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 (17)

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 (34)

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 (22)

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