, a safer color, and much lighter.   I called the doctor's office once it opened, and told L about the red blood.  She said, "you know, it's probably nothing, but let's bring you in anyway, and see if we can pinpoint where it's coming from.  How about 11:20?"

So, I advise my work team that they're bringing me in last-minute, but I'll probably come back after the appointment.  I let them know that I'll call my boss if anything changes.

Right before the appointment, it turns back to red blood.  "At least they'll know I'm not faking it," I think to myself.

It's an external ultrasound they have set up for me, and we haven't done one of these yet.  So it's pretty exciting.  Dr. T has trouble getting a picture because, "it's too deep in the pelvis."  So they switch to internal.  I think this is weird, because Homer should not be as deep in the pelvis by now.  I'm wearing pants with the stretch panel, for pity's sake.

Internal wand -- hello! -- and the picture comes up of a tiny Homer.  Too tiny.  Way too tiny.  And no fists of fury, and no fluttery heartbeat.  "Well, it's not good," says Dr. T.  

But I can see that.

So a small and fierce Homer passed fairly soon after our last ultrasound, and my body was just starting to figure out how to deal with it.

I re-dressed and was given some options of what to do next.  I could let the fetus pass on it's own, which comes with risks of hemorrhaging, or having it not pass all the way (esp. because I was further along), and also comes with an unpredictable timeline.  I could take the medical option (pills), which again comes with risks of it not passing all the way or hemorrhaging.  Lastly, I could use the surgical option, a D & C.

I told them I'd likely pick the the D & C, but I wanted to go over it with a few people before I scheduled it.  I told them I'd call back after lunch.

I came home and finally cried.  I called my Godmother on the other side of the pond, and talked to her and her wife, who had miscarried a few times, so knew what I was up against.  They agreed with me that the surgical option was better because I could control the timeline and the results a little better; it was far less likely to be traumatic.  I don't need traumatic memories of this time.

I called Thuper Thpermth, I called my Dad & Mom, I called the Syringe-Wielding Goddess, I called my boss.  I texted and emailed a few more people, building up my support team as I knew I was going to need them soon, and in a big way.

After lunch (a little after 1pm), I called the Doctor's office.  Dr. T had been pulled out on rounds, so wasn't there to schedule my surgery, so they said they'd call me back in a bit.  That's fine.  I'm not going anywhere.

In the meantime, I have a snack (waffles and peanut butter), check my Facebook, send emails, watch a movie, rest in my cozy bed.  I'm starting to get crampy and uncomfortable, so I'm pretty sure my body is even more clued in as to what it needs to do with this fetus.  The blood isn't heavy, but I'm not feeling so great, and I take my temperature.  99.5° -- not super fevery, but not normal, either.  I rest, and hope they can schedule for Thursday instead of Friday.

Around 3pm, the Doctor's office calls me back.  They apologize for the delay, but how about 7:30am Friday morning?  I said, "that's fine, but I'm worried about the next 24 hours.  Cramps are picking up and I've got a smidge of a fever."  Then things get exciting.  "Let me call you back."

Within minutes, things are getting rescheduled.  They know they have to pick this up.  Dr. T is calling the hospital, things are getting shuffled around.  And it's L who calls me back.  "Yeah, so, can you come into the hospital right now?"

"Right now, right now?  I need to get a friend to come with me, so that could take an hour or so to round them up?"

"No, come without a friend and have them meet you here.  Stop eating or drinking as of now.  Right now.  Do you live close?"

"I live about a mile away."

"Good.  Come on over."

So I actually wait.  I call up Zi and Thuper Thpermth, and they can both join me.  Thuper Thpermth cancels plans and picks me up and drives me over; Zi meets us there after blowing off work and stopping at the grocery store for some treats.

It didn't really matter that I waited, because we waited for a long time.  It was about 4pm when we arrived, and I didn't get taken back till around 5:30pm, and didn't have surgery till around 7:30pm.  While waiting, Zi and TT play cards with me and we laugh and joke as much as we can.  Humor is totally my coping mechanism, but I'm also still slightly in shock.

The nurses are awesome.  The anesthesiologist is awesome.  And, of course, my OB is awesome.

The surgery is fast, like 15-20 minutes.  I'm in recovery for a little while; the nurses talk with me and remind me that I'm going to be a very good mom when kids finally do end up in my lap.  They bring me a little something to drink since I'm not nauseous, and I sip slowly.  When they wheel me back to my room, they ask if I'd like to eat something.

"Chicken noodle soup, and if cheese & crackers showed up, I wouldn't be upset."

Zi and TT were there with me in my room, and we talked some more, and they ate dinner while I had my snack (and some Morphine).  At one point, the nurses helped me up so I could walk to the bathroom to change my gown (which I had bled through) and the pad.  Zi helped me with my bathroom duties.  It has to be some defining moment of true friendship when you are together in a hospital restroom and your friend is gently wiping down your bloody thighs with wet washcloths.

After checking that my pain was controlled with Morphine, Percocet, and Ibuprofen, that I wasn't bleeding too heavily, that I could walk, that I could pee, that I could eat & drink... the nurses set me up to be discharged about 9 or 9:30pm.  TT drove me home and set me up in bed with a movie while Zi was on pharmacy duty to go pick up my meds.  When Zi returned, TT was off-duty, and Zi spent the night with me.

