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)

Today I am sad. I was sitting here listening to Willa playing with my mother in the other room- she was giggling and having a great time. I was thinking back to when she was smaller- just a few months old- there was a word I would say and she would instantly giggle. I can't remember what the word was.

Willa is just a little over a year and I'm already forgetting the little details.
I curse myself for not writing everything down. I curse my laziness.

I just feel like life is flying by, and I wish it would slow down. I'm not living life to the fullest. I'm not savoring the small moments.

My kid is waving to everyone. And taking steps. And saying new words every day. I feel like I was just pregnant yesterday.

I feel like I'm going to blink and it's going to be her first day of kindergarten. And then I'm going to blink again and she's going to be going to the prom.

Life is flying by and I don't feel like I'm doing a good enough job of documenting it.

I think the move is making me sentimental.

Also, yesterday would have been my dad's 71st birthday.

I hope the stress I am feeling now doesn't crush me.

Posted by torrie at 11:17 AM | Permalink | Comments (8)

I've been in a really shitty mood lately.

Like, REALLY shitty.

Like, stereotypical, fire breathing, crazy, PMS'ing shitty.

I woke up this morning with the intention of being in a better mood.
My plan was working. My kid was being cute. We split a pear and she made yummy (nom nom nom) sounds every time she put a piece in her mouth.

We took Dexter on a nice long walk. Willa pointed at all of the flowers and dogs she saw.
The weather was beautiful

Then, we were a half a block from our building when a man came up behind us and said "Can you let me by? You're taking up the whole side walk!"

?????

There I am struggling to wrangle a dog and a stroller, and it's trash day, so half the sidewalk is covered in garbage bags, and we were about 50 feet from an area where he could have gotten around us, and he thought that the appropriate response was to be rude to me?

So, I yelled at him "Have you ever heard the phrase excuse me?"

To which he replied "Have you? (What the fuck does that even mean? Good comeback douche.)

To which I replied "What, am I supposed to be psychic? How was I supposed to know you were behind me? ASSHOLE."

Then I walked into my building and the skin on all of the people in the lobby melted right off.

So, now I'm in a bad mood. AGAIN.

And I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do in a situation like that when my daughter is with me.

I don't want her to start yelling "ASSHOLE" at people, but I also don't want her to think it's ok for people to treat her with disrespect.

It's a fine line.

Posted by torrie at 10:20 AM | Permalink | Comments (18)

I think I might be done here. At least for a while. I don't know. It's feeling like a chore.

I just don't have the time. Running the household. Taking care of the animals. Taking care of Willa. Packing. Etc., Etc., Etc.
Willa's modeling career has kept me really busy lately too. In the last two weeks she's either had an audition (go-see) or a shoot on Tuesday, Friday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday. She has a photo shoot and a go-see tomorrow.
I am exhausted.
And I spend Willa's naps eating or showering or returning phone calls. It's really annoying how much time eating and showering takes.

At night, after Willa goes to sleep, I make dinner (although lately I've been ordering out WAY too much because I just don't have the energy to cook), eat dinner, return emails, make phone calls, try to have an actual conversation with my husband, and watch TV. I barely have time to read blogs, let alone write one.

I'm sad because blogging is one of the few things I do for myself, and I've met a lot of great people on the internet. But, the truth is, I'm not a writer. When something is on my mind I don't feel the need to write it down. I've never kept a journal. When I write it's forced. I struggle to explain myself properly. I wish we could all just hang out- I'm much wittier in person.

I'm trying to prioritize thing in my life right now. Things that are important to me right now-being a good mother, wife, and friend. Eating healthy. Exercising. Photography. Updating my blog is on the bottom of the list.

I'm really stressed out. I can barely get the daily stuff done. I don't know how I'm going to find time to pack. I'm moving in two months. AND I have stuff going on EVERY SINGLE WEEKEND.
Somethings got to give. I need to spend more time away from the computer. I'm addicted and it's not healthy.

I'll still Twitter and Flickr. And I might come back here eventually.

I'll miss you guys.

Posted by torrie at 09:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (21)

One minute I am having a bad dream about my father that I can't remember the details of when I wake up. The next I am having a dream that my husband and I are having hot shower sex.

One minute I am banging my head against the wall because my kid is screaming in her crib because she won't take a nap and I know she is tired. So, I end up having to put her in the stroller and walk and walk in the cold and rain for 45 minutes with tears streaming down my face because I am hungry and exhausted. The next minute I am playing with my kid and she is in a great mood- curious and laughing- and I think my heart is going to burst from all of the love.

One minute I am annoyed and yanking on Dexter's leash shouting "LEAVE IT" when he tries to eat some unidentified thing off of the sidewalk because I know it will give him diarrhea and he will wake me up in the middle of the night to go out- because I'm not exhausted enough already. The next minute Dexter greets me when I walk in the door with a stuffed animal in his mouth and a wagging tail. Later we snuggle in bed together and he rolls around on his back snorting with delight while I rub his tummy.

One minute I feel like I'm a fraud for calling myself a photographer because I really have no idea what I'm doing technically- I'm afraid that one of my clients will ask me a technical question and I won't know the answer. The next, I am excited and proud of a picture I took and I feel like I really have an eye. And isn't the end result- a good picture- all that really matters?

One minute I'm feeling self conscious and embarrassed about my post-baby body. And I'm angry at myself for not eating better and exercising more. The next, minute my husband tells me I'm sexy, and I realize that maybe my body isn't so bad, and that in a couple of years when we have more money I can hire a trainer and really get in shape.

One minute I'm totally stressed out about all of the things I have to do. The next, I'm crossing stuff off of the list and feeling a sense of accomplishment.

One minute I am in so much pain. My shoulder, my back, my hips. The next minute I realize that I am thankful that I can walk, and that I have access to some of the best medical care in the world.

One minute I feel like life is too much for me to handle. The weight of the world is on my shoulders. The next minute I'm at the park, pushing Willa in the swing while she squeals with joy, my husband and Dexter standing next to me, and I realize that maybe life isn't so bad after all.

Posted by torrie at 05:38 PM | Permalink | Comments (13)

This has a topic that I've been wanting to write about for a long time.

There seems to be this trend on the internet, specifically in the blogging community- Who is suffering the most?

I remember when I lost my first pregnancy people left comments with undertones of "Well, at least you can GET pregnant". Someone even had the gall to tell me to get over it- that her mother had carried a baby to full term and then had a still birth.

Someone is always suffering more than you.

You had a miscarriage? They've had two.
Your father died? Their spouse died.

When did misery become a competition?

It seems that in order to gain support you must have a hard time. You need to suffer from infertility, or have multiple miscarriages, or be broke, or have an illness, or have a child with physical or developmental delays.
And even if you are suffering from something, rest assured, there is always someone who has it worse.

Is this really human nature? If so, this makes me so sad.

Why can't we be happy for someone when something goes their way?

Money, in particular, seems to be a very touchy subject among bloggers.

I myself, have restricted what I've written about for fear that I would be judged.

When I did the first ad campaign for Nikon they gave me a free D80 camera.
There was a period where, before the ad came out, I wasn't allowed to talk about where I got the camera from or the ad campaign.
I actually hid the fact that I had the D80 until the ad came out because I knew there would be a few people who would say things like "Weren't you just complaining about not having any money? How can you afford that camera?"

There is a lot of assuming going on by people who read blogs.

There are many other things I've been hesitant to write about because people would assume that I have money. And people who have money are obviously spoiled brats.

I have this stroller. It costs about $1,000. My mother-in-law bought it for us. I also have a cleaning lady that my mother-in-law pays for.
We have a car- in Manhattan. It was given to me when my grandmother passed away. The parking in our building is free because my husband is a chief resident.

But what if I had paid for those things myself?

Why is it wrong for people to work hard and reward themselves?
And what if they didn't work hard? What if their family has money? What if they have never known what it is like to struggle financially? Does that make their trials and tribulations or their tragedies any less painful or real? Can someone who is financially stable not be a kind, thoughtful, humble person?

I'm not saying you can't envy someone, or even be a little bit jealous, but why do you need to spew hate at them?

The grass is always greener on the other side of the fence it seems. So, while someone might have something that you covet, I'm sure that you have something that they want as well.

Doesn't it make for better karma to be happy and supportive of other people and their triumphs?

I don't agree with everything that people who write the blogs I read do or say. And I think it is perfectly healthy to have friendly debates. But, I would never intentionally insult someone or say something mean to them, no matter how strongly I might disagree with them.

And sure, there are some assholes out there blogging. But, they usually say controversial things just to get attention, so when you leave an obnoxious comment you are just feeding their fire.

So, here's my unsolicited advice-

Don't assume things. You can't possibly know all the details from one (or even several) blog entries.

If you don't have anything nice to say- DON'T SAY ANYTHING. See that little red x at the top of the page? Click it, and move on. No one is forcing you to read someone's blog.

I have several friends who get paid to blog. This does not mean they should write about what you want them to write about. You wouldn't email your favorite author and tell them that their last book was boring and you liked their books better before they had a child, or moved, or whatever other life changing thing happened to them that you think "changed" their writing. You are not paying to read their blog so, again, if you don't like what you read, MOVE ON.

Thank you for being such a good listener.

Posted by torrie at 01:08 PM | Permalink | Comments (47)

When I am interviewing you for a job WATCHING MY INFANT CHILD- do not tell me that you only have personal references because you didn't want to "bother" the people you used to work for.
I 'm not going to hire you based on the fact that your aunt Selma says that you are a really nice girl.

Also, even if you are interviewing for a janitor position, sneakers are NOT appropriate interview attire.

Posted by torrie at 04:52 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

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 really don't know what to do.

Next year my husband is doing a fellowship (further medical training) at a hospital that is about 45 minutes away from our apartment. We currently live across the street from the hospital that he works at now.
As you might expect his schedule sucks. He typically has to be at work by 7am, and he usually doesn't get home until about 7pm. Willa wakes up between 7:30-8:30am, and goes to sleep at 7pm, so there are many days when he doesn't even get to see her. Which also means that I don't get a break.
Then there are the days that he is on call. That means that he is at work by 7am and doesn't get home until about 8am the following morning. He is occasionally on a rotation that allows him to come home for a few minutes, but on most of his rotations he's not allowed to leave the hospital because he's on the code team. (This means that if someone "codes" he gets paged and has to run to their bedside.) This (the husband being on call) happens on average, once or twice a week. Those days are really hard for me. Willa has finally developed a bed time routine, but I have to take Dexter out at 10 or 11pm. So, I have to take Willa, who is sleeping soundly, out of her crib and put her in her stroller, and take her out in the cold. This almost always wakes her up.

Some people think that him being on call isn't that bad because he has the next day off. It's not as nice as it sounds. He's usually up all night when he's on call, so he spends most of the next day sleeping.
I very rarely get a break. When the husband is able to help out I usually spend that time showering or editing pictures. We can't afford to hire a sitter. Willa won't take a bottle. And my husband is rarely around to help. I can't even remember the last time I left the house without Willa. I really can't.
I feel bad complaining. My husband is at the hospital for at least 60 hours a week. He then comes home and has to work on all of the chief resident stuff, which takes up SO MUCH TIME. And he has to do it all in his "spare" time, which is ridiculous. Sometimes he plays a concert on a week night or a weekend (he's a musician too). He also has to find time to do things like eat and shower. He really is fantastic. He tries to spend every single free moment he has with Willa. He probably spends more time with Willa than most fathers who have twice the amount of free time spend with their kids.
Next year this will all be even worse. The husband will have a 45 minute commute each way. Which means he's home even less than he is now. And the nights that he's on call, there won't even be a chance that he'll be able to come home for a few minutes. I can only imagine how fun it is going to be to get a toddler out of her crib to take the dog out.
Oh, and have I mentioned that we have no idea where we are going to be living next year?
Yeah. That's another post for another day.

*Update- I've answered a few of your questions in the comments.

Posted by torrie at 10:26 AM | Permalink | Comments (46)

I hate to travel.

First- the actual act of traveling. Driving sucks because of traffic, and it kills my back. And I can't read or do a crossword puzzle in the car because I get carsick.
Flying sucks because I have to figure out how to get to the airport and now with Willa, having a car seat needs to be factored in (when we flew to North Carolina for my dad's memorial service we decided to drive our car to the airport and leave it in long term parking. It cost us $80 but it was still cheaper than taking a cab back and forth, and we didn't have to worry about installing a car seat or lugging one around; our rental car in NC had one). Then of course there are the other fun perks of flying- long lines while dragging all your stuff around, practically having to get undressed when you go through security, delayed or canceled flights, lost luggage, sitting on the runway in a hot plane, terrible food, or lack thereof. The airlines have lost my luggage, damaged my suitcase (several times), made me cry, stranded me in various cities (once in Miami I had to stay in a horrible motel room that smelled- without my luggage because I didn't make my connecting flight, but my bags did). I also seem to catch a cold almost every time I fly.

I was never one of these people who loves traveling. I don't deal well with change.

Hotel beds are always super uncomfortable no matter where you stay. We have a Select Comfort bed and I've become quite addicted to it. Whenever I'm not sleeping at home I am miserable. I remember for my husband's college reunion my mother-in-law treated us to a ridiculously expensive hotel in Boston. The bed was so uncomfortable that we seriously debated going down to the garage and sleeping in our car. And don't even get me started on the pillows. Who the hell likes down pillows? First, they are waaaay too soft. You put your head on one and the part behind your head completely flattens out so you have no neck support at all and the sides stick up and engulf your head like you are wearing giant earmuffs. Second, the feathers stick through the pillow and poke you in the face.

Then there's the food issue. I am the pickiest eater ever. You know Meg Ryan's character in When Harry Met Sally? Yeah, well she's got nothing on me.That combined with the fact that I am a vegetarian makes it very difficult for me to find food when I'm away from home. When I was in France I'd ask for something vegetarian (In French no less) and it would arrive at the table with bacon on it. Then, of course my stomach gets all out of whack. For instance, on my honeymoon I was either constipated or had diarrhea every day. (I know, super sexy, huh? My husband is a lucky man.)

We also have to figure out what to do with the animals when we are away.
Dexter is not the type of dog you can stick in a kennel. The two younger cats are on a special diet (because of Mookie's bladder/kidney problems) where they have to be fed three times a day. Our older cat is about 15 and does not travel well. We usually take Dexter and the two younger cats to my mom's house (a two hour drive away), which is a royal pain in the ass. We have to bring a litter box and litter, bowls, a water fountain, and cans of wet food for the cats, and Dexter's dry food, wet food, and his bowl. Then, let's not forget all of the brushes and medicine. All that stuff, Dexter, the two cats in their carriers, and Willa barely fit in the car. Plus, the cats serenade us with their melodic screaming the entire two hour drive.
I'm very thankful that my mom is willing to take care of the animals (although this means that I can never go on a trip with my mother), but we still have to find someone to come to our apartment and feed our older cat at least once a day.

The amount of stuff we have to bring with us when we travel with Willa is unbelievable. Clothes, wipes, diapers, toys, books, blankets, something for her to sleep in (we brought the Pack N' Play to North Carolina), car seat, and a stroller. We also realized that we need to bring something for her to sit in. She spends a lot of her day hanging out in the bouncy seat or her Bebe Pod. Without it we would have to hold her all the time, which neither of our backs can take (she is giant- she weighs about 18lbs. now). We brought the Bebe Pod to North Carolina. Also, we had to make due with out Willa's bathtub while we were there.

It's all just too much.

Most of the time when I get home from a "vacation" I feel like I need a vacation. I am a creature of habit. I like to be home. I like to sleep in my bed. I like to prepare food the way I like it. I like to be surrounded by my things.

Maybe one day, when I have money, I'll enjoy traveling more. I can charter a private jet. I can hire someone to drive me around. I can have any kind of food I want.
Until then,if you need me, I'll be in my bed, surrounded by my things, picking all of the scallions out of my scallion pancakes, straining the mushrooms out of my mushroom soup, and taking all of the tomato sauce off of my pizza.

Posted by torrie at 03:18 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

If you are a girl baby:

-You must wear pink at all times, otherwise, even if you are wearing a dress, people will ask if you are a boy.

- You CAN'T wear blue. God forbid. Everyone knows that only boys can wear blue.

-Don't even THINK about wearing anything sports related because as someone said to me once "But that's BOY clothing."

-Your stroller should be pink or purple or covered in butterflies. Only boys ride in blue or black strollers.

-You can't wear jeans (unless it's a jean skirt) because OBVIOUSLY boys wear jeans. Even if the stitching on the jeans is PINK.

-You must have hair, otherwise you must be a boy.
To clarify:
Hair = Girl
Bald = Boy
This explains why people do this to their children.

I hope I've made myself clear.

Obviously a boy:

Posted by torrie at 09:35 PM | Permalink | Comments (38)

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)

-I found out that my building has been throwing out all of our recyclables with the regular trash. This makes me furious. I promptly reported them.

-I got a botched bikini wax- uneven, ripped skin, wax left all over me- and then the salon had the nerve to try to charge me extra.

-I was breastfeeding Willa and I started laughing. Apparently Willa doesn't like when I laugh because she started to cry. She's so adorable when she cries- she has a perfect pout- that it made me laugh harder which made her cry more.

-I have a canker sore on my tongue.

-Dexter has another hot spot.

-I was clipping my nails so I don't stab myself or my child and a nail clipping flew into my eye.

-The Mets lost.

I'm going to bed before anything else goes wrong.

Update: After a night of virtually no sleep, this is how my morning started.

Posted by torrie at 09:44 PM | Permalink | Comments (12)

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)

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)

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)

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)

NOT FUN- Getting a bikini wax when you are already sore, swollen, and dilated.

Posted by torrie at 04:00 PM | Permalink | Comments (15)

I just ate half a croissant with chocolate hazelnut spread.....

And then I threw it all up.

Posted by torrie at 10:33 PM | Permalink | Comments (9)

I just spent 45 minutes writing a very complicated post that included pictures and links.

Then, it got erased.

It is very painful for me to sit up at the computer for 45 minutes, so I can't re-write it.

I think I'm going to cry.

Posted by torrie at 11:47 AM | Permalink | Comments (5)

Tell me I'm sporting American Idol hair and when I ask you what the hell you're talking about tell me that "It looks like that Indian kid's."

Posted by torrie at 10:36 PM | Permalink | Comments (6)

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)

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)

I could never express my anger as eloquently as this.

If you live in Alabama, please email me.
I will gladly send you a "present". Nudge, nudge. Wink, wink.

Posted by torrie at 09:13 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)

*Warning*- if you or someone you love has been a victim of sexual abuse this might be a very difficult post to read.

So, there are so many things that go on in my life that I can't talk about here. Mostly because there are some insanely private people in my family and I don't want to start a war. It can been quite frustrating at times.
The reason I haven't mentioned what I'm about to tell you before was for legal reasons. Those legal reasons have since been resolved, so now I am free to talk about it.

First, I need to give you some background-
My dad had three kids with his first wife- one boy and two girls. My dad divorced his first wife when she started to go crazy, REALLY crazy, and refused to get help.
Fast forward to the present-
Both of my sisters have two kids. My sister Lisa has a twenty year old boy and an eight year old girl. My sister Kim has two girls ages seven and eight.
My dad's first wife, Paula has been with the same guy, Paul, for about thirty years now. They live close to my sisters and would babysit their kids.
Paul beat the shit out of my sister Lisa when she was a teenager, and has hit Paula many times.
See, if that was me I never would have let them near my kids, but it's amazing how forgiving people can be of family.
Anyway, about a year ago, my sister Kim was in the bathroom getting her girls ready for bed when her youngest asked her to help her wipe, to which my sister replied "you are a big girl, you don't need help wiping" and my niece said "Poppy (Paul) helps me do it."
This led to a conversation which ended with my niece saying that "poppy kissed her on her pee-pee and then he played with his pee-pee and white stuff came out".

The next few weeks were horrible.
We found out that Paul had been molesting all three of my nieces.
My sister and my nieces had several meetings with police and child protective services (Who all concluded, that without a doubt, the girls had been molested).
My father was devastated, to say the least.
He was battling terminal cancer, and now this.
Also, he couldn't even go be with my sister because he had to be in New York for his cancer treatment.

As if all of this wasn't bad enough, Paula, my sisters' mother, decided to stand by her husband (who, it is worth noting, admitted to the police that he had "kissed them on their labias") instead of standing by her children and her grandchildren.
Over night my sisters lost their mother and their step-father and my sister Kim had to deal with constant questions from her two girls about where Grandma and Poppy were.
My sister Lisa remains in denial about the whole thing and refuses to admit that her daughter was molested.

Over the course of the past year while we waited for Paul's trial (which kept getting delayed because our legal system likes to protect criminals) my sister Kim's two children had a ton of therapy.
During this therapy, which was at a state run facility that specializes in treating abused children, it was drilled into my nieces heads that this was not their fault, and that they did nothing wrong.
And yet, as the trial was approaching, and everyone was preparing the girls for the witness stand Kim's youngest daughter said "Mommy, can't we just say we're sorry?"
When I heard that my heart broke into a million pieces.
Even after months of therapy, these girls still thought they did something wrong. They thought they were the reason Grandma and Poppy didn't come to visit anymore.
And I wonder if, even after years of therapy, they will ever TRULY not feel guilty.

Paul finally stood trial.
My dad sat in the courtroom and watched his ex-wife get on the stand on lie through her teeth.
But, the evidence (the girls' testimony, state experts testimony, and Paul's confession) was overwhelming and Paul will be spending the rest of his life in jail.
You know what they do to child molesters in jail, don't you? I can only hope he suffers.

With the birth of my own child impending, I wonder if I will be able to protect her from something like this.
I mean, my sisters thought they were protecting their children by having family members watch them, and look what happened.

I once heard a quote that went something like this:
"Having a child is like having your heart walking around outside your body."

I haven't even met my child yet, but I'm starting to realize that that might be a very accurate description.

Posted by torrie at 08:12 PM | Permalink | Comments (31)

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 th