Remember this entry?

Well, we have a problem.

Last November, when Willa was first diagnosed with Cold Induced Urticaria we weren't sure what to expect. We gave her medicine almost every night for months. The medicine made it more manageable. If it wasn't too cold Willa could even play outside for a few minutes. But, it was a constant concern.
She had hives all the way through May. Basically, if it was 55 degrees or less, she got hives.
They never really seemed to bother her though. Occasionally she would tug at her ears, but that's it. The summer was great because I spent three months never having to worry about the urticaria. We had a couple of instances where Willa went swimming in a relatively cold pool, and she didn't get any hives. I stupidly took that to mean her urticaria was getting better. I convinced myself that it was getting better, that it wasn't a big deal.

Then, a few weeks ago it was 55 degrees and cloudy outside. I took Willa and Dexter on a long walk. About halfway through the walk Willa started to get some hives. I headed home, but we were about 20-30 minutes away at that point. Willa started to cry and and pull at her hands which were now swollen and covered in hives. She kept saying "Mommy, it hurts!" I was helpless.
Here are some pictures:

I was completely traumatized. Completely.

I had to deal with the reality- Willa has Urticaria. She might outgrow it, but that usually happens after 5-7 years. She's only had it for a year. She might never outgrow it.

We can't live in Manhattan where you have to walk everywhere.

Urticaria is rarely life-threatening, but there is something instinctual that happens when I see my kid swollen and covered in hives- I feel like I must fix it.

I can't fix this.

After that traumatizing episode I completely freaked out. I told my husband that we should move to California. In my usual psychotic fashion I started researching towns in California.

For a few weeks I was spending my time applying to pre-schools in Manhattan, while simultaneously looking at pre-schools in California. I was driving myself insane. I had to cover all the bases. I didn't really want to move to California. I mean, if I could convince all of my friends and family to move there, I totally would, but our entire life is on the East coast.

I was praying fro a miracle.

So finally, my husband and I had a long talk.

We both finally said the words "We can't move to Manhattan."

And I was relieved and heartbroken all at once.

And then we decided we would compromise. We aren't moving to Manhattan. We aren't moving to California. We are staying in the town where we have lived for the past year and a half.

Here is how I feel about that:

As much as I am a mature, responsible adult, I still have childish fantasies. I wanted to live in Manhattan. I wanted to hang out with my friends all the time. But this isn't an episode of Friends. Perhaps I am mourning the loss of my fantasy instead of the reality. Sure, if I lived in Manhattan I probably would have seen my friends more often, but not that much more often. They all work a ton. And who's to say that a bunch of them won't move out to the suburbs too.

The town and the area we live in is fantastic for kids. There's no denying that.

True, I wrote before about how I felt like I didn't fit in here, but maybe I need to make more of an effort. Maybe I need to go to some of the vegetarian meetups in the area so I can meet other like-minded people. Also, the mother's helper has only been here a few times, but already I can see what a huge impact having a little help can have on me. I think that if I have a little help, and spend a little time on myself, I'll be much happier.

I still hate that my husband works 10-12 hours a day and then spends another 2 hours a day commuting, but we have to do what's best for our kid.

At least here I can take her from the house to the car, and from the car to the library, or the Y, or the store, etc. As opposed to Manhattan where you have to walk everywhere.

And as much as we were willing to spend extra money to live in Manhattan, it makes so much more sense financially to stay here. To not have to constantly worry about money will be nice.

I must admit, it's always been great being able to say I grew up in Manhattan. There's something special about it. I wanted that for Willa too.

I still have doubts about whether or not we should be staying here. I don't like the idea of my kid having to take medicine every day for 6 months out of the year. Plus, I HATE the cold. I wouldn't mind living in a place that's warm. However, our whole support system is here, and we don't think it makes sense to start a new life on the other side of the country when there's a possibility that Willa might outgrow this in a few years. We want Willa to grow up surrounded by her Aunts, Uncles, Cousins, and Grandparents.

The weird thing about all of this is that I have absolutely no resentment towards Willa. I would do anything for her. She's getting so big, but she's still so small and fragile. I must protect her. And the only way I can sleep at night is if I know I'm doing what's best for her.

This is what's best.

I am trying my hardest to make the best of this situation. To be excited about the prospect of living in a bigger place, of not having to deal with all of the Manhattan school drama (I will write a post about that one day), of enjoying nature.

Manhattan is my home. It always will be. But maybe it is/was my childhood home. Maybe it's time for me to stop clinging to my childhood. Maybe this new town can be my grownup home. Maybe I just need to give it a chance.

Posted by torrie at 09:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (21)

Well, since I wrote this, over a year ago, things have only gotten worse.
Shortly after I wrote that post I got a steroid injection in my shoulder which gave me some relief for about 3-4 months. So it flared up again, and I tried to ignore it, until it got so bad that I was in constant pain. A couple of months ago my doctor scheduled me for another shoulder injection. This time I got no relief. Before the injection, they gave me a comprehensive ultrasound, and the results were not good. Fraying tendons, misshaped capsule, substantial inflammation. Not good.
A little less than 5 years ago I had shoulder surgery. The recovery was HORRIBLE. It was months before I could use my arm. How could I go through that with a toddler?

As I said in the post I linked to, the pain makes everything harder. EVERYTHING. I'm exhausted by the end of the day.

So, I finally bit the bullet. We hired a mother's helper. It's only for 8 hours a week, but it is going to be so helpful. We're not looking at it as a luxury, we're looking at it as a necessity. I am so thankful that my husband's new salary is making it so that we can afford some help. We really need help.
My husband also wants me to hire someone to come and clean at least a couple of times a month. He's totally right- we should do that- It's becoming increasingly difficult for me to clean, however, there is a part of me that feels so weird about hiring people to help me.
When I go to parties, you'll often find me chatting with the waiters, or the kitchen staff. I feel awkward having people do things for me. I don't ever want anyone to think that I'm entitled or spoiled.

I trying to learn how to accept help, but It's hard. I think maybe it's because I'm not OK with needing help. I want to be independent. I want to be able to do it all.

I don't want to be trapped in this body that keeps failing me.

But I am.

Posted by torrie at 02:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

Dear Torrie,

When are you going to learn that watching Grey's Anatomy right before bed is not a good idea?
Especially when one of the characters is battling Melanoma, the same disease you watched your father die from. Especially the night before the anniversary of September 11th. Especially the day after someone close to you had a 12 hour surgery. Especially when you have a million things to accomplish in the next few days. Especially when you've had a really tough week.

Do you enjoy only getting ONE HOUR of sleep because you spend all night tossing and turning because your mind is racing?

When will you learn?

(You idiot.)

Love,

Your Subconscious

Posted by torrie at 09:19 AM | Permalink | Comments (2)

I'm not writing, because I don't want to complain.
It's not so much that I'm worried about annoying my readers, as it is I'm worried about annoying myself.
I'm sick of my negative attitude and my lack of gratitude.
I want to be a positive, grateful person.

I should be thankful that my husband even has a job, not complaining about how for the first two weeks of his new job he will leave the house at 5:45am and not come home until after 8:00pm.
I should be thankful for what an amazing husband I have, who does more than his fare share, instead of selfishly worrying about me not getting a break.
I should be thankful for the roof over my head, not constantly worrying about money.
I should be thankful that I'm able to walk and have access to great medical care, not complaining about how much pain I'm in, and how I can barely use my right arm.
I should be thankful that my husband had 5 weeks off, instead of being disappointed in myself for all of the things I didn't get accomplished.

I'm tired of worrying and complaining about everything, but it's a really hard habit to break.

Posted by torrie at 10:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Perhaps the best part of being a parent is watching your child experience things for the first time.
Sometimes when I'm watching Willa enjoy something, especially if it's something that I enjoy too, I feel like my heart might explode.

Lately we've had a lot of those experiences. There are three that stand out:

1) On Willa's second birthday we took her to The Bronx Zoo for the first time. The highlight, without a doubt, was the Carousel. I was worried when we first got on that the combination of movement and loud music might scare her, but she loved it. She thought it was the greatest thing ever.

She's still talking about it almost 6 weeks later.

2) For Willa's birthday my mother in law gave her a tricycle.

Willa was thrilled. She kept yelling "BICYCLE!"
So, a couple of days after her birthday party we took her for her first official ride. She was so excited to wear her helmet.

She didn't want to get off.

3) Right before Willa was diagnosed with Cold Induced Urticaria I had signed her up for swim classes at the Y. When we found out that people who have Urticaria can become anyphylactic in cold water I got really nervous. I took her for her first class anyway, armed with an epi pen. The water was cooler than I had hoped and after 15 minutes in the pool Willa's legs were covered in hives. Plus, Willa didn't like the LOUD male swim instructor and she clung to me the whole time. We never went back to swim class.
We figured we'd try again in the summer when it was warmer. I spent the whole winter worrying that because we weren't exposing her to swimming that she would be afraid of it. And then, a week after her second birthday it was warm and she was refusing to nap. So, I asked her if she would like to go swimming and she said yes. We headed over to the Y. I didn't even bring a swimsuit because I thought there was no way she was going to spend any amount of time in the pool. Boy was I wrong. SHE LOVED IT.

She kept saying "I swimming in da pool!"

I sat on the sideline watching her swim with her father, my eyes filling with tears.

The minute she was done we stripped her wet bathing suit off and got her into dry clothes. She only got one tiny hive.

She starts swim class next Tuesday.

Posted by torrie at 02:34 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

About how Willa has been sick for 5 days, and woke up this morning shaking with a 103.1 fever, and has hardly eaten anything since becoming sick?

About how I am so exhausted because for the past week either Willa has been waking up in the middle of the night with fever, or every time she coughs it wakes me up, or Dexter is barking in his sleep, or the cat is scratching in the kitty litter?

About how a couple of nights ago, I closed both closet doors by accident, and the kitty litter is in the closet, and so my cat peed ALL OVER Dexter's bed?

About how my husband threw his back out, because, you know, we needed that?

About how I am in constant pain?

About how my husband STILL hasn't received a job offer, which is making us SUPER nervous?

About how last night I stayed up to watch the end of the Oscars, because I am a giant idiot, and then went in to my bedroom exhausted only to discover that my cat had puked all over my bed and pillow?

About how my cats' medication for her hyperthyroidism is making her vomit excessively, and the only other treatments are invasive and super expensive?

About how this morning Dexter puked all over the place?

About how our first "date night" in six weeks is a memorial service?

About how I found out that my suspicions about someone were true, and they hurt someone I love dearly?

Yeah, I didn't think so.

Even I'm sick of hearing me complain.

Posted by torrie at 02:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (11)

One of my best friends in the world, my friend Tracy, is in the hospital.
She is my sister. She inspires me.
And she is sick, and in pain, and scared, and I'm not with her, and it's killing me.
I really want to fly to Houston to be with her.
I feel like someone is sitting on my chest.

A quick explanation of what happened:
She started complaining that her ear hurt a couple of weeks ago. She thought she just had some water in her ear.
Then the pain got really bad, then she fainted, then half of her face swelled up, so she finally saw an ENT on Saturday.
She had a wicked ear infection. He gave her some oral antibiotics, but by Sunday night there was copious amounts of fluid leaking from her ear and she was in terrible pain. I begged her to go to the hospital.
Finally on Sunday night she went to the hospital. If I remember correctly, the doctor's words when he saw her in the ER were "OH MY GOD".
She was admitted to the hospital. The ear infection had spread to her face.
I thought they would just give her some IV antibiotics and some pain meds and she'd be out of there in no time.
Then yesterday she had a bad reaction to one of the drugs and she developed a fever.
Today the infectious disease doctor saw her and said "No one realized how bad this infection is".
The doctor is optimistic, but the earliest she will get out is Thursday.
I don't mean to be dramatic, but I would really appreciate it if you guys could send some good vibes her way.

Thank you.

*Update- Tracy was released from the hospital last night. They put a port in her so she can IV antibiotics at home.
Thank you for all of your kind words and prayers.

Posted by torrie at 07:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (16)

I was going to write a whole long post about everything that is going on in my life, but honestly, I don't have the energy.

To sum up-

I am not happy. I should be- I've got an amazing husband, an amazing kid, and a roof over my head.
But, I'm not happy.

I am completely overwhelmed.

I have to keep a house with three humans and four animals clean by myself.

I have to feed two of the animals twice a day, and the other two animals three times a day. Two of the animals get medication twice a day.

I have to take care of my kid mostly by myself. (The husband works a minimum of 60 hours a week, and we have no family of friends nearby, or a babysitter.)

My kid has been fighting her nap every day.

No nap means no break for me.

No nap means no showering for me. Last week I set a record for days in a row without showering.

My kid eats three full meals a day which I mostly cook from scratch, and two snacks.

My point is I don't know how to take care of everyone, cook, clean, run errands, pay bills, exercise, etc., etc., etc.

Things are falling through the cracks.

Bills are getting paid late, thank you cards aren't being written, emails aren't being returned.

And when I try to relax, I'm not really relaxing because I have all of the things I haven't done hanging over me.

I go to bed every night still not recovered from the day. And sleeping doesn't fix that because you can't mentally unwind when you are sleeping.

I can't catch up.

Speaking of sleeping-
My sleep quality sucks.

I'm not being dramatic when I say that in order to get everything done after watching my kid for 12-13 hours straight, I would then have to spend the three hours between her bed time and my bed time working non stop.
I just can't do that. I am in too much pain and too exhausted.

I am spent.

The worst part is- my husband works so hard- he leaves the house before Willa wakes up and on a good night gets home an hour before she goes to sleep. He then eats dinner, returns emails, and does a bunch of chores. He often only gets five hours of sleep. His days off are spent running errands and giving me break.
He carries the weight of supporting his family, and deals with a wife who is both physically and mentally a mess.
When does he get a break?
This in turn makes me feel tremendously guilty.

I've been very manic- one minute bursting with love and happiness, the next hanging on to my sanity with a thread.

I've been crying in front of my child.

Today, I wanted to run away. I wanted to scream.

Anyway, I didn't write this for sympathy- I'm just trying to explain my absence.

I'm having a bit of a crisis. I'm trying to figure out my life.

I haven't had the urge to write anything, because writing takes energy that I haven't got.

Please bear with me

Posted by torrie at 06:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (35)

Instead of spending Willa's nap doing something productive, I went through all of my pictures on Flickr, and put together slide shows of each of the last 4 years.
There are certainly a lot of moments and people dear to us who weren't captured. These are not my "best" pictures- some are unflattering, some are blurry, etc., but they are the pictures that most accurately depict that year.

2005 was about me recovering from career ending shoulder surgery, tons of physical therapy, finding out my dad's cancer had metastasized, a major back injury, and my husband's internship.

In 2006 I was pregnant 3 times (!!!), had two miscarriages, landed an ad campaign with Nikon, Turned 30, had my pictures in The New York Times, traveled a bunch, and had the enjoyable part of my pregnancy with Willa.

2007 was perhaps the most important year I've ever had. I had a very rough pregnancy and was bed ridden for months, Willa was born, my husband became chief resident, and my father passed away.

2008 has been interesting. Willa was modeling, my husband turned 30, finished his residency, and started his fellowship. We moved, my pictures were published in a book, I re injured my shoulder, Obama became president elect, and Willa was diagnosed with Urticaria.

Posted by torrie at 07:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

In light of this entry, I realized that I needed to do something to shock my system.
I am convinced that my metabolism is all screwed up. I don't have the most varied diet. I tend to eat the same things over and over again.
So, I decided to go on a cleansing diet. I use the term "diet" lightly because I'm not counting calories.
I cut out sugar, wheat, and dairy.
I've been doing it for about 8 days and I've lost about 3 lbs.
It's been surprisingly easy.
Days 3 & 4 were rough- I was really tired, but that's to be expected whenever you give up something your body is used to.
What most people don't understand when they do a cleanse is that you are going to go through a period where you feel like crap. Just like any other detox. When you quit drugs, or smoking, or drinking you feel like crap because your body is addicted to it. The same holds true for food.
I'm not sure how long I'll stay on this cleanse. I think I might just try to cut back on sugar, wheat, and dairy permanently, but every once in a while I'll cheat.

I'm still having trouble finding time to exercise.
I've tried a few times to leave Willa at the child care center at the Y while I went upstairs to exercise, but they have to come and get me after a few minutes because she gets hysterical. We'll keep trying.
I've been in a lot of pain too. My back has been out twice in the last month, and the cortisone shot has worn off and my shoulder pain has come back.

So, I'm being realistic- I'm realizing that excising on a regular basis is just not going to happen any time soon, so I'm trying to deal with this from a diet angle. We'll see what happens.

NOW- for the genius part-

My husband finished a box of shredded wheat, and there was a ton of, well, broken shredded wheat left at the bottom of the bag. He asked me if there was anything I could do with it, and I came up with this.
If you are the type of person who needs exact recipes this is not for you.

I melted some semi-sweet chocolate (any type of chocolate will do) and stirred in some chunky peanut butter (smooth is fine too). I added some honey, and then I stirred in the shredded wheat.
I formed the mixture in to balls and placed them on parchment paper on a cookie sheet. I put them in to the fridge until they firmed up.
You would not believe how awesome they were.
You can also add coconut, cinnamon, and whatever kind of nuts you like. Dried cranberries might also be nice.

Enjoy!

Posted by torrie at 04:42 PM | Permalink | Comments (4)

Let's recap, shall we?

My kid is just getting over the stomach flu she's had since Sunday night/Monday morning.
My husband came home from work early yesterday with fever, chills, and a splitting headache. It was so bad- he was writhing around in pain- that I thought his head was going to split open and scorpions were going to crawl out.
My husband's work holiday party was last night. We, of course, did not go.
I woke up this morning with Willa's stomach flu.
My back is still out.
I had to cancel my first personal training session at the Y today, for obvious reasons.
My garage door broke yesterday.
My mother is here helping out.
Except that Willa is in the midst of a mommy phase. I must be in her sight at all times, otherwise there is much whining and screaming. So, even though my mom is here, while I'm laying in bed trying to keep the contents of my stomach inside of me, there is a toddler slamming on my bedroom door.
Also, Willa is going stir crazy because she hasn't been out much since Sunday, but my mom can't drive, and Willa can't be outside for that long because she hasn't taken her medication because of her stomach flu.

Would anyone like to slash my tires, or punch me in the face while we're at it?

Posted by torrie at 12:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

So, this morning I went to get Willa out of her crib, and the minute I opened her door I knew something was off. There was something weird in her crib. From afar it looked like maybe the stuffing from one of her toys had come out. Upon closer inspection I realized that it was vomit. Willa and all of her crib toys were covered in vomit. And, it was not fresh, which means that she vomited sometime in the middle of the night, went back to sleep and then rolled around in it.

Last night, I took a muscle relaxant because I threw my back out. I regret that decision now, because it obviously kept me from hearing my daughter vomiting in the middle of the night.

So there I was- in so much pain I couldn't stand upright, coughing up green mucus from a lingering sinus infection, with a sick child covered in vomit. I had no idea how I was going to lift the crib mattress to change the sheet.
So, I grabbed the phone and called my husband who had left for work about 15 minutes before. Amazingly, he turned around and came home.
He took care of all of the vomit stuff and threw everything in the laundry.
Then he realized that standing upright is probably important when taking care of a toddler, especially one who is vomiting, so he called work and told them he wasn't coming in.

A little while latter Willa walked over to the bathroom and started pointing to the cabinet where we keep the medicine, as if she was asking for some medicine- and then she projectile vomited.

She ate nothing but a bite of a pretzel all day. She drank some milk, but then she vomited it up on my living room carpet. She also had some rather unsettling poops, which I'd rather not talk about.

I spent the day wincing in pain and laying around while my husband did everything, including steam clean the carpet.

I am PRAYING that this is just a 24 hour stomach virus, and that Willa will wake up tomorrow NOT covered in vomit.

I honestly don't know what I would have done if my husband hadn't been home. My guess is, I would have been laying on the floor in the fetal position while my kid repeatedly hit me in the head with a book, and occasionally paused to vomit on me.*

How do single parents do it???

*Wow. I use the word VOMIT a lot in this post.

Posted by torrie at 07:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

The doctor thinks she has cold induced Urticaria. Which basically means she is allergic to the cold.
I am super thrilled about this considering that we live in the Northeast, and it's cold about 6 months out of the year.
So, basically, for 6 months out of the year she will be covered in horrible looking hives.
We can give her Zyrtec, but I'm only going to do that if the hives seem to be bothering her. I'm not going to give her medication if it's just for cosmetic purposes.
Also, she can have a pretty severe reaction, so the doctor wants me to carry Benadryl with us at all times.
Tomorrow, we are supposed to start a swim class at the Y. The doctor said that if the water isn't warm enough we may not be able to do it.

I'm trying not to be a drama queen about this. Some kids outgrow it. Some don't.

I'm sad though. Sad that Willa won't be able to play in the snow, or go skiing with her father.

Sad, that for six months out of the year, my kid won't be able to play outside.

Posted by torrie at 12:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (23)

Yesterday morning when I got Willa out of her crib I noticed that one of her hands looked mottled and like it had bug bites on it. I assumed it was spider bites.
She was acting fine and it didn't seem to be bothering her.

We had our first class at the Y shortly after breakfast. It was awesome and Willa had a great time. However, during the class I watched as what I had thought were bug bites, spread up her arms and then onto her face.

(this picture does not do it justice- it looked HORRIBLE)

My husband happened to meet us at the class (he was just getting home from work after working a 25 hour shift) and he decided to call the doctor. Our doctor wasn't in the office, so we spoke to his partner. he wanted us to bring Willa in.
We really love Willa's pediatrician, but he's in the city, so it's a major pain in the ass to see him.

So we took Willa to get something to eat, during which time her rash got even worse- her arms and face were covered in hives, and then I drove into the city with Willa and my husband sleeping in the car. When Willa woke up her rash was gone. We were right outside the pediatricians office, we had driven all the way in to the city, and now her rash was gone. So, we went in to the pediatricians office and told the receptionist that we wouldn't be needing the appointment. Then we walked around our old neighbor hood for a while.
It was cold yesterday, and when we had walked for a bit, we noticed that Willa's rash was starting to come back, But, we also noticed something else, whenever we went inside her rash got better.
So, the cold made it worse. WEIRD.
The doctor ended up calling us and he wasn't that worried about it because Willa didn't have a fever, and she didn't seem itchy.

Today, when Willa woke up she didn't have a spot on her.

Then we ran some errands. We were hardly outside- just walking from the car into stores, but her cheeks got a little splotchy. When we came back home her skin looked normal again- that is until we took Dexter for a walk this afternoon. As we walked, Willa's face broke out into hives. She looked like she had some horrible disease. When I brought her home and took off her coat I realized that the rash was on her arms again too.

We have no idea what's going on.
Is she allergic to the cold? Is it just a reaction to a bug bite that is exacerbated by the cold?
My husband is currently on the computer doing some research.
Tomorrow I'll talk to the pediatrician again.

It's never boring around here.

Posted by torrie at 07:46 PM | Permalink | Comments (11)

Last Saturday (the 18th) I woke up feeling crappy, but that's nothing new these days. I had plans to meet my friend Cass and I really didn't want to break them, so I went anyway. I sat across for her and tried to drink my tea, but I just felt worse and worse. Finally Cass, who had been watching me turn green, suggested we get together another time and I go home and rest. Within a half an hour of getting home I was puking up everything I had ever eaten, ever. I spent the rest of the weekend- the weekend when I was supposed to get so much accomplished because every other weekend was booked up- laying on the couch.

Then, on Monday, we noticed that Dexter had a hot spot. He's had a lot of them in his 8 years and we've learned how to treat them ourselves. So we did just that. Until it got so bad that I was up half the night with him on Tuesday/ Wednesday morning. On Wednesday evening I took him to the vet and had to hold him down while they stuck him with needles. His infection was really bad- he had a fever. He was in so much pain and wouldn't even get off the couch to eat- that's the first time in his life he's been so sick that he wasn't interested in food. He has spent the last week wearing an e-collar almost every minute and hardly getting up off the couch. He's miserable.

On Wednesday night, after spending almost $500 at the vet, The husband and I had a talk about money. I've been asking him for months what our credit card balance was and he wouldn't tell me. I finally got him to tell me. Big mistake. It was almost 4 times what I thought it was. I was devastated. I thought that after this last year of training, when my husband starts making quadruple what he makes now, that I wouldn't have to worry about money anymore. But, now I realize that there will be credit card debt and student loans to pay. Plus, the car that my husband drives to work is falling apart and will need to be replaced soon, and Willa will be starting preschool next fall. I am so sick of worrying about money and I thought there was an end in sight, but now I see that I was wrong.

On Thursday I took Willa for a long walk. On the way back home she started to get very whiney. I was rushing to get her home and when I pushed the stroller off the curb to cross the street, the stroller flipped over and Willa landed on her face with the stroller on top of her. There was blood everywhere. Her mouth was full of blood. I couldn't even tell where the blood was coming from. I took her inside and washed her up. and the bleeding stopped and she was fine except for two fat lips and a bruised face. I however, was completely traumatized. And worth mentioning- I was wearing my only good winter coat, which is camel colored and my new fingerless winter white gloves, when the accident occurred. They were both covered in blood. So not important in the grand scheme of things, but still sucks.
After I got Willa all cleaned up I realized that Mookie was walking around crying and going in and out of the litter box and the bathtub. So I called the vet and they told me to bring him in right away. The vet said that if he had a blocked urethra again they would do surgery on him the next day. I can't take Willa to the vet with me because she has doctor anxiety and the last time we were there she screamed the ENTIRE TIME.
So, I called my husband and asked him to come home. Do you have any idea how hard it is for a doctor to leave work because his cat is sick? But, he came home anyway and he took Mookie to the vet. We were surprised to Find out that he didn't have a blocked urethra. Now he has a new problem- inflamed bladder. This is, of course, after he is on two different medications and a dietary supplement, and prescription food. We were relieved to find out that Mookie didn't need surgery, but the new drug (on top of his other drugs) that they want to put him on indefinitely, costs $120 a month.

Friday was a fairly good day with the exception of Willa's face being swollen up, and Dexter and Mookie being Sick. Then Friday night my mom (who was staying with us for the weekend) got a call from her husband- their dog, who had recently been diagnosed with cancer- wouldn't eat.

On Saturday morning my mom's dog died.

On Saturday afternoon I had to drive into the city in the pouring rain for a photo shoot. When I booked the shoot the woman gave me the impression that I would be shooting six people. The day before I found out that it was fourteen people. When I got there I found out that five of the people were children, the oldest one was six. You try photographing fourteen people at the same time. IT'S NOT EASY.

Sunday was actually a good day. We took Willa to an orchard/farm in the morning, and saw Coldplay at night.

Last night (Monday) my husband was at work (he's doing a week of the night shift) and I let Dexter out into the backyard right before bed. I was watching him out the window and I saw him poop, and then I saw him turn around and EAT HIS OWN POOP. Then I died.
I realized that when I saw him eating something in the backyard earlier in the day that it might have also been poop.
I went to sleep thoroughly disgusted.

This morning I woke up and let Dexter out of our bedroom and went in to Willa's room to get her. I changed her diaper and took her down to the living room. Dexter was laying on the couch and right below him on the carpet was a pile of vomited up poop. I cleaned it up and let Dexter out in the backyard. I watched him pee three times and poop. I made sure he didn't eat the poop. About an hour later he was acting like he needed to go out again so I let him out and he peed a ton. 45 minutes later I walked into the living room and he was sitting on our arm chair and he looked weird. And that's when I heard it- the sound of urine hitting fabric. He peed all over our chair. I let him out again and he peed a bunch more. We know that the steroids that the doctor gave him for his infection is causing this, the only other time he's peed in the house he was on steroids- but still- he didn't drink that much water, so I'm not sure how he can produce so much pee.

My husband came home from work and steam cleaned the chair (we had borrowed my mother's steam cleaner to clean our carpets- score!) while I went to the basement to do some laundry. When I got to the basement I realized that the heavy rain we got over night had caused some flooding.

And then my head exploded.

The end.

Posted by torrie at 01:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (22)

I used to be thin.

Wear a bikini, walk around naked, clothes looked cute on me, THIN.

Now, NOT SO MUCH.

When I was 23 I moved to Boston to be with my husband, who went to college and medical school there.
I had been a pastry chef for 4 years. I worked long hours. It was VERY physical. And, I would often go for hours on end without eating. Such was life in the culinary industry.
I was thin and muscular.

When I moved to Boston I got a job managing a cafe/chocolate shop. They were famous for their hot chocolate. I had a hot chocolate for breakfast every morning (I made it with soy milk because I thought I was being healthy, but I didn't take into account soy milk's fat content). For lunch I often had a bagel with egg salad.

Between that and eating the typical college food that I was surrounded by, I gained between 10-15 lbs that year. The freshman 15, at age 23.

Because I had been so slim to begin with, the extra weight by no means made me fat, it just made me average.

The next year the stress started. I wish I was one of those people who can't eat when they were stressed out, but I am the opposite- food is comfort.

In 2000, my beloved grandmother died. A few months later September 11th happened (it had a HUGE impact on me, but that's another post). Two months later my now husband then boyfriend asked me to marry him.
During the next six years- my father was diagnosed with melanoma, and had two surgeries to remove the growth in his cheek. We got married. My father had two shoulder surgeries, prostate surgery, and spine surgery. Someone very close to us (sorry-can't mention who) was diagnosed with lung cancer, had two surgeries to remove tumors, and had chemo. We moved to NYC. I had career ending shoulder surgery. My father was diagnosed with metastatic melanoma, which resulted in two years of treatment, and eventually his death. Someone else close to us (who also wishes to remain nameless) was diagnosed with congestive heart failure (on the SAME DAY I found out about my dad's cancer spreading), had a hip replaced, had prostate surgery, and has had pneumonia several times. I ruptured a disk in my back, I lost two pregnancies. My mother passed out while driving and was hospitalized. I had a horrible pregnancy that finally resulted in a healthy baby. We moved to the suburbs. I re-injured my shoulder.

Stress, stress stress. Eat, eat, eat.

Right before I had Willa I went to a trainer for three months. My BMI was in the high end of healthy.
I gained a respectable 35 lbs. when I was pregnant.
I lost all of the pregnancy weight by the time Willa was 4 months old- taking care of a newborn and your dying father=very busy and no time to eat.

So, I had lost all of the weight, but my body looked so different. Everything was distributed differently.
I always had an hourglass figure. I always had a sizable ass and hips, but now I have a belly.
My entire wardrobe revolved around my old figure. I have no idea how to dress now.

I feel like I'm in a stranger's body.

Then we moved out of Manhattan- the city of walking.

The move was so stressful. It's so hard to get anything done with a toddler around. My husband's job is not what he expected- he's working a lot more. I rarely get a break.
And I've been in so much pain lately.

I want a cookie.

So I've had a few cookies.

And since we've moved I've gained about 8 pounds. I am the heaviest I've ever been (with the exception of being pregnant). My BMI is 26.35.

I am miserable.

This isn't about how much I weigh, or what size jeans I wear- it's about how I feel.

I feel like crap. I feel depressed. I'm tired. I'm not sleeping well.

I hate my body. My husband tried to talk to me while I was in the shower the other day, and I made him leave. I don't want my own husband to see me naked. That is sad.

This summer my kid missed out on swimming in a pool because I didn't want to put a bathing suit on. So, the way I feel about my body is keeping me from doing things with my child. That is unacceptable.

Now, here's the problem:

I can't cut back on calories. Let me explain-

I've never been a big eater. I spent years working in the culinary industry, rarely stopping to eat. I've totally screwed up my metabolism. When I keep track of my daily calories they are usually between 1,200 and 1,500. Not enough.
I actually think I need to eat MORE to lose weight so my metabolism can reset itself.
I also need to eat better. Here's what my diet looks like now- carbs, carbs, carbs. I go entire days without eating a single vegetable. And I'm a VEGETARIAN.
Now, I just need to figure out how to make the time to eat healthy. Taking care of a toddler does not afford me the time to prepare a lot of meals. I often just eat a handful of crackers until my kid is napping and I can have a proper meal.

The other part of the problem- lack of exercise.

First, I have a lot of physical issues that prevent me from doing a lot of things.
For instance, the last time I took a yoga class I had to sit half the class out because of my shoulder.
I really should have my exercise supervised by a trainer or a physical therapist, but I can't afford either.

Second, time. I have none of it.

At least 5 mornings a week I take Dexter for a walk while pushing Willa in the stroller. I walk briskly for about a half an hour for about 2 miles. Now, this hurts my shoulder, but if I'm going to get healthy I need to make sacrifices, and I realize that with my physical issues I'm going to have to deal with pain.

Other than the morning walk I'm not getting much exercise. I try to go to yoga, but I can't take a lot of the classes because of my limitations, and the husband is rarely home during the time they have classes that I can actually take, so I end up only going about twice a month.

I've thought about exercise videos, but I am concerned that I really should be supervised when I'm exercising, and to be honest, I hate exercise videos.

My husband doesn't get home until about 7pm, at which point I am exhausted and it's time for me to make dinner. If he gets home earlier I try to go for a walk, but that's rare.

I think the Wii Fit would be great for me, but I just can't afford it.

I really want to be healthy, I just don't know how to find the time.

I don't have unrealistic expectations. I don't expect to look like a celebrity.
I just don't want to dread getting dressed every day.
I want to feel strong.
I want to set a healthy example for my daughter. Show her that eating healthy and exercising should be a part of life.

I just want to feel comfortable in my own skin.

I just want to feel like me again.

Posted by torrie at 12:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (22)

Mookie peed three times over night. I've never been so thrilled about urine in my life.

Now we have a new problem.

When I brought Mookie home last night I expected Itsy to act weird. It is very common for a cat to hiss at another cat when they come home from the hospital because they smell funny.

This, however is really bad.

At first Mookie was just ignoring Itsy's hissing and growling, but then he started hissing and growling too.

Last night at about 11 pm they started getting pretty nasty with each other. So, we decided to lock Itsy in our second bathroom with her food, water, and a large shoe box filled with litter. We thought it was more important for Mookie to have access to the regular litter box.

This morning at 5:10 my husband whent into the bathroom to feed Itsy and Mookie jumped over his feet and attacked her.They started running around the house trying to kill each other. I sprang out of bed and ran out and we were able to get Itsy back in the bathroom. A little while later the husband went to chack on Itsy and Mookie tried to do the same thing.

I am alone all day, until about 6-7pm, then tomorrow the husband will leave for work at 6 am and won't be home until about 10am on Sunday.

I don't know how I'm going to handle all of this by myself.

Itsy and Mookie were best friends a few days ago, and now they are trying to kill each other.

I don't know how to make it stop.

Posted by torrie at 08:14 AM | Permalink | Comments (16)

Mookie is home.

Right before I went to pick him up he started straining to pee again. The vet said that if he doesn't pee tonight that I'll have to bring him back in the morning and they will perform surgery on him.

He's been home for two hours and he keeps going in the litter box and sitting there and no pee will come out.

I am praying that he pees soon.

In the meanwhile if you all could send some healthy vibes his way I would really appreciate it. I believe in the power of positive

To repay you, I will share this slide show with you:

Posted by torrie at 07:20 PM | Permalink | Comments (16)

Our cat Mookie was admitted to the hospital today.

Again.

They think he might have an obstructed urethra. AGAIN.

I'm going to write about Mookie's medical issues in the hopes that someone might read this, have been through the same thing, and has found a solution.

Mookie started having problems when he was about a year old.
He was peeing outside of the litter box.
We are not the type of people to just get rid of an animal when they have behavioral issues, but cat pee destroys things.
He peed on Dexter's dog bed, we had to throw it out.
He peed on our brand new $1,000 mattress (purchased as a desperate attemp tto fix my back problems), we had to call a steam cleaning company, and paid a ton of money for an emergency appointment.

We really didn't know what to do.

Then one day I stepped out of the shower and Mookie jumped in.
He looked right at me and peed blood.

I took him to the vet. (Our vet at the time was two blocks away and we had a very close relationship with them.)

And so, over the next few years this would happen.
Mookie would walk around crying, would go in and out of the litter box, lick his crotch excessively, and would occasionally pee on something. Then the vet would put him on medicine, and it would eventually pass.

We tried different kitty litters. We tried all different kinds of food. We got him a kitty water fountain. But, he would still get sick.

The one thing that really seemed to help was taking him off dry food. I had done a bunch of research, and I had read that cats derive most of their moisture from their food, so if they eat dry food they are not getting enough moisture.

So he's been on only wet food for a couple of years now.

Then one morning he started walking around and screaming like I had never heard him before. Then he got up on the couch and was straining to pee, and he was straining so hard that he pooped.

My vet told me to take him right to the hospital.

So, I took him to one of the top animal hospitals in the country, which I happened to live a few blocks from. A doctor took us into a triage room and felt his bladder. She looked me in the eye and said "I have to take him in the back RIGHT NOW- this is an emergency".

It turns out that he had a blocked urethra. They told me that if I hadn't brought him in, he would have died.
He stayed in the hospital for three days.

Then the vet put him on a supplement (cosequin).

He was healthy for a few months, then he got sick again.

Then we started putting water on his food. That seemed to work, until today.

So, here is a list of all of the things we have done to try to prevent Mookie form getting sick, all of which has either been recommended by a vet, or I have come across while doing research:

-We feed him only wet food.
-We use an all natural kitty litter.
-We scoop the litter frequently
-We put water on his food.
-We feed him frequently (three times a day).
-We got him a water fountain.
-We give him a supplement.

I should also mention:

-Mookie is in great shape. He's very active.
-I hate Science Diet. The ingredients are crappy. I would really love him to be on a natural food. (Right now he's on Wellness.) However, if the only thing that helps him is Science Diet, than I will begrudgingly put him on it.
-I REALLY want to avoid him having surgery because there are some nasty side effects.

We have been dealing with this for about 7 years.
We are out of ideas.

I'm sick of seeing Mookie in pain. I love him, and I just want him to feel better.
I'm sick of loosing thousands of dollars. (Although I should say, we have, and we will, pay any amount of money to make him feel better.)

Does anybody have any suggestion?

Posted by torrie at 01:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (32)

So, after an MRI and several X-Rays my doctor has determined that I have adhesive capsulitis.

I wasn't exactly surprised, but I'm really upset about it.

I've been having joint and spine problems since I was 9 years old. No medical professional has ever been able to tell me why. There is no name for my disorder. It's just lots of problems with my joints and spine- loose joints- which caused me to have shoulder surgery almost 4 years ago, bursitis and tendinitis in my shoulders and hips, deteriorating meniscus in my knee, carpal tunnel syndrome, and 5 (at last count) herniated discs.

I'm used to being in pain every day. But, I always held out hope that I would find something to "fix" me. I thought if I did enough yoga, or acupuncture, or massage, or stretching, that I would be cured. I'm all for putting up a fight, but this latest diagnosis has made me realize that I can not be cured.
I will struggle with this for the rest of my life.

That's really hard for me to accept.

I'm only 32 years old, and I'm already in so much pain. The doctors marvel at how my body acts like it is twice its age. (Adhesive capsulitis is rarely seen in people under 50.) What will I be like when I'm 62, or 82? The thought terrifies me.

Do you know how heartbreaking it is to have a doctor look you in the eye and tell you that you will be in pain every day for the rest of your life?

Every day tasks that most people, myself included, take for granted have become a struggle. brushing my dog, doing the dishes, putting my hair in a ponytail, driving, making dinner- these are all things that cause me considerable pain. I can't go bowling, swim laps, play pool, play darts, or go white water rafting.

It hurts every time I pick up my child.

That has been the hardest part of all of this for me- it is keeping me from being the mother that I want to be. Instead of enjoying every minute with my daughter, I'm counting the minutes until my husband gets home so I can have a break.
Being in pain makes EVERYTHING harder. What is a quick trip to the store for most people is a huge undertaking for me- carry kid down stairs- load kid into car seat- drive- open back of car (we have an SUV and the back is really hard to open and close.)- wrestle stroller out of car- lift kid out car seat- buckle kid into stroller- close back of car-push stroller- open back of car- put shopping bags in back of car- unbuckle kid- put kid in car seat- fold up stroller- put stroller in back of car- close back of car- drive- open back of car- get kid out of car seat- pick up shopping bags- close back of car- try to balance kid and shopping bags while walking up front steps and opening door. It all hurts.

Pain shatters your hopes and dreams. It takes the fun out of everything. It makes life more frustrating. It leaves little room for patience.

Pain is robbing me of enjoying my child. I'm so angry.

My husband has been so amazing through all of this. He's so supportive. It must be so hard/ frustrating for such a young, vibrant, active guy to be married to a woman who can't do anything.
His fellowship is not what we thought it would be. He is working so much more. A minimum of 60 hours a week. He's working 7 out of 13 weekends. He's working this weekend, which means I won't really get a break until next weekend.
It's been really hard. We can't afford a babysitter. He leaves for work at 6am and comes home at around 7pm. Then he gives Willa a bath and puts her to bed. He eats dinner and them does the dishes or whatever other chores need to be done. 2 out of the last 5 weeks have been spent on night float. This means he leaves for work at 7pm, works all night, gets home between 9-10am and sleeps all day. Those weeks have been really hard for me- I get no break at all. Whenever he gets a day of the week off (usually because he was working all night) he watches Willa while I get an acupuncture treatment. If he's around on the weekends there are a ton of chores to do.
Both of us rarely get a break. I feel really bad for him. I feel like he really deserves a break, but so do I.
He has ten more months until he is done with his fellowship. Ten more months until his salary increases so we can hire some help. I'm counting the days.

The most important treatment for adhesive capsulitis is lots of physical therapy.
We really don't know what to do about this.
I should be going to PT 2-3 times a week, but I have no one to watch Willa, and we can't afford to hire a babysitter. My mother comes and stays with us every once in a while for a week or two, but that's not enough.
For now I'm going to do some research and see what exercises I can do at home.

Flare ups of adhesive capsulitis last 1-3 years. 40-60% of sufferers have some permanent loss of mobility.

I know that there are people who have it much worse than me, and that I should be grateful, but it's really hard to look on the bright side when you are in constant pain.
I have become Debbie Downer.
I'm no fun at all.
I try to put on a brave face- to grit my teeth and smile through the pain, but it's becoming increasingly difficult and I'm tired.

Posted by torrie at 09:56 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

Today is the one year anniversary of my father's death.

I can't believe it's been a year. Similar to the way I feel about Willa's birth, part of me feels like my father's death was just yesterday, and part of me feels like it was ages ago.

Sometimes I forget and say "my father is" instead of "my father was".

The hardest part for me has been realizing that there are questions I have that will never be answered. Why did he do that? What was he thinking?
I'm not very skilled at letting go.

I realized that, as with every other uncomfortable situation in my life, I have been dealing with my dad's death by not dealing with it at all. I am the queen of avoidance.
And, in doing so, I have kept Willa's grandfather from her.
I should be talking about him with her. Telling her his likes and dislikes. Showing her pictures.
But, I'm not, because it hurts. That is not fair, and I vow to do better from here on out.

I might be hurt, but I am a mother first. I need to put my daughter's feeling's before mine.

And maybe, if I'm lucky, it will help me heal.

For those who are interested here is my father's obituary in the New York Times.

Posted by torrie at 09:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (19)

I can't move my right arm.

OK- that's a lie. I can move it, but when I do it feels like someone shot me with a nail gun and then set my arm on fire.
Three and a half years ago I had shoulder surgery. It ended my career as a pastry chef.
My recovery was long and painful. The first eight weeks I could barely move my arm. I endured months of physical therapy.

I've had physical problems since I was a kid. My spine and my joints have been a constant problem. Nobody has ever been able to figure out why.
I'm so tired of constantly being in pain. It's exhausting. And it affects every aspect of my life.

My doctors, my husband, and my mother have used the word handicapped when referring to me.
I'm having a really hard time accepting that word.
There are people in much worse shape than me.

I might not "look" handicapped, but I can't do a lot of the things "normal" people do.
No bowling, playing darts, playing pool, rowing a boat, playing baseball, etc.
It hurts to put my hair in a ponytail.
It hurts to open a door.
It hurts to walk my dog.
It hurts to drive.
It hurts to pick up my child.

I started to have pain in my shoulder again a few months ago. I ignored it. I didn't tell anyone about it because I didn't want it to be real. But, in the past couple of weeks it had become unbearable. I toss and turn all night. Yesterday I reached for something on a shelf and I yelped out in pain.

I'm seeing my doctor in a couple of weeks. He will tell me what I already know- I need to have surgery again.

It was hard enough the first time- I really don't know what I'm going to do.
I won't be able to pick up my kid for at least 8 weeks. How do you explain to a toddler that you can't pick them up? You don't. She won't understand. Her feeling will just be hurt.
My mother will have to stay with us to take care of me and Willa. The problem is, we live in the suburbs now and my mother doesn't really drive. Also, she can't stay with us forever, and the first time I had surgery it was a good 5-6 months before I could really use my arm and lift things.
I won't be able to shower by myself, butter my toast myself, or get dressed by myself.

On top of all of this my husband's new job has been a nightmare. He's been working WAY more than they told him he would. He is at work at 7AM and if he's home by 7pm we're lucky because it means he gets to see Willa for a 1/2 an hour before she goes to sleep. He's working 5 out of 9 weekends.

We can't afford a babysitter. We can't afford a housekeeper.
I don't even know how I'm going to afford months of physical therapy (my insurance doesn't cover all of it).

How is my husband supposed to work a bare minimum of 60 hours a week (most weeks it's more like 80), and do all of the chores?

Also, I guess my photography career is over too. My shoulder can handle the shoots, but not the hours spent sitting at the computer editing. Even just sitting here typing this my entire right arm is burning.

This whole thing is a disaster.

There's no solution. There's no bright side.

Posted by torrie at 02:58 PM | Permalink | Comments (22)

I've been thinking a lot lately about whether or not we should try to have another baby.

I have so many mixed feeling about it.

I have a ton of medical issues to consider. Will my body be able to handle another pregnancy?
I keep telling myself that maybe if I lost some weight and REALLY got in shape that my body might be better equipped to handle pregnancy. But, I was in fairly good shape when I got pregnant with Willa. I had been working out with a trainer for about 4 months before I got pregnant. And, I might have been 10-15 pounds over-weight, but I was still relatively small. Plus, Willa was a small baby (6.6 lbs and 19 inches), and I gained the appropriate amount of weight (35lbs.), and I still had trouble carrying her.
What if I had another horrible pregnancy again where I was bed ridden for months, except this time I had to take care of a pre-schooler too?

And what if I have to go through losing a pregnancy again?
That was so difficult, and both times it took me quite a while to get back on my feet.
How will I be able to lay around and cry and eat massive amounts of chocolate if I have to take care of my kid. On second thought, maybe it would be easier to deal with. Having Willa around when my dad died somehow helped me.

I need to make sure that if I do decide to try for another baby, that I'm doing it for the right reasons. Not because I missed out on enjoying pregnancy- nobody fawning over me- no babymoon- no wearing cute maternity clothes- no shopping for baby things- because I was confined to bed. And not because I miss having a baby around, because THEY GROW UP.

The amazing feeling you get when your kid smiles, or laughs, or gives you a hug is addictive. I have to remind myself of how hard it is. I also have to be honest with myself- I don't handle stress well. It takes its toll on me physically and mentally. I'm also not good at letting people help me. So, if I had another kid I'd have to deal with all of that stress-the sleepless nights, the exhaustion, etc., and I'm honestly not sure if I want to go through that again.

Having a second child is, I would imagine, so much different than having one child, because now you have to take care of a newborn AND make sure you are paying enough attention to your older child. I'm sure I would drive myself crazy trying to be the perfect mother.

My life is crazy right now. I hardly have any time for myself, and I am constantly overwhelmed. My husband and I rarely go out, and I've never spent a night apart from Willa. Does it make sense then, when Willa is more independent, and going to preschool, and our lives are finally getting easier, to try to have another baby?

Here's another strange reason I'm hesitant to try for another- I've always had a feeling that I was going to have twins. Most people don't know this, but we're pretty sure my pregnancy with Willa was originally twins. My HCG levels were high. I had a feeling that I was pregnant with twins. When I had my first ultrasound there was something else in there that my doctor couldn't identify. And then when Willa was born we discovered that she had two placentas fused together. My doctor thinks that I was, in fact pregnant with twins and that the other baby was absorbed. Maybe this explains why Willa is extra awesome.
I'm afraid that if I get pregnant again that it will be with twins, and I don't know if my body could handle that.

With all that said-

I have a brother and two sisters. We are VERY different. We are not as close as most siblings.
BUT, my father's illness brought my brother and I together. We gained mutual respect for each other. And I can't imagine going through the weeks surrounding my father's death without him.
Julie wrote a post about this topic, and her words are much more eloquent than mine could ever be.
Having a sibling makes you feel less alone in the world. Shouldn't we try to give Willa that gift?

Having Willa has been the best experience of my life. Shouldn't I do it again? Won't all of the pain and stress be worth it? The cynical side of me wonders if I shouldn't temp fate- Willa is so fantastic that I couldn't possibly have another equally fantastic child- or could I?

Posted by torrie at 10:30 PM | Permalink | Comments (19)

I can not get the image of my father in his last days out of my head.

His sunken cheeks. His bulging eyes. His frail, skinny arms. His shuffling gait.

It haunts me.

Yesterday I was in a yoga class. We were doing the part of the class where you do deep breathing and meditate. And the image of my father, a skeleton of his former self, kept popping into my head.

I don't really know what to do to stop thinking about it. I really wish I hadn't seen him like that, but I did. My advice to anyone who is debating whether or not they should see someone they care about on their death bed is DON'T. It is so much better to remember them as they were.

I feel like I have come to terms with his death, so I don't understand why I still have bad dreams and constantly think about him. Maybe I have some unresolved issues?
There are definitely things that I am mad about, but there's nothing I can do about it now that my father is gone.

I need to move on.

I just don't know how.

Posted by torrie at 10:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (20)

So, Willa stopped breast feeding the other day. She was a day shy of 13 months.

The strange part is that she stopped cold turkey. She breast fed like she normally does on Friday night before bed, and then Saturday morning she refused. She acted like I was trying to pour castor oil down her throat. I thought maybe it was because she is teething, but she went the whole day without breast feeding. Tomorrow will be one week.

Now, I know everyone says this about their kids, but Willa really is an unusual baby.
So, it did not really surprise me that she quit like that, but I was concerned.
When i called the pediatrician to tell him he said "that's weird".
I can only get her to drink 4-6 ounces of soy milk a and she's supposed to have about 24 ounces.
Because of this she is eating like a 16 year old football player. I can't give her enough food.

She eats 3 huge meals a day and at least 2 snacks. Everything she eats is organic and healthy, so I'm not worried about her getting enough nutrition, but I am worried about her getting enough fat. The only dairy product I was willing to give her was yogurt, but she doesn't like it- which is funny, because she likes almost everything.
I'm trying to give her lots of avocado and olive oil.

On a personal note-
I have mixed emotions about the breast feeding being over.
I will miss the convenience of it. I will miss having something to soothe my child with. The insane, worse case scenario part of me will miss having a back up food supply for my kid if we are ever stuck on a plane for 11 hours or trapped in our car in a snow storm. I will miss knowing that she is getting awesome nutrients and anti-bodies. I'm really happy that I breast fed my child for a year, especially considering I wasn't sure if I'd be able to do it at all.

How does the other part of me feel about it?

HALLELUJAH!

Willa has not taken a bottle since she was about 4 months old. That is totally my fault. When my dad was sick and right after he died, there was a period where I didn't give Willa a bottle for a couple of weeks. For those of you who have never breast fed I'll let you in on a little secret. Having someone give the baby a bottle is not as convenient as it sounds. Every time someone gives the baby a bottle your breasts still need to be drained, so you have to pump. When I was really busy it was just easier for me to give Willa the boob. No one was around helping me- my husband was working a lot- and if I gave her a bottle I would then have to pump- and find a way to occupy her while I was doing it, and I didn't have time for that. So, she went a couple of weeks without a bottle. And when things settled down and I thought it might be nice to spend an hour or two away from Willa, she refused to take a bottle. REFUSED. believe me we tried all different types of bottles, but Willa is a stubborn child, and I was too tired and emotionally drained to listen to her scream, so I gave her the boob. I had no idea how I was going to wean her, and I was afraid she would never give up the boob.

*(Hey new moms or moms to be- PLEASE give your baby a bottle. Once breast feeding is established- usually around 2-3 weeks- there is no reason you can't give your baby a bottle. Nipple confusion is a myth. Being able to leave your baby alone for more than a few minutes is important for your mental health. Please learn from my mistake and give your baby a bottle!)

So, yep, for 8-9 months it was all me. All boobs, all the time.
Which meant that I could never really go anywhere for very long.
And the insane irrational part of me would worry that I would get into a car accident and die and then WHAT WOULD HAPPEN!?
Exclusively breast feeding made me a prisoner. I couldn't be away from my child for more than a few hours. And breast feeding was part of Willa's bed time routine, so I could never go anywhere at night before 8pm which was really limiting.
I had no idea how we were going to get Willa to go to sleep without breast feeding, but that first night we just put her in her crib and she cried for maybe 2 minutes and then went to sleep. Just like that.

So, now I have this new sense of freedom.

I don't have to be there when she wakes up in the morning! I don't have to be there for nap time! I can go to a 7:30 movie! The world is my oyster!

I think maybe this is an opportunity for me to focus on myself a little bit. If I can even remember how to do that.

Posted by torrie at 02:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

When I was little I thought using a tampon was insane.

I'm not sticking something in there.

I should also add that I was afraid of penises. My, how things have changed.

Anyway, like I was saying, I never thought I would shove a foreign object up my hoo-ha.

Then, the day after my 14th birthday, I got my period.

So, my mom bought me some maxi pads. I HATED them. They kept sticking to me. And jamming into my butt. And they made a crinkly sound when I walked. I was miserable.

I think I made it maybe a grand total of five hours before I asked my mom for a tampon.

After a couple of tries I inserted the tampon, and there has been no turning back.

It amazes me that I can walk around with a tampon in and not even feel it- I can even go swimming, and yet there are still people who choose to wear pads. This makes about as much sense to me as people who still use a bar of soap to wash themselves. *

(* I understand that there are a few of you who are very heavy bleeders and can't wear tampons, so please don't send me emails.)

What does this have to do with breastfeeding?

Well, when I was young I also thought I would NEVER breastfeed.

I thought it was weird. And gross.

Then I grew up and became a hippie.
And I everywhere I went I either read or heard that breastfeeding was the best thing you could do for your baby's health.
So, I decided when I had a baby I would try. I figured that even if I could breastfeed for a week that would be an accomplishment.
Then Willa was born and five minutes later she was on my breast. And it wasn't weird. Or gross. It felt very natural. And it felt like I was doing what I was supposed to be doing.

Now, I'm not saying it was easy. We struggled. Big time. On the second morning of Willa's life I stood in the bathroom at the hospital and cried because I felt like a failure. It took three lactation consultants and six weeks before the breastfeeding went smoothly. I look back on that time and I can't believe I made it through. If you had told me when Willa was born that it would be six weeks before we got breastfeeding down-six weeks of bloody nipples and pumping around the clock- I would have thought that I couldn't do it. But, I never gave up because I knew it was the best thing for Willa.
And here we are. Six months later. We are pros at breastfeeding. I'm so glad it worked out. It's so convenient. I don't have to worry about bringing bottles with me everywhere or mixing formula. If my kid is hungry I just whip out a boob.
Another bonus to breastfeeding that people hardly talk about? No period.
I haven't gotten my period since August 18th, 2006.
It is awesome.

(Do you like how I just brought this post full circle? That, my friends, takes talent.)

Posted by torrie at 11:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (35)

My kid has eczema.

At first she just had a little raised red patch on her chest, but now it is everywhere. Even on her face.

I've done my research. Kids with eczema are prone to other allergies. I'm so afraid she'll have food allergies. I'm afraid she'll be the kid at the birthday party who can't eat the cake and ice cream. And she'll have to carry an epi pen with her at all times. And going to a restaurant will be scary instead of fun.
I'm sure I'll be accused of over reacting, but I can't help but worry.

And call me superficial, but I can't stand that it has spread to her face. Her formerly perfect little face now has red bumpy patches all over it.

During my research I found out that eczema can be caused by dairy products that the mother has eaten (if the baby is breastfed). This means starting today I will not be eating dairy. Do you know how hard that is going to be for an already picky vegetarian? Also, what about the several months worth of breastmilk in the freezer that I have pumped? I guess I need to throw it all out.

I'd love to hear your experiences with skin and food allergies.

Posted by torrie at 09:52 AM | Permalink | Comments (40)

I think it has taken me 41/2 months to finally write this because I don't feel like i could ever do this story justice, but here it is anyway.

It was Monday May 14. My doctor was planning on inducing me on Tuesday. I really didn't want to be induced, but I was in so much pain at that point that I just wanted the pregnancy to be over.
At 12:30pm I visited my acupuncturist hoping that he could kick start my labor.
At 2pm I had an appointment with my OB. She said I was still less than 2cm dilated, but that I was "soft and so ready to go". She also asked me if I was aware that I was having contractions. I wasn't. I just felt kind of crampy. She told me to check into the hospital at midnight. They were going to insert something into my cervix to soften it and get labor going- unless of course, I was already having regular contractions.
Labor and delivery was really busy that night so they called us and asked us to come at 1:30am instead.
We checked in (we are in the biggest birthing room in the hospital- my doctor hooked us up) and I was hooked up to the monitors and IV's. It turns out that I was having contractions about five minutes apart so they couldn't give me the medicine to soften my cervix because I was already technically in labor. At 3:00am they started me on a low dose of pitocin.

They pump me up with so much fluid over-night that for the first time in my pregnancy my ankles are swollen and I get some stretch marks on my hips- NO KIDDING.

Over the next few hours various nurses and doctors kept saying to me "are you sure you're not feeling anything?"
My contractions were increasing and I still wasn't feeling them.

Over night I just hung out with my husband and watched DVD's- all the while watching my contractions increase on the monitor, but not feeling anything.

At some point early in the morning I had to poop. I was so worried that they weren't going to let me go to the bathroom because they told me once I was hooked up to the IV's and monitors that I couldn't get out of bed, but the nurse took one look at my terrified face and unhooked me. I was so relieved. I had spent the entire pregnancy- from the moment I first saw those two lines- worrying that I would poop on the table during delivery.

My contractions increased in frequency and strength throughout the morning- still with no pain.

My mother arrives.

At around 11AM one of my doctor's partners (my doctor was at her office a few blocks away) comes in to check on me. I am 4cm dilated.
He tells me that he wants to break my water and insert a catheter and that if I was planning on getting an epidural I should do it now because once my water breaks I should be in pain. I feel really weird about getting an epidural when I'm not having any pain, but I figure eventually there is going to be pain so we call the anesthesiologist.

After months of worrying, and getting an MRI and being assured that even though my back is fucked up, it's not fucked up in the way that should affect the epidural, they have trouble putting in my epidural. It takes several tries and two doctors.

They finally get the epidural in. I sit and wait for the supposed wonderful feeling that all of these woman talk about. The feeling that makes people want to hug their anesthesiologist. I just feel like my ass is asleep. I HATE the epidural. I tell my husband to have them turn it off. The nurses and doctors think I am a crazy woman. They keep asking me if I'm sure. I am sure. They turn it off.

My best friend arrives.

We are laughing and joking around with the doctors and nurses. We ask them to guess when the baby will be born. We hear things like 6pm and 10pm.

All of a sudden at about 12:30 I start experiencing INTENSE pain. It is different from how everyone describes it. It is not in my abdomen. It is in my crotch. I close my eyes and try to work through the pain. We call the anesthesiologists back to turn on the epidural. NOW I wouldn't mind a numb ass.

My doctor's partner sticks his head in the room as he's heading out of the hospital. I tell him that I'm having a lot of pain and pressure. He checks me. I am 8cm dilated. He is VERY surprised at how quickly I'm progressing.

My in-laws arrive. I am aware of their presence, but am focusing on getting through the pain. I assume that my husband will ask them to leave before I start pushing because that is what we had discussed.

SO MUCH PAIN. The epidural is doing nothing.

My best friend keeps asking why I'm not screaming. "Where's the screaming? How come there's no screaming?"

My doctor arrives. She is wearing a beautiful dress.
She had been sitting at her desk eating a sandwich telling her husband that she would probably miss the party they were supposed to go to that night because I was in labor, when her partner called her to tell her I was 8cm. She stopped eating her sandwich and ran over to the hospital. I tell her to take her time and finish her sandwich. She says "Um, yeah, I think I'm going to change into my scrubs".

Everyone in the room is watching my contractions on the monitor. My husband had explained to them how it worked. My best friend still doesn't understand why I'm not screaming.

She comes back into the room at 1pm and checks me. I am 10 cm dilated. She tells me it's time to start pushing. I wonder if she got to finish her sandwich. My best friend can't believe that after 16 years of me telling her that one day she would be there when I gave birth, that she is actually going to watch me give birth.

My doctor and my nurse tell me to start pushing. It is then that I realize that I have no idea how to push. It takes me a few tries to figure it out. My doctor has the epidural turned off which is fine with me because it wasn't giving me any relief anyway. (My doctor later says to me that she thinks she shouldn't have turned off my epidural. She thought it was making me numb, but she realizes now that it was just taking me a little while to learn how to push.)

My in-laws are still in the room. My father-in-law is standing a few feet away from the horror show that is my vagina.

My husband is holding one of my legs, my mother is holding my other leg and my best friend is pushing my head forward.

My doctor laughs and says that this is the most people she's ever had in the room during a delivery.

I am pushing. It is REALLY hard. It feels like the worst constipation I've ever had, times ten.

I am tired. I had pretty much been awake at this point for a day and a half.

More pushing. The contractions are right on top of each other. I only have a few seconds between each. I'm thinking if I could just rest for a couple of minutes...

But the urge to push is overwhelming.

I BEG for the vacuum. I say I can't do this. I feel the head and I'm thinking that there is no way I'm going to be able to get it out on my own. My doctor stays completely calm and tells me I'm doing fine. I feel like I've been pushing forever.

FINALLY the head comes out. I let out a scream. My best friend is relieved to know that I am human. I actually say "Thank God" out loud. I know the rest will be easy.

60 seconds later, at 2:30pm, after one hour of pushing, Willa was born.

There was much excitement and tears in the room.

My doctor tries to place Willa on my chest, but the umbilical cord is way to short- she can barely lift her. She asks my husband for help. He cuts the cord. I get to meet Willa. We are all amazed- when I was born I almost died because my umbilical cord was wrapped around my neck AND it was too short. I am relieved that Willa's cord was not wrapped around her neck.

Willa is perfect. I can't believe she is finally here. I feel the most at peace I have ever felt. Everyone around me is a flurry of nerves and I have never felt so relaxed.

I am a mother.

It was worth the wait.

Posted by torrie at 12:22 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

It has been a month since my father died.
A lot has surprised me- like how OK I seem to be be with it. I mean, I haven't really freaked out- not yet anyway. I thought I might lose it this past weekend when I was at his house sorting through his stuff, or when we scattered his ashes, but I only cried a couple of times. That was weird, by the way- picking up my dad's ashes from the funeral home. There was my dad- who used to be six feet tall, in something about the size of a shoe box. There I was walking down the street carrying my dad. I was surprised at how heavy his ashes were.
I never understood why people need to see the body for closure until now. I mean on Friday I was standing there talking to him and on Saturday he was dead. For most of my life my dad has lived in a different state than me. I've gone as long as six months without seeing him. So, it just doesn't really feel like he's gone. Not yet anyway. To be honest, sometimes I forget that he's dead. Willa is really enjoying her bath and I think "I should call my dad- he'd really appreciate this." And then I realize- OH. Or, I'm doing a crossword puzzle and I need help with a clue and I think "My dad will know this." And then I remember- OH. I've even gotten that "Hey, I should call my dad I haven't spoken to him in a while" feeling. I've even reached for the phone.
I think maybe out of the blue one day I'll have a moment like that and then I'll finally lose it.

I think part of the reason I feel this way is because his death was so uneventful. He had a long illness, yes, but I guess I've watched too many movies. I thought there would be a "death bed". As in "He's on his death bed". You know, a period where the person lies there unconscious and everyone sits next to the bed waiting. But, he was talking to me and twelve hours later he was dead. And I never actually saw his dead body. So, for all I know he could be off somewhere on a shipwreck expedition. But he's not.
Another issue I have is we never had "the talk". The one where he says all things he wants to say to me. Like, he's proud of me, or he gives me some sage advice. He never really said anything to me.
I thought that maybe this weekend while I was sorting through his stuff I would find an envelope tucked away marked "Torrie" and I would find a letter in it that my dad wrote me saying all the things he never said to me.
My dad was always very tough on me- I thought towards the end he would, I don't know, maybe tell me he was proud of me.
There is no letter.

As times like this often do, this has taught me who my friends are. Most have been great, but there are a few who have totally dropped the ball. It amazes me how some people haven't called or even emailed me. I know it's an awkward uncomfortable situation. I know it's hard to know the right thing to say, but the mature thing, the RIGHT thing to do is make a phone call or send an email. And I hate the excuse "I wanted to give you your space." If you know me at all, I don't care about "space" I just want some support.

As difficult as the past few months have been- dealing with all of this while trying to take care of a new baby- Willa has been a wonderful distraction. If it wasn't for her I probably wouldn't be getting out of bed these days. And as sad/upset/confused as I may be I can't help but be happy when she smiles at me.
It's too bad she has to go to sleep at night because that's when I stop being distracted and the bad dreams come.

Posted by torrie at 07:50 PM | Permalink | Comments (14)

Here's the plan- I have decided that I am never actually going to get teeth. I'm just going to teeth FOREVER, or at least until I go away to college. I will be happy, smiling, laughing, and talking up a storm and than with NO WARNING my bottom lip will quiver and I will let out a yelp of pain. I will also have trouble going to sleep and when I finally do fall asleep I will toss back and forth and wake up EVERY HOUR ALL NIGHT.

Love,

Willa

P.S. What does it mean when mommy sits in the corner and rocks back and forth whilst babbling incoherently to herself?

P.P.S. POOP! (AAaaaahahahahahaaaaa!)

Posted by torrie at 05:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

The September 10th issue of Time Magazine (Rosie the Riveter is on the cover) has an obit on my dad on page 22.

Here's a link to it online.
His is the third one down.

Posted by torrie at 05:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (1)

My dad died on Saturday.

I visited him on Friday (my birthday) and he wasn't doing very well. I asked him if he wanted me to cancel my weekend trip and he said to me "That's the last thing I want you to do. Go have fun."
I spoke to his doctor and asked her if I should cancel my trip and she said "I haven't placed him on critical watch yet, so I think he'll be fine through the weekend." I asked her how much longer she thought he had and she said "A week. Two weeks top."

I sat in the chair next to my dad's bed and wept while he was sleeping.

I kissed my dad on the forehead, said I would be back Monday morning, told him I loved him, and left the hospital.

I reluctantly left for my trip to Massachusetts on Friday night. II was supposed to sing at the Guthrie Center on Saturday night. It took us 4 1/2 hours to drive there, through pouring rain. We got there at 11:30pm.

On Saturday morning at 10am I got a call from the hospital saying that my dad's blood pressure was low and they were going to place him on critical watch to be cautious. I asked his doctor if I should drive back and she said "If you're asking me if I think he'll die today the answer is no, but there's always a possibility. Why don't you call me back at 3:00 to check on him because I will have re-evaluated him by then."
At 3pm I called and the nurse told me the doctor wouldn't be available until 4pm.
At 4pm I was breast feeding Willa when the phone rang. It was the hospital calling to tell me my father had died.

My first instinct was to feel guilty about the fact that my father died alone.

But the more people I talk to, the more I'm starting to believe that my father didn't want me to watch him die.

My nephew told me that when I was out of the room when we visited him on Wednesday, my father said to him "I'm in a lot of pain. I don't have much longer. Don't tell Torrie , I don't want to ruin her Birthday."

Another thing that in a strange way made me feel better is that my dad's dog died on Thursday. He was nine years old, had no known medical problems, and had just been walking around and wagging his tail that morning. He just went to sleep and didn't wake up. Thursday was the day my dad really started to go downhill (I think he waited until Saturday to let go because he didn't want to ruin my Birthday). I think his dog just didn't want to live without him. We didn't tell my father that his dog died. They are together now.

I have spent the last three days visiting the funeral home, writing lists, making DOZENS of phone calls, and planning two memorial services. All with a baby suckling at my breast. You can't imagine how hard it is to call people and tell them that their friend died. My dad had a lot of friends.

I am on auto-pilot. I don't think it's really sunk in yet that my father is gone.

Tomorrow The New York Times will be doing a featured obituary on my dad. I'll try to link to it if I can.
* Update- they didn't make it to press in time. I think it will be in tomorrow's paper. I'll update when they let me know.

I have had several people people ask me where they can make a donation in my dad's honor.
Here are two options:
The American Cancer Society
or
The QAR project

You have no idea how much all of your kind words and support have meant to me.

*Update-Here's an article about my dad.

Posted by torrie at 10:29 AM | Permalink | Comments (55)

We are supposed to leave on August 25th for a ten day vacation at my mom's house. She lives in the Pocono mountains. It's all trees, and lakes, and farmers' markets- AKA relaxation.
I just looked on line to rent a mini van because we won't be able to fit in our car. It will be me, my husband, Willa, my mom, Dexter, two of my cats, and all of our stuff.
The CHEAPEST car rental rate I could find was more than $1,000. We can't even remotely afford that. I naively thought it would cost about half of that, which we still couldn't really afford, but I was rationalizing it because we were staying at my mom's so we aren't paying for flights or a hotel. Plus, have I mentioned how much we need a vacation?
I have no idea what we are going to do.

My dad is in constant pain now. They have been giving him percocet for the past few days and it's making him very sleepy. Now they're going to have to give him something stronger. So, I guess he'll be spending his remaining days completely out of it.

The Sarcastic Journalist sent me cupcakes and This Fish came to town and took me and Willa to our favorite cafe. Have I mentioned how awesome my friends are?

My birthday is tomorrow and I couldn't care less.

Posted by torrie at 05:13 PM | Permalink | Comments (23)

1) Thank you for all of your amazingly supportive comments and emails.

2) A few people suggested I hire some help. I would love to, but we are broke. We have about $1,000 in our savings account and that's it. We are living off of my husband measly salary. If you actually calculated how much he makes per hour, it's probably less than minimum wage. I'm trying to line up some photography jobs, but I don't really have a lot of time to devote to that.

3) Other people suggested I ask my friends for help. I don't know how this happened considering what a hippie I am, but most of my friends are lawyers, doctors, or bankers. They work a minimum of 60 hours a week, so they don't exactly have the time to babysit. And even if they did, I am HORRIBLE at asking for or accepting help. It is really hard for me to ask someone who works so much and who I hardly get to hang out with as it is to watch my kid.

4) With that said, my mother-in-law took one look at me on Saturday (I was so tired I was slurring my words) and said "That's it! I'm hiring a housekeeper for you!" She had offered to hire a housekeeper when I was pregnant and in bed for three months, but as usual, I refused because I am horrible at accepting help, gifts, or compliments. This time I am going to take her up on her offer. Living in Manhattan makes everything dusty as it is, having 4 animals makes it even worse. Then there's vacuuming, laundry, the dishes, cleaning the bathroom, etc., etc. Plus, I have to run most of the errands. You get the picture. Trying to get everything around the house done (I still haven't finished writing the thank you notes for presents we got when Willa was born), and run errands, and take care of Willa, and deal with the situation with my dad is impossible. Keeping my apartment clean is on the lower end of my list of priorities and it's become a mess. I'm looking forward to having some help.

5) Having no money at such a stressful time in my life really sucks. I'd love to be able to go out to lunch, or get a massage, or buy a magazine without feeling guilty.

6) I have 52 emails in my inbox waiting for my attention. If I haven't responded to your email I apologize.

7) I am performing (singing) at The Guthrie Center in Massachusetts this weekend with my husband and my father-in-law. Finding time to rehearse is practically impossible.

8) For those of you who don't keep track of my Twitter account, my dad was transfered to hospice Friday night. This brings with it new complications- the hospice is a 45 minute drive away (without traffic, but there always seems to be traffic), which means visiting my dad becomes an all day event. I am trying to visit him 4 days a week. I, of course, feel guilty that I can't be there every day.

9) Dexter was put on antibiotics and he's feeling much better.

10) My husband has vacation at the end of August/Beginning of September. We are supposed to go to my mom's house (in the Pocono mountains, 2 hours away) for 10 days. This might sound horribly selfish, but I'm really worried that my dad's illness will interfere with our vacation. We REALLY need this vacation. In addition to the regular 60-80 hours a week my husband works, on June 1st he became chief resident. It's quite an honor, but he has to do all of his responsibilities (schedules, meetings, etc) in his free time (and he doesn't make any extra money for it). Then of course he's helping with Willa- he spends more time with her than most dads who work less than him, and he's dealing with the situation with my dad, and he does a bunch of stuff around the house. He deserves a vacation.
When we saw my dad's doctor on August 6th he estimated that my dad had about a month to live. That coincides right with my husband's vacation. I don't want him to have to spend what little time off he has dealing with the death of my father and going to memorial services. Selfish, but true.

11) I haven't gotten my hair cut since February 22nd, and it shows.

12) Willa turns 13 weeks old today. She is a joy. She's been so cooperative with all of the trips to the hospital. She's visited the hospital almost everyday for the last 12 days and she hasn't cried once. Yesterday, she cried for a grand total of about 10 minutes the entire day, and that was only because her stomach was bothering her. Once she pooped she was happy and smiling again. She laughs and smiles all the time. She smiles at strangers. She is also trying to talk. I have no idea what she's saying, but she sure does. She's constantly babbling. She's helping me get through all of this.

Posted by torrie at 11:06 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)

The last few days have been the toughest of my life.

After this happened things only got worse.

On Thursday night my dad fell (in my apartment) and hit his head on a glass vase. He only had a small cut over his eye, and my husband was home to help him up, but it got me thinking. What was I going to do if he fell when my husband wasn't home? What if he fell in the shower?
I was already having a rough time taking care of both my father and Willa. My father is so weak he can't even open his pill bottles. I had to do everything for him. Now I had to worry about him falling. I was a prisoner in my own home. With the exception of taking Dexter for quick walks, I wouldn't leave my father alone for fear that he would fall while I was out.

On Friday my father's doctor called to say that his scans from the previous two days showed that he had a blood clot. They told me to take him over to the hospital to have him admitted so they could give him blood thinners. I had no one to watch Willa, so my husband had to leave work. Not exactly easy when you're a doctor in the middle of a surgery. Willa wasn't allowed back in the urgent care area, so we kept taking turns watching her while the other one stayed with my father.
Now the idea of my father falling was even worse. If he fell while on blood thinners he could very likely have internal bleeding. I had a long talk with the doctor who admitted him. I told him about the whole situation and that my father was broke, and that we were broke, so we couldn't afford to hire an in home nurse. He assured me that my father would be in the hospital through the weekend. (He was supposed to see his oncologist on Monday anyway.)

I was relieved that I wouldn't have to take care of him, and that he would be safe.
Add more to the pile of guilt.

On Saturday morning we were getting ready to leave for the hospital when my father called and said they were letting him go home. We were confused. We rushed over to the hospital and found out that he was going to sign out against medical advice (AMA).
A nurse, a med student, and two doctors all explained to him that it would be best for him to stay in the hospital. While I paced the hallway crying, my husband had a long talk with him and told him how hard it was for me to take care of both him and Willa, and that I wouldn't be able to pick him up if he fell. It all went in one ear and out the other. I sat down with him and I was very honest. It was a really hard conversation because my father is a very proud man and he refuses to except his limitations.
He looked me in the eyes and said "please don't make me stay here".
What do you say to that? How do you say no to that?
So, he signed out AMA and we took him home.
About an hour after we got home I was sitting in the living room and I thought I heard a noise coming from the nursery/guest room. I picked up Willa and walked into the other room. I found my father on the floor. He had opened a drawer on the changing table and was trying to pull him self up on it. My husband had a really hard time getting him up off the floor, he hurt his back doing it. Not to mention that if I hadn't gone into the other room when I did my father probably would have pulled the changing table over onto himself. If ever there was an "I told you so" moment this was it. But, we didn't say anything. I'm sure my father was embarrassed enough already.

We survived Sunday. One friend came by and brought us breakfast and two friends (who we had canceled plans with because of my father)came by and brought us dinner.

Monday was the appointment with my father's oncologist. He told my father that there was nothing more they could do for him. He also told him that he needed 24 hour nursing care, and that I couldn't provide that for him. My father has great respect for his doctor, so he agreed that it was time for hospice. I don't think when my father flew here on Wednesday that he realized that he would never see his home or his dog again. I don't think I realized it.
I spoke privately with the doctor and I asked him how much longer my dad had. He said if he had to guess- a month. My father never asked the doctor how much longer he had, and the doctor never told him, so several times over the last couple of days my father has made reference to "the next few months" and my heart breaks a little more each time.
The doctor decided to re-admit my dad to the hospital so that they could drain some fluid. The cancer in his liver is causing fluid to build up in his abdomen and legs. The fluid in his legs is so bad that it has actually started to leak through his skin to the point where his pants are wet.

So, back to urgent care we went. When we got there we found out that the blood they had drawn at the doctor's office showed that my dad's potassium was low, which could indicate a heart problem. They had to run a bunch of tests. It was 9pm before my father was transfered to a room.

His heart seems to be fine, and as I type this they are performing the procedure on him to drain the fluid.

When we got home Monday night we discovered that Dexter has a hot spot, which has since grown to epic proportions. He is miserable.

Between taking care of Willa, my dad, and the animals I barely have time to eat and shower. The apartment is getting dirty and the bills aren't getting paid.

I really don't know how I'm getting through all this. I realized that it's amazing what you can get through if you don't have a choice. I've also been getting a lot of amazing support from my friends. Especially my internet friends.

This is all taking a huge emotional toll one me. I'm having nightmares and my anxiety has kicked into high gear. I've been having totally irrational fears. I fear that my building will catch on fire while I'm not home and the animals will be stuck inside. I fear that something like September 11th will happen when I'm not home and they will close off my neighborhood and I won't be able to get back into my building and my animals will starve to death. I worry constantly that my husband will die. I worry that when I'm walking down the street with Willa in the bassinet attachment of her stroller that someone will snatch her. I worry that Willa will catch some horrible disease because she's spending so much time in the hospital. I worry that I will be in a horrible accident that will render me unconscious and Willa won't be getting my breast milk. I worry that I will drop Willa.
The list goes on and on.

I'm struggling with so many conflicting emotions my head and my heart are swimming.

I'm trying to learn to be Ok with death because it is a part of life.

One bright spot- up until this point my dad has shown little interest in Willa. He hasn't done more than say "hi" to her. Yesterday when I was visiting him in the hospital he asked if Willa might like to lay in bed with him. So, I put her next to him in the hospital bed and she lay there and smiled and cooed at him.
It was all I could do to not fall into a heap of tears on the floor.

This whole situation has made me feel very much like a child. Like all of this is too much for me to handle. That a grown up should handle it. All these questions about medical history, and medications, and long term care. It's the kind of situation where I would normally want my parents to help. But, it's my parent who needs the help. I want my mommy. I want her to make me a cup of tea and cinnamon toast, and stroke my hair, and tell me everything's going to be all right.
But it's not going to be all right.

I want to run away.

Posted by torrie at 10:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (51)

I just picked my dad up from the airport. (He flew in to see his doctor here to see if there are any experimental trials he qualifies for. This is his last resort.)
It took me an hour and a half to get to the airport. It usually takes me 20 minutes.
The airport attendant left my father sitting on the curb, in a wheelchair, in the 90 degree heat for an hour.
Then, as if my day wasn't going bad enough, my father fell down and busted his lip open when he stepped off the curb. I couldn't get him up. There was hardly anyone around. A female cab driver tried to help me pick him up, but she couldn't get him up either. Finally, a cop car drove by and I flagged them down and they helped me get him in the car.
Then, of course, there was a ton of traffic on the way home, and all this while Willa was in the backseat.

I don't know how I'm going to get through this. I really don't.

Posted by torrie at 05:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (22)

On Thursday we got the results of my father's latest scan. The drugs he's been on for the last six months have stopped working. His cancer is spreading.
Ironically Thursday was also the day my father and my brother were flying to New York to visit and meet Willa. My brother has been living with my father and taking care of him. He tried to warn me about my father's appearance (I hadn't seen him since I was about seven months pregnant), but nothing could have prepared me.
I went to the airport Thursday night to pick them up. An airport attendant pushed my dad out to my car in a wheelchair. I almost didn't recognize him. His entire upper body, including his face, is skin and bones. His cheekbones looked sharp and his eyes were bulging. His arms were barely bigger than my wrists. His belly is swollen from the cancer in his liver. His legs and feet are swollen from all of the fluid the doctors have been pumping into him.

The last few days have been horrible. Watching him struggle physically was hard- he can't open his own pill bottles, he can barely get off the couch by himself- but watching what's going on with his mental health is really difficult.
His brain is still fine- he still has his amazing memory- but he is VERY depressed. I can't blame him for that, but it's been hard for me to see him like that because I know there's nothing much I can do. He's hardly shown any interest in Willa. This weekend I kept having to go into my bedroom to cry. Last night I cried myself to sleep. It took all of my strength not to cry in front of him.
And what's the right thing to do in a situation like this? Do you let the person see you cry? Show them that it's upsetting you so they know how much you care? Or, do you act like everything is fine so they think you're handling everything well? Let them think that you'll be OK when they're gone?
I have so many different emotions. I'm sad because I will miss him and Willa will miss out. He won't be around to teach Willa how to swim or ride a bike like he did for all four of his children and all four of his other grandchildren. I'm scared because I'm not handling this very well, and he's only going to get worse. I'm angry at the universe, and at my father for not taking care of himself and for giving up. (Please don't leave comments or send me emails about how I'm a bitch because I'm mad at my father for giving up. I know that I have no idea what it's like to battle cancer. I never said being angry was rational, but I can't help how I feel.) I feel guilty. Guilty because when they went home I was kind of relieved. Guilty because I don't want to deal with all of this. And guilty because I just want the whole situation to be over. I in no way mean that I want my father to die- it's just that he was diagnosed with metastatic cancer almost 2 1/2 years ago. It has been hanging over me. I can't get away from it. I think about it all the time, and it has been 2 1/2 years of phone calls between me, my brother, and my father. Phone calls to doctors. Hours of research by me and my husband. And I've spent hours upon hours in hospitals and waiting rooms. (I know, I know, I am a selfish bitch. No need to remind me.)

I want the situation to be over, but if the situation is over that means that my dad is gone, and I don't want that either.

I guess what I'm really after is a miracle.

Posted by torrie at 11:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (23)

In honor of her two month birthday, Willa now has her own Twitter page.

Check it out.

In other news Willa had her two month checkup today. She got her first round of shots (I left the room- my husband stayed with her), and she weighs 12 lbs. and is 22 3/4 inches long.

Posted by torrie at 05:07 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

I have mastitis.
It is causing me to have a 102 degree fever, chills, dizziness, exhaustion, and lots of pain .

This would normally be awesome, but it is especially awesome, because my oldest friend is getting married this weekend. And I'm a bridesmaid. And I'm making the wedding cake. And the wedding is three hours away.

To add to the fun:

-I made a big batch of buttercream icing only to discover that I had bought SALTED butter.
Anyone want some salty icing?

-I went to pick up my bridesmaid dress today. I have gone back twice to have it altered correctly. It still doesn't fit right.
I got in my elevator after walking the twelve blocks (round trip) in the heat, with my fever, only to realize that one of the detachable straps was missing. I desperately need the straps, otherwise everyone at the wedding is going to see some boobs for free. The lady at the tailor didn't secure the straps, AND didn't close the bottom of the bag that the dress was in.
I cried in the elevator.
Then, I had to retrace my steps to try and find the strap.
I found it.
That is about the only thing that has gone my way today.

Did I mention that I'm also taking care of a five-week old?

At least she's cute.

Posted by torrie at 05:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (25)

Last night at 11pm we finally thought we had gotten Willa to fall asleep. She had been awake since 4pm- unheard of for a two week old. We tried everything between the hours of 4-11. She ate a ton, we rocked her, we went outside for a walk, we sang to her, we let her suck on our fingers, but nothing worked. She nodded off several times, but within ten minutes her eyes would pop open.
We didn't understand how she could possibly eat so much. My husband even joked that she must have a hollow leg.
By 11pm I was exhausted and worried something was wrong, but she never really cried or got upset, so I had no idea what was going on.
I put her in her bassinet hoping that she would finally fall asleep. I was sitting on my bed (next to the bassinet) when I heard a horrible gurgling sound. Willa was vomiting. A LOT. I picked her up and turned her on her side and for a brief moment she was gasping for air. That one moment was perhaps the scariest of my life. The poor thing was miserable and we were both covered in vomit. She was gagging and crying, so my husband used the bulb syringe to clear the mucus out of her throat.
Withing two minutes she was passed out.
I sat on my bed holding her ,and I burst into tears. I was so tired, and that one moment of her gasping for air scared me so much, and I hated seeing her so miserable.
I spent most of the night awake, watching her breathe.

As I sit here exhausted, pumping breast milk when I'd REALLY rather be sleeping, I realized I will probably have many more nights like last night, but it's all worth it.

I am a mother.

Posted by torrie at 08:32 AM | Permalink | Comments (25)

I am being admitted to the hospital at midnight tonight.
My doctor said "You are so ready to go."
I'm apparently having contractions, but I can't really feel them.

By tomorrow evening I should have a human.

Please keep your fingers crossed for us.

This is all very surreal.

I will try to update. At the very least I should be able to update through Twitter.

Holy shit, this is crazy.

Posted by torrie at 04:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (23)

I had an appointment with my OB today. I haven't really dilated or effaced any more since last week, which is frustrating. Frustrating because I've reached a new level of discomfort. (This is the part where you kindly keep your mouth shut and don't say things like "all pregnant women are uncomfortable at this point" because if you say something like that I might use what little energy I have left to kill you. Then I will eat you, which might give me horrible heartburn, BUT IT WILL BE WORTH IT.)

I hurt EVERYWHERE. And I do mean EVERYWHERE. Places where I didn't realize you could experience pain.

And I would no longer call what I (attempt to) do between the hours of midnight and 9AM "sleeping", I would call it "tossing and turning, and burping up bile, and going to the bathroom every two hours".
My husband, of course, sleeps blissfully unaware through all of it. Although I have been tempted, I haven't killed him yet because he shaves my legs for me, and puts on my socks and shoes, because I haven't been able to reach past my knees for weeks.

To add to the fun, this child has positioned herself in such a way that if I lay on my left side it is like I'm trying to balance all of my body weight on her shoulders, and if I lay on my right side all of my body weight is on her knees. Laying on my back is sort of out of the question because the extra weight I'm carrying will suffocate us both.

Needless to say that the lack of sleep is causing me to do some brilliant things- like pick up a ramekin of roasted garlic, that I had just taken out of my 425 degree oven, with my bare hand.
(The garlic, by the way, was to put on the pizza I had for dinner, because I thought, "HEY, You know what will help my HORRIBLE heart burn? PIZZA. With roasted GARLIC." BRILLIANT.)

I honestly believe that I will sleep better when I'm dealing with a crying, poo-covered, tiny human who will suck the life force out of me through my sore, cracked , boobs.
(For those of you who are tempted to speak up at this point and remind the crazy, ignorant, pregnant lady that I will get even less sleep once the baby arrives, I must remind you that I may be a vegetarian, but I will make an exception for the flesh of stupid people who couldn't keep their mouths shut. AHEM.)

When I started this pregnancy I didn't really like the idea of being induced. I wanted to go into labor naturally. That was before I realized that just when I thought I couldn't be in any more pain or discomfort, I would stumble out of bed every morning in more pain and discomfort than the day before.
Today I'm at the point where if someone told me that smoking crack while suspended under water would help me go into labor, I would start looking for a glass pipe and a pool.

So, that's why when my doctor asked me today if I was free next Tuesday, because she would like to induce me if I haven't already gone into labor on my own, I was like "HELL YES!"

That means that by this time next week, I will be the mother of a human child.

How AWESOME is that?

Something tells me that all of the pain, and suffering, and exhaustion will be worth it.
(This is the point where speaking up and telling me that "Yes! It will be worth it!" would be really helpful and might help me get through today.)

Posted by torrie at 02:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (43)

I just got back from the doctor and I'm 1 cm. dilated and 50% effaced!

Posted by torrie at 01:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (20)

Words I can not hear enough of when uttered by a sonogram technician:

Perfect
Excellent
Just right
Right on target
Beautiful
Spunky

Today I had my 36 weeks sonogram. (I'll be 36 weeks in two days.)
The baby was measuring 5 1/2- 6 lbs (PERFECT!).
The above picture does not do justice to how awesome this ultrasound was. My mother and my husband were there too.
We got to see her face (I burst into tears), her fists, her little feet kicking me in the ribs, her butt, her tummy (so round), and her brain (I may be biased, but it looked big to me).
She even got the hiccups during the ultrasound.
Her umbilical cord is not wrapped around her neck (Mine was and I almost died during my birth).
The placenta and the amniotic fluid looked great.

I am on cloud nine.

Posted by torrie at 09:28 PM | Permalink | Comments (25)

Yes, I am still alive. I could bore you with tales from the last two weeks about pain, and almost being hospitalized, and more pain, and how I started losing weight, and the chiropractor, and the acupuncturist, and the PAIN, and the pain medication, and the ANNOYING woman who led our hospital tour, but instead I'll regale you with a tale of blood and gore (and stupidity).

Yesterday while my husband was at the gym I took a shower (see, already this is a super exciting story).
When I was finished I couldn't help but notice that the "hedges" were long overdue for a trim.
Now, normally this is not a big deal. I grab a pair of cuticle scissors or my husband's electric beard trimmer and withing a few minutes I'm "manicured", but now, a few days away from being eight months pregnant, I can't see my own crotch.
It is at this point in the story that I must mention that a couple of days earlier my husband had said he would do it for me, because he is awesome like that (he also shaves my legs for me because I can't reach them).
Rather than wait the fifteen minutes or so until my husband came home, I decided it would be a great idea to go on a blind expedition through my bottom system jungle.
So, I sat on the toilet bowl, beard trimmer in hand and started raking away. Things were going fine until- ZZZZzzzzzzzzztttttttttt.
OK, I thought, that hurt a little, but it certainly doesn't mean I should stop. I kept on raking away using the braille method until I happened to notice that there was blood all over the beard trimmer.
Uh oh.
OK, maybe NOW would be a good time to stop hacking around blindly at my crotch.

My husband came home to find me with a sheepish look on my face. When I told him what I'd done he said "for future reference, it's probably not a good idea to jam sharp pointy things(insert- ha! that's funny too-joke here) at your vagina(he uses fancy words like vagina because he's a doctor), especially when you can't see it."
He is so wise.

So, here I sit, with wounded crotch.

I can not even tell you how disconcerting it is to not be able to keep tabs on your own crotch.
I mean, God only knows what's going on down there.

Posted by torrie at 11:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (20)

My doctor thinks I have bronchitis.

No, I am not kidding.

This is day nine of the cold from hell.

It started off as a sore throat and has turned into constant coughing, and spitting up green stuff.

Three times over the past few days I have vomited up stuff that I can only describe as what it might look like if someone put a gremlin in a blender. It's been fun.

My husband finally convinced me to call my doctor today because I'm getting worse instead of better, I haven't gained any weight in the last week and a half, and I can't sleep because I cough all night.

My doctor prescribed antibiotics today.
She's afraid that if I don't get this under control it will turn into pneumonia. Especially since I can't sit up for more than a half an hour at a time because of my rib pain. (I think I forgot to mention that after consulting with two doctors, my physical therapist, and a massage therapist, they are all in agreement that the rib pain is being caused by a pinched nerve in my back. Not much they can do for it. I had my second acupuncture appointment yesterday- have another one tomorrow- we'll see if that works.)

Lesson learned- you can't plan everything and you can't predict how things are going to go.
I thought I would have a great pregnancy (maybe because my mom did).
I didn't think I would be in constant pain. I didn't think I would have to be on modified bed rest.
I certainly didn't think I would take any drugs. I have taken Tylenol, Benadryl (to try to knock me out so I would stop coughing and get some sleep- it didn't work), and now antibiotics.

I guess all of this is good preparation for when the baby arrives and almost nothing goes the way I thought it would.

Posted by torrie at 02:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (20)

Conversation with Heather:

"I tried taking Tylenol."
"Really? You did???"
"I know. That should tell you how bad it is"
"Did it help?"
"I took it Friday, Saturday, and Sunday and it did NOTHING."
"You know why they let pregnant woman take it? Because it doesn't do shit."
"EXACTLY. They should change the name from Tylenol to Placebo."

Posted by torrie at 05:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I am mad at you for giving up.

I know you're tired. I know you've been fighting for two years. But I thought you would never give up. And I can't help but believe that the cancer knows when you give up, and it's all too happy to take over.

I am mad at you for being so stubborn. Being inflexible does not impress me. Your buddies from the Marines might be impressed that you refuse pain medication, but I'm not impressed.
I'm not impressed because you are not doing everything you can. At first you were eating well and taking your vitamins. Now you have fallen back into your old routine of eating crap. And drinking nothing but soda. And not taking your vitamins. Cancer is like a cockroach- it loves a dirty environment. You are making it feel right at home. You are being lazy. Even faced with death you are not willing to change. To do what's right. If you want to impress me you would change and take care of yourself.

For two years I have given so much time and energy into keeping you alive. I have read tons of books, spent hours doing research online, gone with you to all of your doctor's appointments, spoken to your doctors on the phone, and prepared tons of healthy, delicious meals.

I'm tired too. And I'm mad that I've put more time and energy into making you well than you have.

You know nothing about your disease. You never educated yourself on the subject.
You've educated yourself on so many different subjects, but you show show no interest in the most important one. Why don't you have a passion for living?

I'm done fighting with you to take care of yourself. I'm done. I just don't have the energy anymore. I'm giving up, just like you. Two wrongs don't make a right, but I can't force you to fight.

I can't help take in personally that you are giving up.

It's not fair to me, or to your unborn grandchild.

You have taught all 4 of your children and all 4 of your grandchildren to swim. And ride their bikes. And you were the one who bought us our sneakers.
And my child will miss out.

I will miss being able to call you and ask for directions, or for help with the crossword puzzle. I will miss the lessons you give me about things like taxes and the stock market. I will miss calling you to see if you know the answer to Final Jeopardy.

I will miss you.

I just hope you can hold on long enough to meet your grandchild.

FUCK CANCER.

Posted by torrie at 05:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (24)

Had my MRI yesterday. It confirmed that my disk is ruptured. (DUH.)
The good news is that there is still enough space in my spinal canal to get an epidural while I'm in labor. (Thank GOD.)

I also had an ultrasound yesterday to rule out gallstones.
The good news- no gallstones.
The bad news- still no idea what's causing the rib pain.

My next door neighbor told me his sister-in-law had the same horrible rib pain that I'm having and that it started around the same time (six months).
I asked him if her pain ever got better and he said "Yeah, at about 35 weeks."

Oh goody. Only 8 more weeks of non-stop torturous pain.

I'm sorry that this is all I've been writing about lately, but the pain is causing me to have an even more difficult time than usual stringing together coherent sentences.

I will try to write something interesting (and perhaps non-pregnancy related) soon.

Posted by torrie at 05:17 PM | Permalink | Comments (5)

I am in constant pain. For the past three weeks or so Ive been having excruciating rib pain.
At first it was just at night, but it has started earlier and earlier everyday, so now it's ALL DAY.
The one good thing about it is it distracts me from my back pain. Yay.

The doctor has no idea why the hell I'm having such severe rib pain.
The pain does not change no matter what I'm doing or what I eat.
The only thing that helps slightly is if I lay down. So, that's pretty much all I've been doing.

I think they are going to do an ultrasound to make sure it's not my gallbladder. Fun.

Oh, and I have a miserable cold too. Thank God for nipple cream. I've been rubbing it on my nose so that it doesn't crack open.

I hope you all are having fun and doing exciting things because then I can at least live vicariously through you.
Feel free to tell me all about your exciting weekend (Sex??? Drugs???- help me out- I'm BORED).

Posted by torrie at 06:06 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

So, my back is bad. Really bad. But you knew that already. And I've been having EXCRUCIATING rib pain, but that's a whole other story.

So, my OB wanted me to see my spine specialist and have an MRI. She also wants me to meet with the head of the OB Anesthesia department at the hospital where I am giving birth.

So, about SIX WEEKS ago I called my spine doctor to make an appointment and I found out he doesn't take my insurance anymore. (I would like to point out that it is the same insurance that he uses for HIMSELF- he works at the same hospital as my husband.)

So, I began my search for another spine doctor. That was fun.
Most of them don't take insurance. (I'm sorry, but how many people out there are actually paying out of pocket to go to the doctor???)
I finally found someone. The first available appointment was for February 21st. Yes, I told them that I was pregnant and in pain. They don't care.

So, I went to my OB yesterday (regular check-up) and she asked me if I had gotten an MRI yet.
I realized that it's silly for me to go to the spine doctor on the 21st, THEN have him order an MRI. It makes much more sense for me to have the MRI first, so that when I show up we can discuss the results. Because otherwise, I will go to the spine doctor, he'll order the MRI, I'll have to wait a week for an MRI appointment, and then god knows how long for another appointment with the spine doctor.
Also, I can't meet with the OB Anesthesia doctor until I have the MRI.

So, I call the spine doctor's office and explain all of this to the secretary and she was all "That's not how he does things. He'll want to see you first"
And I (very nicely) said "I understand that's how he usually does things, but I was hoping he could make an exception because I'm pregnant, in a lot of pain, and my husband is a resident at the hospital. Also, I can't meet with the OB Anesthesia doctor until I have the MRI."

(I forgot to mention to you- I mentioned this to the secretary- that the new spine doctor works ACROSS THE HALL from the old spine doctor and could very easily access my file.)

The secretary started to get all huffy and rude with me. (I can't WAIT to meet her!)

So, I said "You don't have to lose your patience and be rude, I'm in a lot of pain and I'M PREGNANT."

And then I realized I wasn't going to get anywhere with her, so I asked her to have the doctor call me- which she LOVED. (Because I don't see how any doctor in their right mind, after I explain the situation, wouldn't be willing to let me get an MRI.)

So, do you think the doctor will actually call me?

I'm not holding my breath.

Posted by torrie at 12:40 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

As some of you have already noticed, I have put a new poll in the left sidebar asking whether or not you think the baby will arrive on time.
So far 6 people have voted and of those 6 people 5 have said that the baby will be late.
(* I wonder if you all are saying that because my belly looks small for six months? I'll have you know that at our last sonogram the baby was measuring 79th percentile for her "age" and on Tuesday the doctor said my fundus was measuring high for 24 weeks.)

That is so NOT FUNNY people.

I have mentioned, but haven't gone into detail, about my back problems.
Things have gotten really bad.

I am in constant pain. Sitting hurts. Standing hurts. Sleeping (or TRYING to) hurts. We thought my back would be bad while I was pregnant, but we just didn't think it would get this bad this soon. My due date is May 24th, which means I have almost 4 MONTHS left (if I deliver on time) because pregnancy IS NOT 9 months, it's 40 WEEKS. Which is why when I saw that 5 of you think I'm going to deliver this baby past my due date I almost threw myself out the window.

Per my doctor's orders I am not allowed to do most things. No laundry, no dishes, nothing that involves bending over, and nothing that involves lifting more than five pounds. And no more yoga.
Some of you might think that sounds fabulous, but the problem is I REALLY like my husband.
So, while most of you might enjoy getting to sit around and do nothing all day, it just makes me feel guilty. My husband works on average at least 12 hours a day. Then, he comes home and has to do the chores while I sit on my fat ass and watch. I feel helpless and useless. He, of course, has been wonderfully supportive, and never complains, which only makes me feel worse.
Life would be a lot easier if he was a dick.

Also, I am having the nesting instinct. I look around at my very cluttered apartment and I want to clean it and organize it, but I'm not allowed.

Also, I am exhausted. These days "sleeping" consists of me tossing and turning all night while my back, ribs and hips throb. On Monday night I actually got a little bit of sleep because I let myself sleep on my back. I woke up on Tuesday and I almost passed out. Nothing I did made the dizziness go away. I went to the doctor and after they made sure that the baby was OK they concluded that I was dizzy because I slept on my back. So, no more back sleeping for me. Which basically means no more sleeping for me.
That whole "catch up on your sleep before the baby comes" thing is not going to happen.

Also, I am a fucking hippie, so I refuse to take any medication for my pain while I am pregnant.
I hate that about myself. This pregnancy would be so much more enjoyable if I would just eat some fucking Pepperidge Farms cookies and pop some vicoden.

Also, hold onto your hats because this is a groundbreaking statement, INSURANCE COMPANIES SUCK ASS. They do not cover acupuncture UNLESS you are having pregnancy related nausea.
So, I am thinking of making the appointment with the acupuncturist and hoping she will join me in giving my insurance company the middle finger, and stick the needles into the places that help back pain instead of the places that help nausea.

The insurance company has, however, found it in their heart to let me go to physical therapy twice a week. I still pay a $20 co-pay for each visit, and of course massage isn't covered, but it's the only thing keeping me alive right now.

Also, I had this idea that my husband and I would really live it up and be social until the baby comes. NOT SO MUCH. We went to a party on Friday night. We were there for only two hours. I was in pain the whole time. It took all of my strength just to sit there and try to make small talk with people through gritted teeth. Going to the movies has also become torture because it is nearly impossible for me to stay in the same position for more than 15 minutes. I went to the Martha Stewart show yesterday. Between the waiting and the actual filming I spent about 3 hours sitting in a horrible, uncomfortable wooden chair. You would think that Martha Stewart would have some pillows all up in that bitch, but NOOooooo.
It was NOT a good thing.

I have received several emails and comments from well meaning people giving me suggestions for my back, so i just want to clear up a few things:

I have tried the following things to help my back pain-

A body pillow
Several other pillows
Ice
Heat
Yoga
Walking
Stretching
Deep breathing/ meditation
Physical therapy
Banging my head against the wall
(I have ordered, but have not yet received an exercise ball to sit on, and a snoogle.)

Nothing is working. This is not typical pregnancy related back pain- this is a ruptured disk.
So, I think I'm stuck with it. I'm trying to come to terms with the fact that I will be in constant pain until the baby comes.
The only thing I ask of you is that you let me complain. It's one of the few things left that I'm actually allowed to do, and damn I'm good at it.

Posted by torrie at 06:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (23)

It's completely irrational. I know that. That doesn't mean I can stop.

I'm worried about the baby.

Sometimes it consumes me.

Today my husband and I were having tea and doing a crossword at a nice little cafe and I had to ruin it by bursting into tears.

I worry that those aren't really kicks I'm feeling. That they're just gas bubbles.

I worry because I can't hear her heartbeat with my husband's stethoscope, even though I can barely hear my own.

I worry that because I am leaking colostrum that I will go into preterm labor.

Every test I've had- blood, urine, sonogram- has been "perfect". The doctors and nurses keep using the word "perfect". And yet, I still worry.

I like to write how many weeks along I am on my calender so that when I'm making plans I'll know how far along I will be. I'm scared to write out the weeks- 24, 25, 26, etc.- because the first time I did that ,and after I lost the baby every time I looked at the calender I was reminded of how far along I would have been.

I spoke to a friend recently who told me that she only had one sonogram her entire pregnancy.
I've already had five and I'll probably have a couple of more before the pregnancy is over. Each time they tell me everything looks great. "Perfect".
But I keep worrying that there will be no heartbeat.
I was just at the doctor a week ago. She did a quick doppler to listen to the heartbeat. It sounded great. But I can't wait until I hear it again (my next appointment isn't until February 13th).

I've mentioned my anxiety about the heartbeat before and some of you have suggested I rent a doppler. I don't want to do that. I feel like I would only be feeding my anxiety. As it is I'm constantly trying to hear the heartbeat with the stethoscope. It's a good thing my husband takes it to work with him every day, otherwise I'd probably obsessively have the thing stuck in my ears all day long.

Something else that is adding to my stress is that February is right around the corner.
It is a notoriously bad month for me. We lost the first pregnancy in February. My dad was diagnosed with terminal cancer in February. A good friend's dad died in February. And lots of other horrible things have occurred in the month of February.
So, you can understand why my chest tightens a little every time I look at the calender.

I'll be holding my breath until I (hopefully) hear the baby's heart beat at my next doctor's appointment.

Until then, I will be counting the days and trying to silence the demons.

Posted by torrie at 05:48 PM | Permalink | Comments (22)

My back has been killing me lately. I mean really killing me.
Not the "I'm pregnant and my back is sore" kind of killing me, but the "Every time I bend over it feels like someone is stabbing me. Please kill me now." kind.
My doctor sent me to physical therapy (AGAIN).
Yesterday was my first appointment.
The therapist confirmed what I was fearing- I have re-ruptured my disk.
FUN.
I expected to have back problems while I was pregnant, I was just hoping they wouldn't be this bad this soon.
I'm already having a lot of trouble sleeping and I'm only halfway there. My physical therapist was kind enough to tell me that my sleeping situation will only get worse as my pregnancy progresses.
GREAT.
Also, I was scheduled for my pre-natal yoga class yesterday. I was looking forward to it because I thought maybe it would make my back feel better. I stood outside the locked studio, in the cold, for 25 minutes waiting for the instructor, but he never showed up.
AWESOME.
Oh, and the therapist told me that I can't do half of the yoga moves I've been doing anymore. And I can't lift any weights except for 5lb. dumbells.
I had this vision of me being one of those toned, in-shape pregnant chicks. Apparently that's not going to happen.

I just hope that my back doesn't get so bad that I have to go on bed rest.

Posted by torrie at 11:27 AM | Permalink | Comments (10)

IT'S A GIRL!!!!!!!!!!!

Or at least that's what my doctor thinks. The baby would not stop moving around. Her little arms and legs were flailing around. We are having another sonogram in two weeks and they will confirm it.

Of course my email is not working. So I can't email anyone to tell them.

Posted by torrie at 05:45 PM | Permalink | Comments (29)

Because my father is not doing well and I just keep thinking I hope he can make it until the baby is born.

Posted by torrie at 10:09 AM | Permalink | Comments (13)

Here's the thing:

I'm still nervous about this pregnancy.

I know that I'm out of my first trimester (I'm in my 15th week), and that the chance of anything going wrong is slim, but I still worry.

I fret over every little abdominal ache or pain (and there are a lot these days).

Every time I pee I check to make sure there isn't any blood.

Considering what happened before, I think I am dealing pretty well, but I'm starting to think maybe Tom Cruise wasn't so crazy for wanting a sonogram machine in his house.

I had a sonogram at twelve weeks, and I'm not scheduled to have another one until 18 weeks. That's SIX WEEKS without hearing the baby's heartbeat. So, yesterday I caved. I called my doctor and asked her if when I come in on Friday for my blood work, she wouldn't mind doing a doppler. She was so understanding about it. So, hopefully we'll hear the baby's heartbeat on Friday. Then, maybe I can relax a little.
Although, I don't think I'll ever really relax until I'm holding a healthy baby.

I know I'm being a drama queen- my mother didn't even have one sonogram- but my first two experiences have obviously traumatized me.

I'm wondering if other woman who've had pregnancy losses or problems conceiving feel the same way.

Posted by torrie at 11:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (23)

I don't ask much from you guys.

Tonight I am asking you to help my friend. She is sick and I need you to send some good vibes her way.

The internet can be an amazing place. I know it has helped me get through some very tough times.

I hope it (you) can help my friend.

Posted by torrie at 08:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (0)

The baby is "perfect"!
The baby is "perfect"!

Maybe we are actually going to have this baby!

All this AND Britney files for divorce from K-Fed, the democrats kick the republicans' ass, AND Donald Rumsfeld resigns!?

Oh happy day!

Did I mention that they said the baby looks "perfect"?

Here's a picture of the baby sucking its thumb:

To see a couple of more sonogram pictures check out my Flickr page.

Posted by torrie at 10:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (25)

Today we have our nuchal translucency sonogram.
I am so nervous. I just want it to be over with. If all goes well, on Friday I will be starting my second trimester.
To be honest I think that what happened during the first pregnancy is making me paranoid.

I don't know if I'll be able to handle it if we get bad news today.

Posted by torrie at 11:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (14)

I went to the docotor today because I was having some shooting pains.
It turns out that the pain was just from my uterus expanding so rapidly.
I had an awesome sonogram. The baby was moving around and the heartbeat was strong.

If you click on the picture you'll see notes explaining what you're looking at.
This is the farthest I've ever gotten in a pregnancy.

Posted by torrie at 04:16 PM | Permalink | Comments (19)

No, I have not dropped off the face of the earth. I am in Pennsylvania. My mom decided that while driving to work on Saturday it would be a good idea to pass out and drive off the road. She's fine, but she's been in the hospital (and I've been here with her) since then. They have run a million tests. I am tired. She's coming home today, and I'm probably going home tomorrow and then I can resume my normal routine of wasting hours in front of the computer.

Posted by torrie at 09:35 AM | Permalink | Comments (8)

If you are pregnant (especially if you have lost previous pregnancies) it is NOT a good idea to read an article about C-section rates, forcep use, and infant mortality right before you go to sleep.

Posted by torrie at 12:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

The sonogram was perfect!

Baby had a strong heart beat!

Posted by torrie at 05:10 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

We saw the flickering of a tiny heart!

Thank you for all of your good vibes!

Posted by torrie at 07:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (25)

Today is our first sonogram (for this pregnancy).

Please send good vibes our way.

Posted by torrie at 09:30 AM | Permalink | Comments (12)

I spoke to my doctor yesterday and she said my HCG and Progesterone levels were "perfect" (If not a little high)!
(For those of you who don't understand what the hell I'm talking about- my blood test was "perfect")

I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but YAY!

My fingers and toes are starting to cramp from all the crossing.

Posted by torrie at 11:53 AM | Permalink | Comments (14)

This is the reason why

-My arms look like this
-I can't go to Stanley
-I just ate crackers for breakfast
-I refuse to get a manicure even though I could really use one
-I am so hungry that if I don't get food NOW I will kill everyone within a three block radius
-I burst into tears over how in love I am with my husband
-I am apprehensively happy

Posted by torrie at 11:40 AM | Permalink | Comments (25)

Today is my last day in my twenties.

In my twenties I have:

- Met, fell in love with, and married my husband.
- Graduated from culinary school, worked my way up to executive pastry chef, and won a gold medal at a culinary competition
- Had three surgeries, including a career ending shoulder surgery.
- Adopted Dexter, Mookie, and Itsy.
- Lost my beloved Grandmother.
- Had two of my photographs published in The New York Times.
- Made many great friends.
- Left my comfort zone and moved to a new city.
- Been pregnant twice and lost both pregnancies.
- Found out my father has terminal cancer.
- Started eating better.
- Gained 27 pounds.
- Lost 8 of those pounds.
- Discovered and fell in love with the internet.
- Read too many books to count.
- Had LOTS of sex.
- Learned a lot about myself.
- Stopped letting people walk all over me.
- Became a brunette.
- Almost come to terms with my nose.
- Learned a lot about myself.

It's funny; I use to think I needed to accomplish everything by the time I turned 30. Now that 30 is here, in some ways, I feel like my life is just beginning.

I'm excited to see what's in store for my thirties.

Posted by torrie at 11:57 AM | Permalink | Comments (21)

My father's cancer has spread to his liver.
Things are not looking good.

Posted by torrie at 08:14 PM | Permalink | Comments (17)

I was in the emergency room from 10:30pm-4:00am.

At 9pm I started having major pain on my lower right abdomen.

I was literally writhing around and moaning from the pain.

The husband was NOT HAPPY and made me go to the ER.

They think my cyst(which was on the left) grew even larger to the point where it was pushing to the right, and then ruptured.

At 4am, there was talk of me seeing a resident from the OB depertment. I would have waited hours for that to happen and they would have repeated the same tests, so I finally excepted the pain medicine they'd been offering me all night and went home.

I just spoke to my OB's office and I'm waiting for a call back, because I'm sure they will want to do futher poke and proding tests.

I feel better today, less pain, but boy am I TIRED.

Time to get back to bed.....

*Updtae: My doctor confirmed that I have indeed ruptured my gigantic cyst (Who I had named Melvin- I'll miss you Melvin).

Posted by torrie at 10:05 AM | Permalink | Comments (12)

1) Bagels are my favorite food.
2) I am a carbohydrate junkie
3) My husband is two years younger than me. Before I met him I had only dated older men (boys).
4) I am a strict vegetarian. It's like a religion to me.
5) I hate organized religion.
6) I've never thrown up from drinking.
7) I hated high school.
8) I don't wear bras.
9) My favorite books are To Kill a Mocking Bird and The Catcher in the Rye. I've read both of them several times.
10) I love to read.
11) I went to culinary school.
12) I used to be a pastry chef.
13) I've also been a nanny.
14) I can sing, or so I've been told.
15) I love to dance. I've got rythm.
16) In high school I majored in dance, but had to stop because of an injury.
17) The only bone I've ever broken is my pinkie. (Knock on wood)
18) My father offered to pay for me to get a nose job. I refused just to spite him, and now sometimes I regret it.
19) I've never stayed over night in a hospital.
20) I predicted the big earth quake that hit California in the late 80's.
21) I have watched the movie Dirty Dancing too many times to count.
22) I had my first boyfriend when I was nine, but didn't lose my virginity until I was eighteen.
23) I've been pregnant twice, but I don't have any children.
24) I have three cats and one dog.
25) I will not pee in front of anyone. Not even my mother.
26) I grew up in Manhattan.
27) I went to sleep away camp in the Poconos.
28) I love when it rains. I especially love thunderstorms.
29) I have a mild case of OCD. Paintings can't be crooked, things have to be eaten in a certain way, etc.
30) I was in a pageant when I was 12. I won.
31) I am a pack rat.
32) I bruise easily.
33) I have straight pubic hair. The hair on my head is wavy. This makes no sense.
34) I like to write to do lists so I can cross things off.
35) I HATE onions. They are evil.
36) I have a BAD back.
37) I love the smell of fresh cut grass.
38) I have been blogging since August, 2003.
39) I have 42 pairs of shoes. None of them are leather.
40) I am broke.
41) I hate doing the dishes.
42) David Copperfield made me disappear.
43) Jon Bon Jovi laughed at me.
44) I've had sex with two different people in one day.
45) I have a tattoo.
46) My husband has a tongue ring. I *love* it.
47) I was a camp counselor.
48) I once told Scott Hamilton to "Get out on the ice and do a couple of back flips!"
49) Two of my photos were published in the New York Times.
50) I love to learn.
51) I am allergic to cats and dogs.
52) I HATE the cold.
53) I used to be a gymnast
54) I can't watch other people fold clothes because THEY DO IT WRONG.
55) I lived in Boston for five years. It wasn't New York.
56) I have fifty billion medical problems.
57) I like to exaggerate.
58) If you tickle me I will black out and hurt you. I'm dead serious.
59) My wedding was vegetarian. The food was so good, half of the guests didn't even realize it.
60) I had the best wedding EVER.
61) Some of my favorite movies are American Beauty, Garden State, 40 Year Old Virgin, Office Space, Coming to America, and Forrest Gump. I'm sure I'm forgetting a bunch more.
62) Some of my favorite bands/artists are Coldplay, Cake, Indigo Girls, The Beatles, Eminem, Sublime, Billy Joel, Fiona Apple, Miles Davis, Paul Simon, and Radiohead. I am not ashamed.
63) Billy Joel once told me he was too drunk to remember me interrupting his meal.
64) I was flat chested until I was about 19. Now I'm a 36C.
65) I HATE coffee.
66) I LOVE tea.
67) I hate underwear. I wear them reluctantly and am constantly digging them out of my cavernous ass.
68) I hate whistling. It's like nails on a chalk board to me.
69) My father-in-law whistles ALL THE TIME.
70) I have seven nephews and three nieces.
71) I think I'm the only person on the planet who hates the TV show Law and Order.
72) I moved out of the house when I was 19.
73) If I could wish for one secret power it would be to never have to shave my legs again.
74) I am allergic to artichokes.
75) I've never been anywhere in the middle of the country. The closest I've been to the middle is Ohio or Utah.
76) I'm a good driver. I drive like a man.
78) I desperately want to go to England. I don't know why.
79) I used to have waist length blonde hair.
80) I don't chew gum.
81) I don't drink soda.
82) I don't like sex toys. That's how I roll.
83) Sometimes I like to talk like I'm from the hood. WORD.
84) Thanks to blogging, I have friends that live in states and countries I've never been to.
85) My favorite color is blue.
86) I have two half sisters and a half brother.
87) I can't say the word *fart*. It makes me cringe. The fact that I was even able to type it is a miracle.
88) I've had many crushes, but I've only been in love once.
89) I am not good at styling my hair, or anyone else's hair for that matter.
90) I wear SPF on my face every day, even in the winter.
91) I haven't "tanned" since I was 18. I look pale, but I actually have my dad's Sicilain skin and I can get quite dark.
92) Chocolate is my drug of choice.
93) I love book stores. I could spend all day in a book store.
94) I didn't learn how to tie my shoe laces until I was six, and I couldn't ride a bike without training wheels until I was almost ten.
95) I watch entirely too much television.
96) My husband is a genius. Literally. It's like living with a human encyclopedia and dictionary all rolled into one.
97) I got braces my senior year in high school. It sucked.
98) I can't eat spicy food. This is very difficult considering I'm a vegetarian.
99) I try to avoid the topic of politics because I just get upset and frustrated.
100) Writing this list was not easy.

Did you learn anything new about me?

Posted by torrie at 12:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (32)

I have an appointment with a therapist on Monday.

I forgot my dad's birthday. It was today. I was too busy thinking about myself and I just forgot.

I feel like a piece of shit.

Posted by torrie at 03:51 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

I'm depressed.

There. I said it.

The only dreams I remember when I wake up are the bad ones. Or maybe I'm only having the bad ones.

I'm disappointed in myself. My procrastination. My avoidance.

I did virtually nothing productive today. I should have done laundry. But I didn't. And so, there I was at midnight, loading the dishwasher, so I could go to bed without feeling completely useless.

My poor husband is still at work. He's been at work since 6:30 this morning. And I can't even get the fucking laundry done. He'll come home to a pile of laundry and a messy apartment. He won't have any clean underwear. He doesn't deserve that. He deserves better. A better wife. If I'm not going to make any money the least I could do is some fucking laundry.

I have a to-do list a mile long. But instead of trying to get stuff done and mark things off the list, I just ignore it completely.

I watch crappy movies, Little House on the Prairie, and several episodes of Sex in the City.
I fuck around on the computer, but my eyes just glaze over. I don't even have the stamina to read blogs.

I can't stop worrying about things. EVERY SECOND OF EVERY DAY.

Will I ever have a baby?

Will I have to have surgery?

Will I ever have a pain free day?

What will happen to my father?

How can I make some money?

The list goes on and on.

I'm also hating myself. I'm never satisfied. I HATE that.

I have no idea how long this bout with depression will last. Sometimes it's months, sometimes it's days.
I hope it's the latter.

I'm so overwhelmed.

Posted by torrie at 12:15 AM | Permalink | Comments (13)

Yesterday was a tough day.

I was hoping I would be pregnant on Mothers' Day.

I know it's just a Hallmark Holiday concocted to sell cards and gifts, but when you're not pregnant, and you want to be, it makes you feel useless and awkward.

It wasn't just a bad day because it was Mothers Day- I also threw my back out, so I took codeine and then had brunch with my in-laws, where my mother-in-law decided to lecture us on our finances, or lack thereof. As in, you don't have any money, and you're never going to be able to afford to buy a house/apartment. What a great conversation to have while you're stoned. I would have preferred to talk about chocolate, or cookies, or chocolate cookies.

I also decided yesterday would be a great day to go to Babies R Us and buy my cousin's baby shower gift. Don't get me wrong, I'm very happy for my cousin, but standing in a baby super store on Mother's Day, childless, surrounded by all of the cute baby clothes and toys was not the best idea I've ever had.

I hope you had a better day than I did.

Posted by torrie at 09:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (4)

I went to the doctor today.
After sticking various accoutrements up my hoo-ha, she determined that the cyst that was 5cm a little more than a week ago is now 7cm.
It is just sitting right there, pressing against my bladder, mocking me.
The best part of the visit was when my doctor was all "You're not traveling anytime soon, are you?"
And I was all "Um, I'm leaving on a 9-day trip a week from Saturday."
And she was all "Well, because now we have to be concerned about ovarian torsion."
At which point I just laughed because my other option was crying and I've had enough of that.
She said as long as I would have access to major hospitals (I will- I'll be visiting Boston, Montreal, and New Hampshire) she would be fine with me traveling. BUT, if I suddenly develop extreme abdominal pain to go to an ER immediately because I might need emergency surgery. AWESOME.
If this cyst isn't gone in six weeks it looks like I'll be having surgery. FUN!
Oh, and I had tried to look on the bright side when I had this latest miscarriage- since I had to wait three months before we were allowed to try again, I was going to work out and get in the best shape of my life.
Yeah, not so much. The doctor told me I can only do "light" exercise.
Do you think sitting on my couch, eating ice cream sandwiches counts?

As I'm typing this I just realized that I've been wearing my pajama pants inside-out for the past 6 hours.

Posted by torrie at 11:24 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

In order for you to understand what I've been through in the past 48 hours I need to start the story at the beginning....

When the husband and I decided we were ready to start trying to have a baby soon, I went to an OB for a pre-pregnancy checkup. We'll call this doctor "Doctor A".
I REALLY liked Doctor A. She was very calm and soothing which was a good match for me considering how high strung I am.
Then I became pregnant (three months after we started trying) and I called Doctor A's office to make an appointment and was told that Doctor A was pregnant, had a complication, and was on bed rest and wouldn't be back in the office for several months. I became a patient of another doctor in the same practice. We'll call this doctor "Doctor B".
I liked Doctor B. She was not as calm as Doctor A, but she was nice, and her daughter was vegetarian, so she understood my diet. Doctor B was the one who gave me the sonogram when we found out the baby had no heartbeat.
I had the D&C (surgery to remove the baby) and was told (by Doctor B) to wait until I got my period once and then we could start trying again.
That's what we did. And we got pregnant on the first try.

But from the moment I found out I was pregnant two weeks ago I felt like something wasn't right. I can't really explain it. I tried not to think about it because I couldn't tell if my feelings were real or if they were just paranoia because of what happened with the first pregnancy. I even bought three boxes of pregnancy tests- all different kinds- for a total of SEVEN tests. I took all seven of them over a 48 period and they all said positive, including the digital ones.
So, I tried not to listen to the nagging feeling that something was wrong.
One of my best friends got married this past Saturday night, and I made the cake. I worked on the cake Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday, and then I went to the wedding on Saturday.
I'm so glad that this didn't happen until Sunday.
As I said in the previous post I woke up with a bad feeling on Sunday and by 3pm I was in the emergency room.
I wasn't actively bleeding, but I was having cramping.
They performed an ultrasound and said they couldn't see anything because my bladder was full, so I went to the bathroom and they repeated the ultrasound. They said my bladder was still full and they still couldn't see anything (even though I had JUST peed). The husband questioned them about this and they just shrugged it off.
The conclusion the doctors in the ER came up with was that I had had a chemical pregnancy and I was now having my period. They told me to call my doctor's office in the morning.
I burst into tears because I felt like an idiot for going to the ER for my PERIOD. I was also upset because I really didn't feel like this was my period. For the next 20 hours or so I had NO BLOOD.
I called my doctor's office Monday morning and spoke to the nurse. She said the people in the ER were a bunch of idiots and that in 1/4 of all pregnancies there is some bleeding, so I shouldn't lose all hope. She told me to come in tomorrow (Tuesday) to see the doctor and have my blood drawn so they could test my HCG level.
I wanted to kill her for giving me false hope because I knew I was going to miscarry. Sure enough a little while after I hung up the phone, I started passing clots.
Today (Tuesday) I went to the doctor's office. The nurse put us in a conference room and told us the doctor would be right in. I was expecting Doctor B, but in walked Doctor A. As luck would have it she had just returned from maternity leave yesterday. She did a pelvic exam and confirmed that I was, in fact, having a miscarriage. She tried to do an ultrasound and said the same thing the ER doctors had said to me "Your bladder is too full". The husband and I explained that I had just gone to the bathroom and that we had the same problem in the ER. She had this look on her face like a light bulb had gone off. She started to take some measurements on the ultrasound screen and found out that I had a good sized cyst on my ovary (AGAIN) that was pressing on my bladder. I had been feeling extremely bloated lately. I had even told the husband that it felt like There was an over filled balloon in my abdomen and that I felt like I wanted to stick a needle in it to let all of the air out . I asked the doctor if the cyst could be causing my bloating she said "Absolutely, it can make you feel like you have an overfilled water balloon inside of you".
At least I had an explanation for that.
After reviewing my chart Doctor A told us some very interesting stuff.
Apparently the first pregnancy might have been a partial molar pregnancy. After you have a molar pregnancy your HCG levels are supposed to be monitored. You are not supposed to try to get pregnant again until your HCG levels reach zero. Molar pregnancies can cause your HCG levels to become abnormally high which means that even if you get your period you might still have elevated HCG levels. Doctor B never did a follow up with me and never tested my HCG levels. Also, it is recommended that you wait AT LEAST two cycles (after a molar pregnancy or a miscarriage) before you start trying to get pregnant again. Doctor B told us we could start trying after my first period.
Basically, Doctor B fucked up big time. Doctor A said that this pregnancy probably got messed up because it was too soon after the first pregnancy and my HCG levels probably never were at zero. If we had waited another month everything probably would have been fine.
If my husband didn't work at the same hospital and if Doctor B wasn't in the same practice as Doctor A (who will be my doctor from now on)we would SERIOUSLY consider suing.
I now have to wait another three months before I can start trying again.
I'm SO FUCKING FRUSTRATED, especially because if I had had the proper care, this probably wouldn't have happened.

As for the cyst, I will have another ultrasound next week. They will continue to monitor the cyst and if it doesn't shrink they might have to perform surgery to remove it.
I'm really hoping that I don't have to have surgery (again). Between me, my father, and my inlaws, my husband and I have endured THIRTEEN surgeries in the past three years. I think we've reached our quota.

I know there are people in the world who are worse off than me, but I can't help but feel like the universe is taking a gigantic crap on me.

*I apologize if this post has typos and is all over the place. It's 12:17 in the morning and I'm EXHAUSTED.

*Update: The Sarcastic Journalist wrote a post about miscarriage for Blogging Baby. She was nice enough to ask me if I would mind if she wrote the article, and she listened to what I had to say on the subject. Read the article here.

Posted by torrie at 07:15 PM | Permalink | Comments (29)

I spent several hours in the emergency room yesterday.

I was/am five weeks pregnant.

Yesterday I woke up with a horrible feeling.

I even said to my husband "I'm scared I'm going to have a miscarriage today. If I can just get through today, then I'll be OK."

Sure enough, at about 2pm, I peed and there was bright red blood.

I came out of the bathroom and said to my husband "OK, it's time to go to the hospital."
He couldn't believe that I had known.

To make a long story short-
I either had a chemical pregnancy, which is when the egg is fertilized but never fully implants in the uterus, or I am having a miscarriage.
I have to go to the doctor either today or tomorrow for some more testing.

I'm so angry. I'm angry at the universe (haven't I been through enough?) and angry at myself for getting excited about being pregnant, again.

I'm so exhausted, but I'm trying to soldier on because the alternative is me falling into a deep depression.

I am making a promise right now to you, my husband, and myself, that I will do whatever it takes to fight the depression.

Posted by torrie at 09:43 AM | Permalink | Comments (38)

Long story short:

Mookie is very sick. He has a blocked urethra. The doctor told me if I hadn't brought him in to the hospital today he would have DIED.
It's been a horrible day.
Hopefully, Mookie will be able to come home tomorrow.
I would have sold my organs to get him the treatment he needs, but apparently all they needed was $1,800.
All I really care about is that he's going to be OK; I'll find a way to make some money.
(Time to get out my fishnets and high heels!)

Please send some good vibes his way

*UPDATE- Mookie is not coming home today (Tuesday). I got no sleep last night because Itsy walked around the apartment SCREAMING for Mookie ALL NIGHT LONG. I'm sure there will be a repeat performance tonight.

Oh, and I got my period, which probably doesn't sound that interesting, but I thought I had already gotten my period two weeks ago, so now I'm really confused and I have no idea what's going on with my body.

Posted by torrie at 05:21 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

You know what sucks?
If/when I get pregnant again, every time I speak to a nurse or have a sonogram they'll ask "is this your first pregnancy?"
and I'll have to say "no". And then they might try to make casual conversation and say "Oh, how old is your first child?" and then I'll have to explain that I lost the first baby.

For me being pregnant and then losing the baby was like someone having a favorite band who they've always wanted to see in concert, and they finally gets tickets to their concert, and then on the way to the concert they get a flat tire and MISS THE CONCERT.

I had a life long dream in arms reach and then it was gone.

Posted by torrie at 12:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (17)

Mookie is sick AGAIN. As I'm sure I've stated before, we have tried everything; different foods, different kitty litters, different medications, etc.
I watched him sit in the litter box this morning for twenty minutes, straining to get some pee out. Then he walked around the apartment screaming in pain.He then sat in the bathtub for another twenty minutes straining. I gave him some powerful pain medicine which knocks him out. I hate having to drug him all of the time.
Now I'm just counting the minutes until he starts peeing blood.
Since we've tried all of the treatments and nothing works, the next step is surgery.
Besides the fact that surgery scares the shit out of me, in an effort to cut back on expenses to save for a baby, we let all of the animals' health insurance lapse. I'm sure the surgery will cost us at least $1000.
$1000 is a HUGE amount of money for us. We just invested a large sum of money in my new web site, and it will probably be quite a while (if at all) before we make any money back from it.

I'M SO STRESSED OUT.

Has anyone had a similar problem with their cat?
Has anyone heard of this surgery (I think they shorten the urethra)?

Posted by torrie at 01:55 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

You know what's fun?

Having an ovarian cyst rupture WHILE YOU ARE HAVING SEX.

Hasn't my body been through enough in the past couple of months?

Posted by torrie at 10:51 AM | Permalink | Comments (16)

We got the results back today on the genetic testing that was done on the baby.

It turns out that the baby had 69 chromosomes. You're supposed to have 46, 23 from each parent.
In other words, there was a whole extra set of chromosomes.

This is good news. It means it was just an accident and that Dr. Torrie and I don't have any genetic mutations.

My doctor cleared us to start trying again, when we're ready.

Posted by torrie at 01:31 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

Thank you to whoever invented Puffs Plus. You are a genius.

I have a HORRIBLE cold and I have blown my nose approximately 7,000 times in the last two days.

And even though I have been applying cocoa butter religiously, my nose still felt like someone had been using a cheese grater on it.

This morning I used the last Kleenex tissue in the apartment. Faced with the reality that if I did not buy some tissues PRONTO, my apartment would be covered in green phlegm, I gathered what little strength I had and went downstairs to the drugstore where I purchased a huge box of Puffs Plus.

They are so wonderfully soft.

It's like wiping your nose with a baby's ass or a cuddly bunny.

Ahhhhhhhhhh.

Posted by torrie at 01:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (10)

I am on the second day of a detox/cleanse where I do nothing but eat fruits and vegetables.
I'm doing it to try to rid my body of the approximately 10 pounds of chocolate I have consumed since losing the baby, thanks in part to Misfit, who sent me AMAZING brownies.

The flash on my camera is broken and I will have to part with it for at least a week, if not two, while it's being repaired.
I will twitch the entire time.

And now, another fun medical story:
When my husband checked on a patient who had been given a spinal (which makes you numb from the waist down) the patient said "Doc, I can't feel my dick".
To which my husband replied "Don't worry, it's still there."
I can not even tell you how amused I was when he told me that. I have no idea how the husband kept a straight face.
He is a stronger man than I.

Posted by torrie at 02:59 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

Every night when my husband gets home from work I ask him how his day was.
Now, I know I'm not the only person in the world married to a doctor, but he tells me some pretty crazy stories-REALLY CRAZY- and it's so frustrating that I can't write about them here.

I can however tell you about Kidney transplants because those happen every day and this doesn't pertain to a particular patient.
Keep in mind when you're reading this that I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP.

So, you need a kidney transplant because one of your kidneys is sick and not working properly, if at all.
You wait for a kidney. They find a match, thanks to some generous organ donor.
They wheel you into surgery to give you your new kidney.

So, I bet you're thinking the surgery goes like this:

Cut open patient.
Remove diseased kidney.
Insert new kidney.
Sew up patient.

But, no. That's not how they do it.

Here's how an actual kidney transplant goes:

Cut open patient.
JAM NEW KIDNEY INTO BODY CAVITY WITHOUT REMOVING THE OLD ONE.
Sew up patient.

That's right. They don't take out the old, diseased, shriveled up kidney.
They just shove the new one in there.

I don't know about you, but I was not aware that there was so much extra room in the body cavity that you could just shove extra organs in there.

Doesn't that sound like something they would have done, oh I don't know, in the 1700's before they figured out basic human anatomy?

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is just the tip of the iceberg.


*Update- The husband just read this and wanted me to add that they put the new Kidney IN YOUR PELVIS.
Now, excuse me while I go read one of the 20 anatomy books we have because I'm pretty sure KIDNEYS ARE NOT SUPPOSED TO BE IN THE PELVIS.

Posted by torrie at 12:26 PM | Permalink | Comments (21)

I knew something was wrong.
Call it woman's intuition. Call it mother's intuition. Call it whatever you want.
Nothing was wrong physically. I just had a feeling.
The minute the sonogram image came on the screen I said, "Where's the heart beat?"
I stopped looking at the screen.
The doctor had a strange look on her face.
She said "I'm 99% sure there's no heart beat, but I want to send you upstairs for a more comprehensive ultrasound to confirm it"
The doctor left the room and my husband and I collapsed into a pile of tears.
We did the best we could to pull ourselves together and we walked liked zombies out of the doctor's office and through the waiting room filled with pregnant women in various sizes.
I don't remember the walking through the hospital or riding upstairs in the elevator, but I do remember arriving in the ultrasound waiting area surrounded by more happy pregnant women.
I wasn't mad at them for being pregnant, but I wondered if they realized how lucky they were.
My husband and I sat in that waiting room for over an hour with intermittent tars streaming down our faces.
Finally someone called us.
She performed a very thorough ultrasound. I starred at the ceiling. She excused herself and came back into the room with another woman. The other woman started ultrasounding me.
They kept asking me to hold my breath.
Then they started having a conversation in front of us.
"Do you see that there?"
"Yes"
I'm getting 107"
"Wait was that 120?"
"That can't be right"
"107, 107"
My husband asked what was going on
"We're picking up a heart beat"
I turned to my husband and said "107 is too low, don't get your hopes up"
The women finished with me and told us that the doctor (not my OB, but the head radiologist) was at lunch and could we please go back to the waiting room. And wait.
We waited 45 minutes and finally another woman came and got us.
She brought us into another ultrasound room and put a gown on the table.
"Another one?"
"Yes. Boy, you guys must be having a rough day"
The woman performed a FOURTH ultrasound. Unlike the two women before her she didn't say anything.
She left the room and came back with the doctor who had been at lunch.
He said, "What I'm seeing here is not a viable pregnancy."
We told him that the other women had seen a heart beat of 107.
"I'm getting about 50, and it's mostly just leftover electrical activity.
We went back down to my OB's office. She told us that the baby was measuring the right size so something must have gone wrong in the last 24 hours. She said if we had come in for an ultrasound a day or two before she would have told us everything is fine and that we had a less than 2% chance of losing the baby.
Basically, we were watching the baby die.
She told me she would remove the baby on Monday.

For those of you who have never been through this, you can't imagine the range of emotions you go through.
Guilt. Did I do something to hurt the baby? Did I eat the wrong thing? Was that shower I took yesterday too hot?
Anger. Why is this happening to us? Haven't we been through enough? I wanted to scream at the universe "I'VE LEARNED ENOUGH LESSONS!
Sadness. I won't be pregnant in a few days.

I guess I understand why most people wait until they are out of their first trimester to tell people.
My husband and I had to call our family and friends and give them the bad news.
I hate ruining people's days. I hate making people sad. And over the past three years we have made far too many phone calls giving people bad news.
"The cancer has spread"
"He's in congestive heart failure"
"She has to have surgery"
"I have to have surgery"
When something like this happens, it doesn't just happen to you, it happens to everyone who cares about you too.

It was my oldest friends 30th birthday on Saturday. We were supposed to go on a ski trip with her. We were supposed to leave right after our OB appointment on Friday.
Instead, I had to call her and give her the bad news and cancel our trip.
She will forever associate her 30th birthday with us losing a baby.
I hate that.

Another close friend is going through a horrible ordeal. Her father fell down a flight of stairs two weeks ago, and has since developed an infection. His kidneys have shut down and he spiked a 108 fever.
He is on his deathbed.
The last thing my friend needed this week was more bad news.

It was very hard to walk around this weekend feeling pregnant, but knowing that the baby was dead.
It wasn't fair that I was nauseous. Or that the area right below my belly button had just started to protrude.

I still maintain that I was not in need of any lessons from the universe, but this situation did remind me who my real friends are, both real life and internet.

Everyone has rallied around us.

Two friends trekked through the blizzard to visit us. One brought chocolate. A third tried to get to us during the blizzard, but couldn't. He tried for SEVEN hours to get to us, but he got stuck on a train and had to go back home.

Yesterday, the day of the surgery, the friend whose 30th birthday was Saturday drove through the snow to the hospital to comfort me. Last night two more friends, who had just been with our friend whose father is dying, came to visit.

One friend who couldn't be with us sent beautiful flowers.

Others called or emailed repeatedly.

I don't know how we would have made it through this weekend with out everyone's support.

I made it through the surgery fine.

I am still coming to terms with a lot of things.

I was pregnant yesterday morning, then I wasn't last night. For lack of a better term, that's weird.

My doctor said to us that the hardest part for most couples is actually getting pregnant and we obviously can do that, so we're lucky. And, although I know that losing a baby in the first trimester is quite common, it will basically make me a nervous wreck during any future pregnancy and I hate that. This has affectively taken the fun out of being pregnant.

When is it OK to start laughing and having fun again?


I'm going to be OK, but it may take a little while.

Please bear with me.

Posted by torrie at 11:01 AM | Permalink | Comments (61)

We just got back from the doctor.
The baby has no heart beat.
They are performing surgery on Monday to remove it.

Posted by torrie at 03:01 PM | Permalink | Comments (89)

On February 14, 2005 (yes, Valentines Day) I received some horrible news; my father's melanoma had spread to his lungs.

I have mentioned before that someone very close to me has cancer, but I've never mentioned who.

My father is a ship wreck researcher/explorer. He's sort of a celebrity in his field. Up until recently he was keeping his cancer a secret, so I couldn't mention it, but now he's pretty much told everyone in the shipwreck community so I feel more comfortable talking about it.

It has been very weird for me to not be able to write about it, so this is quite a relief.
It's a HUGE part of my life.

Every three weeks my father comes and stays with us for a week because he gets his chemo treatments in New York.

No one ever wants to go through something like this, but it has taught me so much.

My father REFUSES to give up. His stubbornness has caused me frustration many times in my life, but now I'm thankful for it.

I swear that your mental attitude has a lot to do with how well your body fights a disease. My father is a testament to that. Here we are almost a year later, he has one of the deadliest forms of cancer, and his tumors have stalled. They're even giving him an eight week break from the chemo.

We do not not treat his disease as if it is something we should be embarrassed of. We do not whisper about it; we shout about it.

When my father leaves in the morning for his chemo treatment the last thing I say before he walks out the door is "Have fun!"
On Monday when I went to his doctor's appointment with him, my pregnancy exhaustion was consuming me and I was lying on a couch in the waiting room. My father looked at me and said "Hey! I'm the patient!"

This disease has caused us to make a lot of sacrifices, but we refuse to give up our sense of humor.

Part of me is grateful for the time I've had with my father, but part of me hates how it hangs over me.

When I think about the future it's weird to realize that I can't count on my father being there.

But I guess, no one should really count on tomorrow.

My father will probably be there for the birth of my child, but will he still be around to teach my child how to swim?
He's taught all four of his kids and all five of his grandchildren to swim. I don't want my child to be the exception.

Right now, my father has no symptoms from his disease. It's not making him sick, yet.

I think that will be the hardest part for me, seeing my father sick. He's always been the strongest person I know.

But I try not to think about that.

Posted by torrie at 11:31 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

I am losing my hair. No, really, I am.
When I run my hands through my hair handfuls come out.
There is hair everywhere. On the back of my coat, on the couch cushions, on the floor.
When I shower I collect all of the hair (that comes out of my HEAD, Bucky you pervert) and I stick it to the shower wall so it doesn't go down the drain and clog it up.

I present to you photographic evidence that my hair is, in fact, falling out at an alarming rate:

This is ONE shower folks. At this rate I'll look like Telly Savalas in a few weeks.

Posted by torrie at 11:45 AM | Permalink | Comments (15)

I will now do what I do best- complain.

I spent ALL DAY in a hospital on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday because someone close to me had major surgery.
They're doing fine physically, but not so great mentally.
It has been VERY emotionally draining.
I came home yesterday for 10 ten minutes (I live across the street from the hospital) to walk Dexter only to discover that Mookie is sick (AGAIN).
So I had to call the vet in addition to the five thousand other phone calls I made and received over the past few days, because I seem to be the family liaison.
I did not eat dinner until 10pm last night.
I was so infuriated with my mother-in-law(what else is new?) yesterday that when she called the hospital room I tore her a new one and then hung up when she was in mid sentence.
She deserved it.
I have not been feeling well lately (surprise, surprise). I have been very dizzy. I was hoping that it was because I was pregnant, but no such luck, I got my period again.
My husband works A LOT, so he's not always around when I need a hug.
The vet bill today was over $200. AND that was the REDUCED rate.
The boots I bought on Ebay, my FIRST Ebay purchase, are a totally different color that the picture, AND they are too small.
I slept in the guest room so I could be with Mookie last night. He spent the whole night curled up next to me which is cute, but I didn't want to disturb him so I couldn't move my legs all night and now my knee is killing me.
That was a long sentence.
I just got so dizzy I almost passed out on my keyboard.
The husband just called me to remind me that we're supposed to go to a party tonight.
I have NO desire to go.
I have a migrane.
I had one yesterday too.
I have gotten nothing accomplished today.

*END RANT*

Update: I just noticed that one of the Google ads says "fishy vaginal odor?"
AWESOME.

Posted by torrie at 04:27 PM | Permalink | Comments (8)

I went to a dinner party on Long Island last night, I'm supposed to go see a documentary at the Moma tonight, I have TWO holiday parties to attend tomorrow night, and then I have to be up bright and early on Sunday because Dexter is taking his therapy dog test.

Oy vey!

*I amb sick. I haveb a ton of fluid in mby head. I'mb not going anywhere tonight.
I want my mbommby.

Posted by torrie at 11:48 AM | Permalink | Comments (7)