I've built myself a little nest on my sofa, and have been living here most of the time, watching whatever looks interesting on Netflix.  I've had a few visitors each day, and a little bit of alone time, to process and cry.  I've taken a few phone calls, but not many, although I am feeling the love of my support network.  I even went on a little outing yesterday to brunch and then the Chinese Garden.  But that was more than enough, really, and I napped through the afternoon.  I still can't drive due to the painkillers, but my visitors have been lovely about bringing me casseroles, bread, chocolate, drinks and fresh fruit.

This is not the outcome that I wanted for this pregnancy, obviously, but here is what I am grateful for:  I am grateful for every single one of my communities, the support that I have received from everyone has been perfectly amazing and exactly what I need, when I need it.  I am grateful that I have a great job, with a great boss, and great health insurance, that I can get these things taken care of swiftly, safely, and without trauma or worry.  Most of all, I am so grateful for my beautiful body.  My body, despite a number of obstacles, was able to get pregnant, support that pregnancy for weeks and weeks, and when that pregnancy was no longer viable, she gave me clues to handle the loss.  Body, you are wonderful.  I have never felt so beautiful, I have never felt more strong and capable, I have never felt more loved. 

I don't know what I'm going to do next, but until then, peace and God bless.  XOXO

In Which a Fattie Complains About Food

I'm a fattie.  I get it.  This is not a fact that has escaped me, like, ever.

But just because I'm a fattie, it does not mean that I am food-focused, that I eat all the time, or that I eat unhealthy foods all the time.  This is just the way my body is.

Now that I'm pregnant, it has become even more apparent, to me, how actually very little I eat, and how amazingly un-food-focused I am.  I thought all the extra calories/eating for two stuff didn't happen till much later in the pregnancy.   Nope.

No longer can I get away with just having cheese and crackers or a bowl of cereal for a meal.  No longer can I get away with not eating till 3pm on a Saturday.  No longer can I get away with just having a protein bar for breakfast.  No longer can I get away with ordering the small bento box over the large.  Because of long-term health issues, I used to have to stop eating at 8pm, otherwise I'd be sick in the morning.  Now, not only do I have to eat 6-7 times a day, it's also better if I eat one of those times after 8pm!

I have to have a real, protein-laden breakfast around 6-7am (and maybe even a snack before that), another breakfast-y snack about 9:30, big lunch around 11-11:30, another small meal around 2:30, dinner between 5-6:30, a snack around 7:30, and maybe another snack between 8-9pm.  Don't even get me started on how much water and orange juice I'm consuming.

I woke up this morning around 2am, hungry.  I ignored it, to my peril, and went back to bed!  Nausea this morning was cured by delicious cottage cheese pancakes with apple-ginger compote.  But it returned soonly.  Cheese and crackers, cereal, orange juice, seltzer, dried apples, all my snacks are not cutting it.  I need, like, a real meal.  And I just don't have the energy to clean the kitchen and cook it right now!  So, because I let myself get hungry (at 2am!!!) I now have nausea that I can't quite get on top of.  Lesson learned, little Homer.

I may have to take us out for a late lunch.

And There It Is.

Dear Magic Baby Stick,

Am I pregnant for real?

Love, 

Big Dyke Mama

This is from yesterday morning, and all I wanted to do when I got home from work yesterday was sleep, so you get it today.  Sorry it's fuzzy, but it was 5:15am and I wasn't into fucking with the camera.  And I may or may not have been too busy jumping up and down.  So, there it is.  It's real.

Had a bit of trouble focusing at work yesterday, as you might imagine.  And we're now up to THREE co-workers who've asked me if I'm pregnant in the last few days.  So something's up.  Was someone peeking over my shoulder when I was filling out the intake form for flu shots the other day and checked the "pregnant" box?  Cos they gotta know that's 1) illegal and 2) bad form to barrage me with questions to try to get the scoop.

In theory, no scoop till Christmastime, but this Mama's no good at secrets and I may not last that long.  I'm pretty sure I'll tell my boss in a week or so.

Lessons learned yesterday:  Protein is your BFF.  I started out the morning with a co-worker's homemade cinnamon rolls (I hate cinnamon rolls, but had been craving them.  Weird.) but a few minutes later I just wanted to toss them.  Early morning sugar=ohgawdkillmenow.  I ran across the street and had them make me a breakfast burrito with tofu in place of eggs, and that settled everything out.  I am going to have to keep a tub of cottage cheese handy in the work fridge and a pack of jerky in my desk.  Give this Mama her protein and nobody gets hurt.

Also, I am digesting food at lightning speed.  Usually, meals would sit in my belly for hours.  That's just not happening right now.  I am going to have to start carrying Luna Bars in my purse.

Also, bleeding gums is a real thing.  My mouth feels crazy-torn-up.  I have a dentist appointment in November, so I think I'll just hang tight until then, gently brushing and flossing as usual.

I haven't noticed any food/smell aversions yet, but the weird cravings I've had so far for things that I don't normally like are: Cinnamon Rolls (like I mentioned before), Orange Juice, Pizza, and Spaghetti & Meatballs.  <-- I know.  It's unAmerican to dislike these things.  But it's just the way it is.

 

But yesterday I had a nice lunch with Aunt J, and then Z came by my desk with a card and celebratory Russian chocolate.  Gawd, I love Russian chocolate.

~~~~

This morning I woke up and my first thought was, "Why do I feel like I have to barf?"

OH YEAH.

Welcome to Morning Sickness!  Waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahoooooooooooooooooo!