sugarplum(swank)

Thankful: 21, 22 and 23

2011-11-23T11:32:00.000-07:00

21. This song and this kid.

22. This time together (my mom and Liam).

23. This email.

Here I come!!!!
Donna

Passenger(s)
DONNA xxxx xxxxxxxxxxx
DateFlightDeparture/Arrival
Sat Feb 181650Depart Detroit(DTW) at 06:55 AM
Arrive in Denver(DEN) at 08:25 AM

Wed Feb 22713Depart Denver(DEN) at 07:25 PM
Arrive in Detroit(DTW) at 12:05 AM

Thankful: 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20

2011-11-21T16:15:00.000-07:00

15. Strange one: that Brody has renal issues. Why? Because without his renal issues, Liam would not have had a renal ultrasound before he was discharged from the hospital last December, and we would never have discovered (until it was too late?) that Liam had a blood clot on his aorta. Leading to...

16. Lovenox. Yes, I complain about the cost of Lovenox on here a lot. $1600 a month is a bit steep. But damn if it didn't let me have 2 successful pregnancies, and save my youngest son's life. Fact: Lovenox is made from intestinal mucosa of a pig. You can't take it if you are allergic to pork products. Thank you, pigs!

17. Barbara, my oldest sister. Whenever I think I'm being crazy, I think of Barbara, and how she doesn't care what anyone thinks of her, she is just her fabulous, delightfully talkative, laugh out loud self. She is the original cuckoo, and I mean that in the best way.

18. Eric, my brother. I think of him so often lately, since Liam reminds me of him. Liam eating dog food, like Eric did. Liam being musical, like Eric . Eric has had a troubled life at times, battles with alcoholism, but when he plays piano, it is magic. I could listen to him play all day. He has crazy talent.

19. Donna, my middle sister. She is sensitive, kind, nurturing, and a wonderful momma. She's the one who made me that ring a few posts back. She says she is coming to visit in February. I can hope! She is kinda nuts sometimes, but sweetly so.

20. Marilyn, my youngest sister. Brody said it best this weekend when he explained to me that he gets confused about whether Marilyn is my mommy or my sister. She is my caretaker. And she hated me when I was born. I think she still feels guilt for the abuse she heaped upon me. What she does, I usually follow: horse back riding, tennis, jewelry making, moving to Colorado, having 2 sons. Huh. She's a smidge neurotic.

Thankful: 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 and 14.

2011-11-14T15:14:00.002-07:00

8. Brodyisms. He’s getting more advanced. This weekend’s may have been my favorite. His nana gave me a geode, the kind you break open with a hammer to reveal the crystals inside? While looking at the crystals, he asked, “You know what’s another name for crystals? Your soul.” And he said the last two words with much gravity and import, and completely serious. Where does he come up with things like this?

And then this morning, when walking into daycare I exclaimed, “Aw man! I forgot Liam’s diapers!” to which Brody replied, “You’re going down, mommy.”

9. The internet. It was google into which I typed “Miscarriage Support” in 2004 and found the Miscarriage Support message board on IVillage,com. Which led me to the Recurrent Miscarriage board. Which led me to Dr. Beer. Which led me to motherhood.

10. Brody’s doctors and surgeons. From Dr. Rothenberg, who did Brody’s first surgery when he was 48 hours old to link up the end of his esophagus to his stomach, and actually told Jeremy that he was excited to do this kind of surgery on Brody since had never done one that small before, to the surgeon, Dr. Doug Hutchinson, who gave Brody thumbs, to our pediatrician, Dr. Jay Markson, who provides laid back, nonplussed yet excellent advice, who has a way with Brody that makes Brody want to see him every time we come downtown.

11. Friends. I am blessed with friends. One or two I’ve known since we were 5 or 6 years old. A few I’ve never met face-to-face. Then some that I am lucky enough to get to see regularly. And most of them, regardless of when I see them, I can call anytime, day or night. They support me, make me laugh, and make me want to be a better version of myself.

12. Cameras. So I can look at pictures of my loved ones when I am at work, and give my hairstylist a picture of what I’d like my hair to look like.

13. My sense of humor. Laughing is the only ab workout I’m likely to do.

14. One piece outfits, including footie pajamas. Something about them is so charmingly delightful. I cannot get enough of Brody, and now Liam, in one piece outfits. If I had my way, Brody would still be in one-piece rompers. I settle for pajamas with feet.

Thankful: 4, 5, 6. And 7.

2011-11-07T15:28:00.000-07:00

4. My sister Donna makes jewelry, not like I make jewelry but with sodering things and hot things that melt silver. She made me a ring last year – before Liam was born - with each boy’s birthstone in it. I love that ring. I wear it for good luck. I wear it on those big days for me, and I wear it when I need a pick-me-up. I love that she made me something so unique and thoughtful.

5. Over the weekend, I had dinner with my circle of friends, just the girls. We had dinner and we were talking – all of us mothers now – about what we obsess[ed] over with our children. Height, speech, etc. I sat there and thought, with Brody, what did I obsess over? That he would die, that he would never find love, or happiness, that he would need a kidney transplant, that he would not be in regular class, that he would never learn to write or use his thumb properly. I’m grateful that none of that came to pass. Even if they do come to pass, they haven’t yet.

6. Speaking of which…. Brody had 14 surgeries in 3 years. He didn’t have thumbs when he was born. His throat didn’t meet up with his stomach when he was born. He had 2 surgeries the first week of his life. He wore casts for half of his first three years. And this year, this year he started kindergarten the first year he was eligible, when he was 4 years old. And we had a parent teacher conference a few weeks back, which Brody attended, and he read us a book. It was called “I can do anything.” I grasped my husband’s hand, and I just barely kept from crying.

7. My mom is coming for Thanksgiving. We were going to drive down to see her in New Mexico, and it would be a long 10 hour drive, but it would be worth it to see her and my stepdad. But she said that the driving was too much and she just bought a ticket to see us. Even though her and Jacques will not be together for Thanksgiving. And she’s staying for a whole week. I'm grateful for that.

Thankful: 1, 2 and 3

2011-11-03T14:12:00.000-06:00

I tend to complain a lot. I find that trait deeply annoying in people who have so much for which to be grateful.

So I know it is corny and cheesy, but I’m going to write down those things for which I am thankful. Because in the final analysis, I have a lot to write.

On November 3, 2011, I am grateful:

1. That my husband can fix anything that breaks in our house, including the furnace. He googled the furnace model number, what was wrong with it, and found a video on YouTube about how to fix it. And then he really did fix it, and we had heat again!

2. For Excedrin. My goodness. Divine.

3. That daycare told me we had to keep Liam home yesterday. He wasn’t sick, they just thought he had an ear infection because he pulled on his ears on Tuesday and wouldn’t drink a bottle. Since Liam was feeling rather fine with me, we had a lot of fun together, just us two. We danced on the bed to Prince (he loves Raspberry Beret) and we took a bubble bath, and two naps. And we cuddled a lot. It was lovely and quiet.

Things I've learned - in no particular order.

2011-10-28T12:47:00.002-06:00

Everything is connected.

It all adds up.

Life goes on.

Everyone should be backlit.

Brodyism

2011-10-07T19:58:00.001-06:00

Me: "Move over Brody"
B: "Ow mommy! You just bonked your elbow in my EYE!!"
Me: "I'm so sorry! Are you ok?"
B: "WHERE ARE MY CHEERIOS?!!"
Me: "Only nice boys who don't yell get cheerios."
B: "Well, only mommies who don't bonk their elbows in my eye get nice boys."

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Random photos

2011-09-30T19:35:00.001-06:00

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More Brodyisms

2011-09-29T15:02:00.000-06:00

When we tell him something, that he already knows, he will, in this completely teenager-esque, annoyed, and above-it-all voice, say, "I know that." Except he's only 5, so it comes out as "I know dat."

He makes Liam laugh just by saying, "Watcha laughin' at?"

When Brody was born, I started calling him bubba thanks to my friend Linda who got me calling all babies "bubba" because I think it's something Australians do. When Liam was born, I called Liam bubba in front of Brody. Brody then asked, in a slightly unsure, smaller voice than usual, "Am I still your bubba, mommy?"

He steadfastly maintains that he will NEVER get married, never leave our home. I tell him that's fine with me but when he's 18 he has to get a job and earn some money. When I ask him what he will do for a job, he says he is a fire dog.

For Halloween, Brody feels that he can assign me my costumes. I am, depending on the day, either a Princess, a SuperPrincess, or Thor Girl. I'm not sure which I prefer more.

Streaming & Brodyisms

2011-09-27T16:42:00.000-06:00

I’ve wanted to blog so often of late – and I just haven’t. I have so many things I want to remember.

Brody. Brody has expressed more about his limb difference in the last month since starting kindergarten than he has in his whole life. He has expressed that it is unfair that his hands are different, that he is sad about it, not the actual limb difference, but that people ask him about it. Our approach has been to encourage questions from others, get it all out there, ask questions if they must. But he hates that. HATES.IT.

I’ve told him that we can make his arm straight if he wants – the one he always comments on – he says no, he doesn’t want to. I tell him we love him just the way he is. And we do. Personally, after initially thinking when he was born that we’d do the lengthening procedures, I’d prefer he never have another surgery. He notices the difference not just between himself and others, but between his two hands, how one is straight and the other is not. He describes it. I just agree with him. I told him recently how he had surgeries to get thumbs, because he was talking about his new hand. I explained what the surgeries were. He had no memory. He doesn’t even remember Shriners’ Hospital and Mike and Sully. Which is kind of awesome. He asked me today if the surgeries hurt.

He loves kindergarten but lately keeps getting in trouble. He has developed this independent streak, that prevents him from heeding instructions from parents or teachers, because in his mind, he knows better. He got in trouble one day because he kept drawing the picture and the teacher told him to sit on the carpet in circle time. “But mommy, I wasn’t done drawing.” “Yes you were. The teacher said so.”

Liam. Liam is teething and will not sleep through the night. Ever. He has probably slept through the night 5 times in his 9 months. He takes a bottle though, usually close to a whole one. I don’t know. After a year, we let Brody cry it out. First night – 40 mins. Second night- 15. Third – slept through the night. Then we had surgeries and his sleep got screwed up.

Liam is sweet and smiley. Very smiley. And giggly. And when I let him, he will kiss all over Brody with the drooly, open mouthed baby kisses. Brody screams and I say, “Let your brother kiss him!” and he does, laughing. It’s awesome. Liam is terrified of the vacuum, and the blender, and the hair dryer. And the statue of liberty at Red Robin. He cries more during those noises than with the shots. Remember those shots? I have forgotten a lot of that. It’s lovely. He is crawling and trying to walk and pulling himself up onto things, like stairs. We have 3 staircases in our house. Liam will shake his head, left ear to shoulder, then right ear to shoulder. If I do it back to him, he will do it back to me more and laugh. He reaches his hands up for me to pick him up. And he sucks on my chin – maybe it’s a kiss? He has two bottom teeth, and one more coming in on top. He giggles when he kisses my chin. He will also kiss a picture of himself. He will also hold a plastic sword in the air while smiling and let Brody have a sword fight with him.

I miss my family. I want to visit Michigan but I have no money and no vacation. I miss my mom. Her brother passed away, and I want to see her so badly. Again, money and time.

Brodyisms.

Me: Brody, talk quietly, I can hear you all the way upstairs.
Brody: Well, I can hear you all the way in my room when you snore.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Brody asked me about “Indians” and so we talked about the Native Americans and the Europeans and how they pushed the Indians off their land. I was pretty impressed with him, until he said the Indians should have just used Thor’s hammer to fight the Europeans.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Brody: Mommy, I miss you even when I’m WITH you.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Brody: (upon seeing a picture of me in my wedding dress) Mommy, you’re beautiful
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He still says pesketti for spaghetti, and ly-bary for library.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Brody: (when told he’d have to wait to go outside until I was done feeding Liam) YOU ARE BEING INCONSIDERATE! YOU ARE BEING SELFISH TO YOUR CHILD!
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Brody: (watching Liam laugh) Liam likes being a baby.

First day

2011-08-22T15:36:00.000-06:00

I didn’t cry today. I teared up.

As we were standing outside waiting to go in (the kids go in themselves) I crouched down and told him how much we all loved him, and how proud we are of him, and how much fun he is going to have. He asked me if I was going to cry. No, I said. Then he pushed my sunglasses down my face to check. I held it together and he smiled.

This weekend we were driving somewhere on a boring errand, and he was so helpful and positive and sweet. I looked back at him in the car and this exchange followed.

Me: You really are a good boy, Brody.

Brody: Even though my hands are different?

Me: Especially. I love your hands. And you will realize when you’re older than being different is a good thing. You won’t want to be like everyone else.

Brody: Will my hand be straight when I’m older?

Me: Well, no. I mean, we could make it straight, but it won’t automatically be straight……Do you want to make it straight?

Brody: No. I like it dis way.

His new teacher wanted to know if he was comfortable talking about his hand to the class. He said he was. The idea is that the teacher raises it the first day, then it's not an issue later on.

The school called me around lunchtime saying that he had thrown up. Turns out, he had gotten hamburger stuck in his throat because of his narrow esophagus. I know this because he was hiccupping. Do all TEF kids hiccup when the food gets stuck? It happens periodically. I don’t know if we need another dilation surgery or not. It’s been a couple of years.

I cannot wait to see him tonight. I feel like it’s been a week since this morning.

Wisdom hurts

2011-08-14T23:04:00.000-06:00

I just had a lovely weekend away, in Vegas, with 3 good friends. I missed the boys like crazy. I came home, no thanks to flight delays, and Brody said, as we were cuddling, that he wished we didn't ever have to go to school or to work ever again.

Then it hit me.

He starts kindergarten in one week.

And my baby is gone.

And a wave of regret and sorrow crashed over me like I haven't felt in a long time.

I should not have been at work these years of his life. I can't believe all the hours and days I've missed of his little life while I was at work. And he was growing up. And now in one week he starts elementary school and I'm never going to get that time back and I should have stayed home we should have figured out a way for me to be home with him all this time and I can't believe I missed everything I missed and I can't believe I didn't realize before now, before there's only week left. And where did the years go and why didn't I spend them with my son instead of at work and what will I do how will I make that up to him?

One week. Why did it take me so long to see?

It's that time of year again....the letter to parents

2011-08-10T15:17:00.002-06:00

Brody starts kindergarten in 12 days.

I'm dusting off the annual "Letter to parents", as I have dubbed it on my computer, to print and leave with the parents of his fellow kindergartners. I did not send the letter to the soccer parents, or the swim parents, but I think kindergarten - with a new school - is fair game.

It's funny how the letter changes over the years. That could probably tell something of me more than him. We went to the summer picnic of the Colorado UnLimbited group this past weekend. I think it's a good age for him to go - he's noticing his differences, and talking about them. As in, walking up to people and saying, "Look at my arm! See how long it is?" or, at a carnival, telling the guy running a game he wanted to play, "My arm isn't that straight." These comments are not in response to anything said to him. Luckily, so far everyone I've watched him say it to has acted nonplussed, and uninterested OR has said words to the effect of, "Wow, that's cool you get to be so different." Clearly this world is not the 1970's that I grew up in.

We were at the grocery store a few weeks ago, and Brody was in rare, entertaining form. He was riding on the end of the cart, hanging on while I pushed. He was commenting on how much he loved all the fruits and vegetables "MOMMY!!! Look! MUSHROOMS!!", and being my helper, and he'd drop the food into the basket with great flair and showmanship. We had people laughing at his antics within 5 minutes of our foray into the fruit section. And I had no fewer than 3 men talk to him or me. "Are you helping your mom?" etc. One guy asked, "How old is he?" I answered, "Almost 5," and he said, and Brody heard, "He is hysterical," and chuckling, walked past us. I looked at Brody and said, "Well, that was nice of that man," and Brody responded, "Yeah, and he didn't even see my arm!" What does that mean?

I digress. Can a 5 year old gain perspective? I don't know. But I can, and seeing the other kids and adults live so well with their limb differences at the UnLimbited functions certainly provides me confidence and hope.

Anyway, here's the letter. It seems really long to me now. I wrote it when I only had one child. (Ha! Maybe that's it.) What parts can I cut out? Help!

We’re writing this letter because, in the past, some of Brody's classmates have asked him questions like “What’s wrong with your arms?” We want to help everyone be comfortable with his limb difference.

Brody was born with bilateral radial hypoplasia: specifically, he was born without the radius bones in both forearms and without thumbs. Brody has had several surgeries to try to help straighten his arms (which do not like to grow straight) and to move his index fingers into thumb position. We are proud to say that he now has three fingers and one thumb on each hand. In an effort to satisfy natural curiosity, I'd like to tell you a little bit about Brody.

This is the way Brody was born. The doctors do not know how or why, but the latest research shows that Brody’s arms were probably growing this way approximately 35 days into the pregnancy. We’ve had luck explaining this easily to kids as, "That's the way Brody was born. His arms grew that way when he was in his mommy's tummy." Some children hear the physical explanation and go about their business without second thoughts. Sometimes, though, kids might want more details.

We’ve learned that the easiest way to help a child understand something like this is to remind them how we are all different from each other. We have had success talking with kids by pointing out the obvious differences: hair, eyes, glasses, height, skin color, size of feet, etc. The list is endless. It's also a good idea to explain that Brody’s arms are not broken, painful, shameful, sad or frightening. They are simply different.

While Brody’s arms and hands are unique, Brody doesn't consider them “special” and we do not refer to them as such. Sometimes children will also be concerned about how Brody will do certain things with his unique hands. I usually remind them that he does all the same things they do, just in different ways. Brody has never had radius bones and 10 fingers, so he learns to do everything with what he has.

Brody adapts easily. He feeds himself, likes drawing and playing catch, loves playing tennis, lacrosse and basketball, and wants to have sword fights on a daily basis. There are tasks he gets frustrated with but most of the time he takes challenges in stride and manages creatively.

We just wanted to let you know that we welcome conversation about our son and we look forward to any questions you or your children may have.

Reducing exposure to sadness

2011-08-03T15:51:00.000-06:00

Do you ever just not engage with a story or a person because, frankly, it's just too sad? I have a lot of connections to people with Vacterl children, and a lot of those people are connected to other people with sick children, and then my friends who know friends where the parents of young children are sick and.....I just can't anymore.

A little girl I followed, who had a form of Vacterl, died recently. I cried for hours over that little girl; she was within a month of Brody's age. It wrecked me, and I'm not even close with her family. I have to make a conscious decision to stop. I am subscribed to probably 10 caring bridge sites and 15 carepages. I'm friends on facebook with an inordinate amount of people who have serious illnesses in their lives. Except for, currently, one person, I just can't participate in supporting them. I unfriended a woman on Facebook because all she would post about was her dead child. I mean, I didn't know her except online, and through someone else, and she's a lovely person. But I couldn't take seeing her posts. I'm going to hell.

And it's not just illness. Tragedy too. Like a friend who has a friend whose child got run over by an ATV, or another friend's cousin is terminal and has a young child.

These are my worst fears. And I cannot stand to know about them. It brings me down to a place I don't like, and I can't process it. I think in the age of internet, so much of the information that we can access is informative and it can be life-changing. The support one can receive is awe-inspiring. But I have to protect my state of mind, right? I mean, I just cannot support and be involved with every sick person I know about. Right? Or am I bad person?

Even if it makes me a bad person, I am still limiting my exposure.

8 months ago today

2011-08-02T15:48:00.000-06:00

December 2, 2010

Today:

(I know it's sideways. It's not working)

Questions again

2011-07-22T21:43:00.001-06:00

From Brody:

Why do trees have leaves?

Why do birds eat worms?

Why do girls have long fingernails but no penises?

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The question I was waiting for

2011-07-18T21:49:00.001-06:00

So tonight, during questions, the semi nightly ritual Brody and I do, he asked me why he only has 4 fingers, and why his thumb is on the wrong side (it's not). He said, "dat's not fair."

Over the following minutes, i stumbled through telling him everyone is different, that's how God made him, and that he can do everything everyone else can. I told him some people only have one arm or one leg. He asked me "how do day walk or hold stuff?" I told him, "they figure it out. Like you figured out how to draw and eat. They just do."

Then I kissed his hand and said "I love this hand," and I told him I love him if he has 4 fingers or 10 thumbs. He got really goofy, not his usual serious self like he normally is during questions.

Then he asked me why T. Rexes are so mean. And why the moon doesn't shine during the day.

It's amazing to me that I have completed 19 years of education, and I still had no good answers tonight.

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Sleep deprivation is a form of torture.

2011-07-12T13:15:00.000-06:00

I don't sleep anymore because Liam is teething. He's 7 months old. It's still weird to me that I have two children, two boys. How did that happen? I mean, I know how it happened, but I am still coming to terms with the fact that it did happen. Huh.
J and B went to visit family in another state. When Liam and I picked them up from the airport, do you know what Liam did the whole 45 minute drive home? He stared at Brody in the other carseat, giggling and laughing, the kind of baby laugh where he inhales for part of it. I think Liam missed Brody and didn't know where he went to. He laughed the whole rest of the day.

He still doesn't sleep though.

Two things: I post Brodyisms here, and on facebook, quite a lot. People always say "you should write a book" - so here's the thing. How do you write a book about what your child says? That's actually entertaining and interesting to read, I mean.
Second thing, my dear friend who I have known since kindergarten, Megan Abbott, wrote another book. I think it might be a masterpiece. It's getting spectacular reviews. I really, truly recommend that you read it. It's called The End of Everything. You can read the first chapter of it here. It's that rare combination of sublime writing combined with a chilling, unable-to-stop-reading plot. I can even get your copy autographed by the author.

Hand crab

2011-06-23T22:57:00.001-06:00

We've been hearing for two days about this "hand crab" that Brody made. He told us his hand crab looked different from everyone else's.

Finally we picked it up today. It's a painting with hand prints. Brody's looks way different. But he was saying over and over proudly that his was different from everyone else's. I, of course, told him that his was awesome and the best one. And it is.

I chatted with a couple teachers on the way out the door, letting them know we had located the infamous hand crab painting. One said to me quietly, "He was so sad at first that his hand crab looked different from the other kids but then we worked with him until he was so proud of himself."

It breaks my heart that he felt that way. And that he was sad and hurt. And it makes me so grateful for those teachers. But mostly it just makes me want to hug him for the next 14 years.

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For P

2011-06-16T16:36:00.000-06:00

This is for P. She knows who she is.

I'm BUSY. Want to know why? Well, it's called soccer. And I am the idiot who agreed to be a volunteer coach for Brody's soccer team. One weeknight practice, and one weekend game, per week, since April, has seriously cut into my free time. This was probably a greater time commitment for me than other coaches because I know as much about soccer as Liam does. In fact, imagine a baby who can't sit up on his own trying to tell six 4 year olds what to do, and you pretty much have our practices. The only thing I'm really good at is using that whistle.

Between looking up drills online to keep the kids interested during practice, and the whole, you know, parenting of a new baby, while working outside the house full-time, I fall into bed at the end of the day too tired to think, let alone ruminate on life, let alone complain, on this blog.

On the agenda for the next week:
Liam is clot free. That's a big one. No shots for about 2 weeks now. All his bruises have healed.
Brody's talking about his arms.
Brody and Jeremy are going on a trip to Oregon, leaving me and Liam to the bachelor life for 5 days.
On how to handle a physical difference when meeting new people - wear clothes to make it less noticeable?
Secrets I've learned about coaching soccer while knowing absolutely nothing about soccer OR coaching

Questions

2011-06-02T21:42:00.001-06:00

Most nights, while Brody is in his bed, he says, "Mommy, wanna do questions?" Then he asks me, or I ask him, random questions. So, tonight, he asked me the following:

Why do we put bad guys in jail? (and what if they get a key to get out?)

Why are bookshelves so tall and not 4 years old tall?

Why do Spider-Man and Venom need webs?

Also, Liam turned six months old today. Six months!! I can't believe he is so old, so young still, or that I lived a day of my life without him.

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Not all bad

2011-05-10T18:26:00.001-06:00

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Where have I been?

2011-05-07T23:34:00.001-06:00

Where have I been? Nowhere good. But I can't blog about it. You should see my journal though. Ha!

Next appointment for Liam is May12 to check his clot size.

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Ancestry

2011-04-22T15:13:00.000-06:00

My sister Marilyn wrote this email to me:

Just read your blog... You are tough. Maybe because you have to be, but that is the same as Mom and Dad. Dad had to grow up in the [Great] Depression. Mom had to hide under tables during world war II [while being bombed by the Allied forces]. You have to give your son shots. And if tequilla helps numb things for a moment, then so be it.

She reminded me from whom I come.

I got this.

Sláinte

2011-04-18T21:30:00.000-06:00

Tonight I couldn't do another shot. Not of liquor, but of Lovenox, to Liam.

I made the mistake of looking at him when he's screaming when I give him the shot. Usually I just watch his legs, and make sure the medicine is going in. Yesterday I looked at him.

He was looking right at me. Staring at me. Do babies have thoughts complex enough to register what he saw?

He recognizes the shot itself, the needle. If he sees it, he gets agitated and scared and kicks his legs even harder and starts to cry. Now I prime the needle with my back to him. And tonight, after a rough shot this morning, I couldn't do another shot.

You know what's worse than giving your 4 month old a shot into his thigh? Hearing him scream from the other room while someone else does it. That sound is louder than if I was holding him. Why is that do you suppose?

So now I've decided I have to do it. I have to be the one to give him the shots, even if he stares at me and knows it's me.

I remind myself that there is a cure, there is a fix. I remind myself that it's not as bad as having cancer, which two people close to me - very close in relationship and within 3 years of my age - currently have. I remind myself that we have support and love and my SF girls and my friends who walked in instead of walking out and my sister Marilyn is trying to get us free medication through an organization. I remind myself that he's 4 months old and I don't remember when I was 4 months old or even 12 months old so he won't remember looking at me.

But I'll remember. I'll remember him looking at me and I'll remember him screaming and I'll remember the times I fucked the shot up and he kicked it out and I had to re-shoot him while he was screaming and kicking. And I'll remember how once, one time I did a 90 degree angle instead of 45 degrees and I put that bloody needle through his skin twice at the same time, like a sewing needle, and the medicine shot out onto my arm while he was screaming screaming screaming. I'll remember each and every sob and scream and how his tears taste and how when I hold him after the shot, he still shakes and cries as loud as he can because me holding him isn't enough to make the pain and anger go away even just a little bit.

And that is why I have instituted a new policy at Casa Liam. For every shot he gets, I get one too - except mine is tequila. It's not healthy, it's not a good coping mechanism, but it tastes good and numbs it for a second or two.

Spark

2011-03-28T14:50:00.000-06:00

It takes a village. I am not used to the village.

I was raised to be self-sufficient. My father grew up in the Great Depression in Detroit and my mother grew up in post-World War II Germany. They are bootstraps kind of people. And I am anything but.

About 5 years ago, I met a group of women online, all of whom had a child born in September 2006. Luckily, Brody arrived 7 weeks early, and I wound up in this group on IVillage.

After about 2 years, we moved away from IVillage, and friended each other on Facebook. By sheer accident, a few months ago, a group of the 66 of us was formed on Facebook of just the SF (stands for Sunflower, which is what we call our September 2006 babies) moms go. It’s secret, and no one sees our posts but us. (We’ve googled to make sure). It’s …. It’s like a permanent happy hour. We confide our secrets, share our joys, vent our frustrations, celebrate our victories, discuss sex, illnesses, in-laws, mahjong, knitting and money, and even, on occasion, share parenting tips and advice. We are from the US and Canada, and we are composed of all incomes, ages, marital statuses, sexual orientations, educational backgrounds, religions, and political parties.

And although several of them have met in real life, I’ve never met any of these women in person.

Naturally, I posted to the group the bad news about Liam’s growing clot.

And then someone suggested opening an Etsy store, selling homemade, handmade items, and giving Liam the proceeds. And then a sub-secret Facebook group was formed, called Little Liam Loves, just like the name of the Etsy store. That was two weeks ago.For two weeks, they have made and donated their works of art, emailed pics to a centralized email, then the 3 designee administrators of the shop then post the items, and keep track of sales in the spreadsheet open to everyone in LLL. The Grand Opening was yesterday, and there are 78 items for sale. As a result of their promotions, already 21 sales have been made, including random donations to a paypal account these women set up. They even created a thank you card jpeg at the end of this post to be printed out and mailed along with the items purchased.

I love these friends of mine. I am blessed for reasons I do not understand. For goodness sakes, I stumbled upon this group of women purely by the randomness of our children’s birth month, which, by the way, Brody was not even scheduled to be born in. And yet, there they are, behind us, holding us up, devoting their time, energy and resources, not to mention money. The posts in the LLL group average 5 an hour. Ideas for new products, new promotions, compliments on the items for sale.

But here’s the thing.

I’m not the only one of the group struggling right now. In our group are women going through divorces, illnesses, financial calamity, new babies. Hell, Dante’s mom is part of this group. She’s 39 weeks pregnant and sewed this amazingness in like a day.

The hell? Why me? Why would these women do this for us?

I just feel unworthy. It boils down to that. It’s uncomfortable to me to be the recipient of this much…..muchness. I can’t reconcile how I feel.

I’m so completely indebted to and humbled by these women that it’s almost spiritual.

My son

2011-03-22T18:32:00.001-06:00

Brody bested a bully today. Well, ok it's another little 4 year old in his class. So this kid, Skyler, is a bit of a little shit. He calls Brody "baby" all the time and I don't think he plays nicely with Brody, ignores Brody and takes his toys, etc. Brody told me about him and we have been working on what to say. I told him that whatever Skyler says, just say "Takes one to know one."

So Brody just told me today that Skyler called him a girl "Brody's a girl, Brody's a girl" in that taunting voice. So Brody said, "takes one to know one," and Brody said Skyler got mad and said he was gonna tell the teacher on Brody, but Brody said he (Brody) became Bolt (from the movie) and stood in Skyler's way and blocked him from telling the teacher. I always ask Brody what his favorite part of the day was and he says, invariably, going outside. Today? He said standing in Skyler's way so he couldn't tell the teacher was his favorite part of the day. He had the most amazing and proud look on his face. I love that kid.

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Searching for grace

2011-03-16T12:55:00.000-06:00

I am grateful. For:

Medicine that can help to dissolve blood clots.

Insurance that covers some cost of the medicine.

My mom and stepdad who are helping a great deal with the cost of the medicine.

Miguel, at Walgreen’s Home Infusion, who was kind, calm and thoughtful to a frantic mother when I had almost lost hope of finding a pharmacy that could compound Liam's medicine AND for anticipating our need for a payment plan and approving us without asking.

Erin, the social worker who is applying for grants for us.

My friend Linda who wrote to me, “Liam trusts you...You have to remember that. He loves you no matter what. So if it ends up being you still giving the shots, you can rest assured that he still loves you and trusts you and will always be happy that you comfort him, even if it is you that causes the discomfort in the first place.”

Friends of mine, a large gathering of “online friends” I only know because we happen to have children born in September 2006, generous, supportive, intelligent women I have never met in person, who have created this shop, and are donating all of their creations to sell, and giving us the proceeds to pay for the medicine.
Liam, for his smiling eyes.

Brody, for his overflowing heart.

Jeremy, for insisting on group hugs.

Jo and Alisha for telling me about EMLA cream.

Alina for giving us her gift card to pay for it.

Cathy for showing me what real courage and unending grace look like.

If you told me in March 2010 that in a year, I would have another son, who is basically healthy, smiles all the time, and loves nothing more than being held my me, but that he would have a blood clot on his aorta, and that it would cost us $5,000 to treat, do you know what I would have done? (a) thought that you were insane because it was impossible; and (b) cried tears of joy and wonder at the miracle I was about to be given.

I keep returning to this:

When you walk to the edge of all the light you have

and take that first step into the darkness of the unknown,

you must believe that one of two things will happen:

There will be something solid for you to stand upon,

or, you will be taught how to fly.

~Patrick Overton

5 shots down, 175 to go

2011-03-13T21:16:00.001-06:00

Jeremy has, thus far, wimped out on giving shots to Liam. I can't
blame him. It's brutal. He cries for a few minutes. Long minutes. Screams, really. And he's inconsolable. Nothing soothes him.

Tonight while I held him while he screamed, Brody climbed up behind me and almost knocked a frame into me and Liam, while Liam was still crying and screaming. I lost it and yelled at Brody, he ran off crying, Jeremy went after him to console him, Brody yelled at Jeremy, and I kept holding Liam. After a few minutes he finally took the pacifier, and calmed down. He was wrapped around my middle and I was just watching him, and he was watching me with his enormous navy eyes, sucking like mad on his pacifier, and then, he smiled at me. Like he was so happy to be held by the person who tortures him. I started crying, unable to fathom how to do that to him 175 more times, and of course at that moment Brody came back in the roomand asked why I was crying and I told him I was sad that I had to give Liam shots and Brody said he was sad too and Jeremy said he'd give the shots from now on and then the 4 of us hugged.

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Enough

2011-03-10T21:07:00.000-07:00

I don't even know what to write.

Took Liam back to the hematologist. Brody, Liam and I were at the hospital from 8am - 330 pm. The clot in his aorta is growing. It started at 8.3mm, then went down to 4.3, now it's back up to 5.5mm.

We go back on Lovenox. Two daily injections into my baby's thighs. Him screaming and looking at me while tears stream out from his beautiful eyes.

Also, last time we checked it was $600 or so for a 3 week supply (that's WITH insurance_ and we need to be on it for at least 3 months.

Then we start another round of hospital clinic visits; Monday we go to check the levels of the meds in his blood then back in 2 weeks for an ultrasound to check on the size of the clot then again for levels and ultrasounds and levels.

The hematologist said he believes the clot was caused by the umbilical line. Which was caused by him heing in the NICU on the CPAP machine which was caused by him having fluid on his lungs when he was born which was caused by me having him by c-section which was caused by me.

So.

I didn't cry in the doctor's office when he told me. I waited til we were walking to the car, the 3 of us, in the middle of this gorgeous sunny day. It's always worse to cry on a sunny day.

He doesn't have cancer, right? Plus, it's treatable. If we don't treat it it can become clogged in an artery and then a limb goes cold and Liam loses a leg.

But here's my question. When can I rest easy? Is that never?

And if couples fight about money and they fight under stress and the illness of a child is the most stress on a marriage.....seriously? When is it enough?

When is there peace? When will I stop feeling like I'm hitting my head against the wall? Why can't it be me and not my babies?

I hate feeling like a victim I hate this lack of control I hate this feeling of helplessness.

I hate the calamity and chaos of doctors and hospitals and waiting and wondering and wasn't 14 surgeries for one son enough? Isn't the guilt for that and the teasing he faces and the stares we get all the time and the worry over his long term prognosis and bills and pain and tears from all that is Vacterl Association - isn't that enough?

Why Liam too? Why this family again? Why more hospitals and tears and worry and risk and heartache. Even if it IS less, even if it isn't as serious, even if all of that.

Why?

This is what I come home to

2011-03-08T22:40:00.001-07:00

Sometimes being a brother is even better than being a superhero. ~Marc Brown

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Location:Home

Restoring my chi

2011-03-05T19:28:00.000-07:00

Nothing for weeks, then 2 posts in one day!

I'm ok. The kids are wonderful. Working full time is hard. Not just getting out of the house on time in the morning, not just being on top of our game at work if we've been up a few times overnight, not just remembering to put makeup on AND deodorant AND brush my teeth, not just paying atttention at work when I'd rather be with my boys, but the sheer energy it takes to be good at both things, employee and mother, not to mention wife, sister, friend. It's exhausting. I've forgotten to bring Valentines to school, write thank you notes, get the mail, pay the car payment, meetings....but right now the boys are fed, clean and clothed. So am I. Jeremy's on his own.

I did manage to go on a field trip with Brody's preschool class. I did manage to at least pick up the registration forms for kindergarten. I feel like I do laundry all the damn time, and yet none of us ever have clean clothes.

I went to brunch with my friends, five other women whom (who?) I really adore. Our girls' weekend that was to be in Steamboat Springs in August turned into, over unlimited prosecco at brunch, a girls' weekend in Vegas. So far, it seems cheaper.

I've pretty much lost touch with a friend I've known since kindergarten. I miss her, but just cannot seem to get the time to reconnect.

Another friend in town has breast cancer. She's 3 years older than me, with two little girls. Another friend is in the process of adding to her family. I try to be a decent friend, but I think really, one little Liam makes me unable to be there at times.

Liam. God he is cute. He smiles ALL.the.time. He laughs in his sleep. He slept 9pm -6am one night this week. He is fat in the best ways, with rolls in his thighs and a huge belly and cheeks that hang over his face. When I kiss his face, his whole face and body smiles, like it's the best thing that's ever happened to him. He has these amazing big eyes that seem like they are navy blue, with light blond eyelashes that are almost an inch long, and still no discernible eyebrows. He laughs at everything Brody does. At three months, he can wear size 6 mos clothes and the newborn sizes are inches too small. So different this time around.

Brody. Brody still so protective and so much wanting to include Liam in everything we do. He plays with Liam when Liam is fussy, and if we don't get to Liam fast enough when he cries, Brody scolds us, "Mommy! Daddy! Liam is CRYING!" He won't sleep over at my mother in law's house anymore because he doesn't want to leave us. He is very much ready for kindergarten, but I worry about teasing. Although he seems to have friends spontaneously at the playground, or the trampoline park. His vocabularly is ever expanding, and he cannot understand why the stepmother in Cinderella is evil, why anyone is ever mean, or why anyone ever steals. He asked me last week if we could change his real name to Bolt, the super dog, and randomly tells me I'm "pretty and beautiful." He also asked for another little brother. (No.)

Our house is bursting with toys and clothes and games and gear and just....crap. I want to get rid of it all but I'm so tired after we get home from work, make dinner, clean up dinner, put the boys to bed, that all I can do is fall into bed myself, perhaps stare blankly at the TV, then pass out. If you saw my car, you'd think I lived in it.

Since I went back to work, I've gotten two bad colds, followed by larnyngitis both times, and sprained my foot falling down the stairs holding Liam (he was unscathed). It's been 3 weeks for the foot, and NO I didn't go to the doctor for any of these things. My foot is still swollen, but it appears to be healing, just stupid slow. I didn't even have sick leave until March 1 since while on FMLA leave we don't accrue sick leave. I started getting ANOTHER sore throat Friday morning. I stopped at Whole Foods on the way home and got echinacea, probiotics and ColdSnap. The ColdSnap has restored my chi. That's what the box says it will do. I feel actually better than I have in weeks. I don't know what chi is but maybe it's like mojo.

Today I slept in from 6am to 830, then we went to the park, walked a MILE around the lake after playing, used a gift card to PF Changs, then J and B went to see Rango while Liam and I came home to nap (this was after much discussion by Brody about how we COULD take Liam to the movies if only we brought a bottle and a diaper).

One last thing: Brody and Liam's school - the one that is not charging us for Brody anymore - is holding a fundraiser. Lots of items under $10 and lots of flower bulbs, chocolate goodies, jewelry, kitchen gadgets. If you want. go to http://www.thefundfactory.com/ and click on "Order online" at the bottom of the page. Remember to give them the code number ACHI28 (allcaps).

May your chi be with you.

A thousand words

2011-03-05T10:29:00.001-07:00

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Melancholy

2011-02-04T23:02:00.000-07:00

It's quiet. It's Friday at 1040pm and everyone is sleeping except for me.

J has the flu. Neither of the boys do. I have laryngitis still.

But it's quiet in my head too. Not peaceful, but quiet. Tired.

This was my first week back to work. Eight weeks old and Liam is at daycare all day. He doesn't seem to mind, he smiles all the time, but I mind.

I don't know if it's because I turned 40 in December, I just gave birth, it's winter, or something else, but...I'm down. What's that word? Anti climactic. Life is anticlimactic these days. I don't know why I'm surprised by this, because you can't really beat "free trip to France" and "miracle baby" in a calendar year. And I didn't expect to. But something is definitely not.... right with me.

It's like everything is exactly the same, but absolutely everything is different.

Work is a powder keg ready to explode. But I'll tell you what, I am blessed there too. With coworkers, if not bosses, who believe in me, stand by me, and pull me up when I'm down. That's one thing about trial lawyers, that us vs. them mentality can really circle around you and make you feel better.

But .... 20 years from now will I care that I went to work? Do I EVER look back on a case and think, yeah, that was worth my time. By the time I arrive on scene, my clients are already getting sued, and they are stressed out, angry, and worried. At the end of the case, even if everything goes well and in my clients' favor, they all think, and many say, "No offense, but I hope I never have to work with you again."

Where's the fun in that?

My mom says to remember that my job is not just to argue, but to fight for justice. Meh.

I am burned out. And I think I realized that just before maternity leave, and I really embraced it during leave. I got a taste of NOT working. I got a taste of being .... just me.

But then everyone hates working, right? No one really adores their job, right?

When I went back to work with Brody, it was almost a relief. I could talk to adults, and think just about myself for a few hours. With Liam... so much is different. With Brody he was so small (3lbs) and so our focus was on growing him, making him bigger, as fast as we can. The smallness of him was not really a blessing. With Liam, the smallness of him is one of my favorite things about him. And I think he's huge, until you sit him next to the giant Addison, age 4 months, at daycare. But I want to soak his smallness into me a little while longer. I want to submerge myself in my boys and our home. I do not want to rush in the mornings, and rush at night, and wish I had more arms to carry the dirty clothes, car seat, blankies, and coats back and forth from home to daycare. I just don't. And I never felt that way until now.

It doesn't help of course that at my job, you are only as valuable as your last mistake, regardless of the hundreds of thousands - millions? - you have saved the clients. The universe could not underline the question better: I'm giving up this for that?

But of course, there are bills to pay. And I make a pretty good living. Not as much as a lawyer working in private practice, but then, I see my kids much more than lawyers in private practice.

The only way I've managed to survive this week is to think to myself, this is temporary. This job, this frantic pace, this failure to stop moving.

Liam smiles with his whole body, just like Brody. They smile at each other for no reason other than they are there, in the same space, usually both on my lap. Brody told me "Me and Liam are the best brothers ever." Liam sleeps a lot and eats even more. Usually, most nights, he gets up once at an obscene hour, then again after 530am. He's getting enormous rolls in his thighs, and a big belly, and cheeks that hang off his face. He smiles in his sleep all the time and when you give him a pacifier, his fists and arms and legs all jump, like they are trying to leap into the pacifier. He nuzzles my neck with his face, and I think I will die of his cuteness when he roots for milk with his mouth.

And it seems kind of wrong that I give that up 10 hours a day to go earn... money. Is that the price I put on Liam and Brody? Is that what they are worth? Or my experience of them is worth?

It's quiet. It's Friday at 11:00pm and everyone is sleeping except for me.

Secret smile

2011-01-13T21:17:00.001-07:00

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Location:On the treetop

Brightness

2011-01-06T22:28:00.001-07:00

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Brodyism with best picture ever

2011-01-03T10:01:00.001-07:00

Me: Brody, don't step on the dog.
B: I'm not, I'm just petting him wis my socks.

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One month

2011-01-02T16:30:00.001-07:00

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Out of the mouths of babes

2010-12-26T22:09:00.001-07:00

Part of the bargain in getting to take Liam home is that we give him subcutaneous Lovenox (blood thinner) shots twice a day. In the (nonexistent) fat of his thigh.

I've given myself thousands of shots. They sting, sometimes they hurt. When you are a baby, however, they make you cry. Not long, 30 seconds or so, but as a parent, as a mother, I know Liam's pain cry, as opposed to his "I'm mad" cry or his "I'm tired, hold me," cry. I can do the shot, but after I'm pretty much crying with Liam. Well, I feel like crying.

Jeremy HATES giving the shots. He curses the hematologist every time, questions his training and medical opinions, and if I don't remind him to do it with me, he won't initiate the shot-giving.

I've figured out a way to give Liam the shots myself. I still hate it though. I've contemplated not doing the shots, but then I think about the clot, and I do the shot.

Brody is fascinated with the process. He wants to be there every time, wants to watch the shot go in.

Tonight he asked, "Does Liam need a shot?"

Me, sighing. "Yes, we should go do it. I hate giving him the shot."

"Does he need it?"

"Yes, but he cries. He doesn't like it."

"He doesn't like da shots? But, mommy, does he NEED da shot?"

"Yes, he does."

"If he needs da shot, den we have to give it to him. Come on."

I know it doesn't seem like much, but Brody somehow validated my sadness and gave me strength to do more shots.

Or I'm sleep deprived and grasping at straws.

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40 before 40

2010-12-22T18:30:00.001-07:00

What a strange year. I was so obsessed with my 40 before 40 list. I was planning my own birthday party.

Instead, I am sleeping with two, sometimes 3, different boys. And I'm celebrating my 40th without any planning or lists whatsoever. 2010 has been quite miraculous so far regardless of my best predictions, so I'll let it ride out the same way.

Except for 1. I've had this one thing on my secret 40 before 40 list since about June:

1. Give birth to a healthy baby.
Status: complete.

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And then there were two...

2010-12-18T22:12:00.001-07:00

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Close the shades

2010-12-16T19:49:00.001-07:00

Too much. Too much. Too much.

Liam's here. I have anxiety dreams that I didn't really give birth, that I was never pregnant. But he's here and I love him love him more than I thought I could.

He was born and fine then had meconium, then fluid on his lungs. But then he recovered. We were supposed to go home December 6.

But we didn't. Well, I did. Liam stayed in the NICU. Because during a renal ultrasound - which he got because his brother has renal abnormalities- they found a blood clot. On his aorta. From the feeding tube in his umbilical line. They also found his kidneys work well, but they have reflux like Brody did.

So today is his 2 week birthday and he's still in the NICU.

At first I was terrified. The doc told me when I was by myself and it was out of the blue and I started crying and when he left I curled up in the fetal position and sobbed in my hospital room. Not again. Not again. Not again.

Then for a few days I got it together and was grateful they found the clot and hopeful and positive and oh how the universe works because if Brody had healthy kidneys we never would have found the clot, etc etc.

Then I lost my hold on perspective and just wanted my baby home. The NICU staff wasn't communicating accurate or timely information and I just crumpled into myself. Jeremy went there one night and the next day everyone was overly, like Stepford wife level, ingratiating to me. But I prefer that. And suddenly we started hearing of home.

And the last two days have been a flurry of the NICU changing Liam's IV heparin into injectable Lovenox that I will inject at home- cause the clot isn't gone yet- and us waiting for labs and ultrasounds and discharge paperwork. The Lovenox needs to be in such a dose that it has to be compounded. Which means a special pharmacy that doesn't take insurance because "most" insurance doesn't cover compounding.

Today I watched them stick Liam repeatedly trying to get blood for the labs- 3 separate sessions of screaming pain- but I hung in and was stoic & comforted him without breaking down because, hell, I'm a mother who has lived through watching her first born deal with 14 surgeries and countless sticks & blood draws & pain & casts & blood & stitches & scars....

Then they told me they didn't get enough blood either time for the labs so we couldn't go home tonight.

And I still held it together because it is tomorrow, only 24 more hours, and we will be home. I can keep it together. Right? Right?

Then the compounding pharmacy called me. The cost of a 3 week supply of Lovenox for a 6 lb baby? $410.

And that, dear readers, is the straw that broke the camel's back.

Have you ever tried not to cry while talking to a pharmacist? It's quite lowering.

And I have officially left the land of gratitude and entered the land of angry-I hate the world-the NICU is hell-why us-why MY babies-why right before Christmas-why can't anything EVER be easy-why can't we EVER get ahead-self pity is my middle name.

And I feel like I'm going to stay here a bit. Extend my tourist visa. Maybe I'll stay here illegally. I googled how not to feel sorry for oneself. "Be grateful" "get some perspective" blah blah blah.

I'm done. I want my son home. NOW. I want meds covered by insurance that we pay for. I want a happy birth experience. I want to hold my child whenever I want. I want privacy when I care for my child. I want to breastfeed my son without leads and alarms going off. I want to feel like it's Christmas. I want to take my son home when I get discharged. I want to be ignorant of pulse ox monitors and medical expense tax deductions. I want two nurses who have 50 years experience between them to be able to draw .9 ml of blood without torturing my child with repeated, bruising, excruciating needle insertions. Save your fucking apologies and do it right. I want my sons to MEET EACH OTHER for chrissakes. I want to not have my 4 year old catch me crying in the fucking laundry room. I want to scream, and rage, and hug my boys at the same time and not have to worry about their life expectancy and how we pay for all of the medical bills and how we make our sons happy and healthy and secure. I want a longer maternity leave.

I've become a sociopath. I have no ability to feel sympathy or empathy for anyone but me. And I have a great amount of rage. Directed at .... What? Everyone? Everything? Nothing at all?

It's just too much too much too much.

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The first 3 days

2010-12-05T15:18:00.001-07:00

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Location:E 14th Ave,Denver,United States

Early Christmas gift

2010-12-03T22:16:00.001-07:00

Today was rough. Liam is still in the NICU, and Brody is completely scared that I'm in the hospital. He won't climb on the bed with me, but he doesn't want to leave me either. This is added to the disappointment that Brody hasn't yet met Liam because Liam is in the NICU, and kids aren't allowed in cold and flu season.

And we havent held Liam yet because he had the CPAP headgear on.

So it was very upsetting to me tonight when Brody broke down tonight. Jeremy was taking him home and J told him they'd have a "boys night" and Brody crumbled. "No! I don't want to have a boys night! I want us all to be together! I don't wanna leave!" and then, sobbing, he crawled under the chair in my hospital room and closed his eyes.

Then I started crying, and when we hugged he cried those body shaking sobs and I had absolutely no words of consolation for him. He doesn't understand and I miss him too.

Then they left, J carrying a wet-faced, sniffling, bereft Brody, and then I was alone. One son needs me to cuddle him and play with him but I can't and a new son needs me to feed him and cuddle him and I can't.

After crying some more, I went to the NICU and sat with Liam, holding his hand through the window of the crib.

Then the nurse asked if I wanted to hold him. She took off the CPAP gear, and I got to hold my Liam.

And all the months of worry and fear and hidden love came out and I started crying all over again and told him all the things I'd wanted to tell him for forever and he looked at me and squeezed my fingers and his hair feels like velvet and I can't even tell when I'm touching his skin he's so soft and he fell asleep in my arms and I fell asleep in his and for those two hours, all was right in the world.

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Liam

2010-12-02T18:01:00.001-07:00

5lbs, 9oz, 19 1/2 inches, loved and loved and loved and loved

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Location:Forest St,Denver,United States

THIS week?!?

2010-11-29T22:25:00.001-07:00

Just over 48 hours. Getting extremely nervous. Having twinges of dark thoughts reminiscent of Brody's terrifying entry into this world.

If I don't immediately answer my phone, I get repeat calls until I do to make sure I haven't given birth. (Trust me, when little man arrives, I'm going to put the royal engagement announcement to shame).

Brody is SO excited. J and I.... are excited? Ok, we are .... deer in headlights? In denial? Feeling overwhelmed already? Looking forward to the percoset I get? In disbelief still? I mean, I've been in disbelief for months. But for a few days it seemed like we had caught up with reality. But reality has lapped us once again.

Christmas tree up, 3 stockings up, car seat installed, batteries for swing in place. J asked me which hospital I am giving birth at, and I knew the answer.

So, you know, we are completely on top of it.

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Brodyism

2010-11-28T06:52:00.001-07:00

On the carousel today, he hadn't been on one for a few months, he was squealing and giggling with pure kid glee. Then he said, still laughing, "I can't keep my mowf closed!"

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Sinking....in

2010-11-26T16:38:00.000-07:00

Hello. My name is Christine. I'm 39 years old. I've been pregnant 7 times in my life. I've given birth to one son, at 33 weeks. He had 14 surgeries before he turned 3 because of Vacterl association. But now he is healthy and very, very happy. I never thought I could carry another baby to viability, let alone term. Today, I'm 39 weeks pregnant with my second son. It does not seem like he has Vacterl or any other anomalies.

I just wrote that because I never thought I would.

Today was my last day at work.

I cleaned out my office, organized my files. Found my obgyn appointment card. You know, the one with the entire pregnancy's list of appointments? I did it. I made all of the appointments.

Had my final appointment Wednesdsay. All is well.

Watched Toy Story 3 with Brody. Became complete sobbing mess at the end. I'm not allowed to watch it anymore.

Started to mourn the loss of just the two of us, Brody and me, and the three of us, Brody, Jeremy and me. Brody sandwiches, with Brody between me and J on our bed watching tv.

Then there is the utter incomprehensibility of meeting the little one inside of me right now. In.6.days. At the latest.

C-section is December 2, at 7am mst. We are at the hospital at 5am, checking in to labor and delivery.

Had some contractions Tuesday night. Nothing much though. They went away and have not returned.

We're putting up the Christmas tree this weekend. I have 4 stockings. Not putting them up until .... next weekend?

I find myself either giggling spontaneously or crying uncontrollably.

What an unfathomable, mystifying week this will be.

Brodyisms.

2010-11-22T16:31:00.000-07:00

I am huge. I shock people when they haven't seen me in a week or two. I didn't think I was a vain person as far as my appearance, but WOW am I ever these days. Which is so pathetic.

I can barely see the book in front of me when I read to Brody each night. I've given up bending over. I have really sharp pains just trying to move around. I waddle, and people stare at me in public. As in, holy hell, she's still pregnant??

Anyway, two nights ago I was reading to Brody, and I couldn't even stomach (ha!) sitting up to read to him. When we finished the book, I fell back against the sofa, and said more to myeslf than Brody, "One day mommy will be pretty again. And I won't be stinky anymore."
And he replied, "You're pretty even if you ARE stinky."

Shamelessly fishing for more compliments, I said "I am?"

"Yeah," he said, "even when you're stinky you're pretty."
*************************************************
Brody: Will my bruzza be my friend?

Me: Yes, he will. He's going to love you and you're going be his best friend.

Brody: Good.

I love that kid. This little one has some big shoes to fill. Even if he is his own miracle.

Ten days.

38. Thirty eight!!! Weeks, that is.

2010-11-18T14:40:00.000-07:00

14 days.

Two weeks from this moment, I will have a new son to hold (December 2, 2010)

38 week appointment stats: no change in weight from last week.

I have fat face though. And my wedding ring is a smidge tight. No edema elsewhere though.

Blood pressure: 112/72
Non stress test: excellent. Baby doing really well. Having some contractions, the kind I can't feel, but show up on the monitor. But my other parts aren't dilated.

Doc said I do NOT have to be on magnesium sulfate if I never develop pre-eclampsia. That would be lovely. I remember - sort of - mag sulfate. I couldn't sit up (kept tipping over in the bed), I couldn't cool down (had the room down to 50 and was still flushed and sweating), I had no muscle control, I didn't want to move, talk or keep my eyes open. People would talk to me and I'd just pass out in the middle of their sentence. For 24 hours after delivery. Complete blob. But, you know, I lived through pre-eclampsia with no seizures, so win-win.

One more doctor visit before the c-section - next Wednesday. Then I work the day after Thanksgiving, then..... FIVE DAYS OFF before the c-section! Don't tell my husband, but I might act like I'm on mag sulfate for some of those days.

This weekend I have a baby shower to attend - and it's mine! I'm very lucky some friends at work insisted on throwing it for me. I am much more excited about it than I thought I would be.
Baby room. Well, the stuff is in there. Except for the dresser. That's in the garage. Bit of a problem. Baby's clothes are all washed. Sheets are on the crib and changing pad. It's just that my clothes, Brody's clothes, guest bed comforter, and our comforters all need to be washed. And put away. God I hate putting laundry away. What is this nesting thing? I don't have that gene.
Winding down at work. Male coworkers are being really sweet. One coworker, a single man in his 50s with no kids, remarked how much better this pregnancy was going than the other one, and how happy he was about that. It was very sweet not just because of what he said, but because *he* said it. sigh. The HR lady volunteered to calculate how much leave I have and will need (I have enough time for one week of paid leave!) and advised me to apply for the leave bank. More love. The rest of my coworkers are surprised every day when I walk in the door. If I'm late a little bit, they start to worry and I get texts and calls (so far, I'm only late because it takes longer to waddle from the parking lot than to walk).

Then my husband. Sometimes I just catch him looking at my stomach. It's huge, really. He still hasn't felt the bubba moving, but he's felt a stationery head and/or bottom and freaked out over it. I love making him feel the baby's body parts.

Then Brody, sweet Brody. In the freezer aisle at the grocery store, he asked me for a hug, and while I was crouched down to give him one, he said, "The 3 of us are hugging each ozzer."
And every night he asks me to sing the "Brody Love Song," as we call it, this silly little song I made up when he was a little baby and crying and I wanted to soothe him. I've added in the name we think his brother will have:
Daddy loves mommy,
Daddy loves Brody,
Daddy loves [probable name of brother]
Daddy loves the doggies.

We are one big family,
Everybody loves.
We are one big family,
And we like to hug.

Then the next verse switches the names around (and so on) so every one of us is mentioned: Mommy loves daddy, mommy loves Brody, etc etc. Sometimes I have to sing just the parts when he and his brother are the subjects of the sentence (or objects?)

Anyway.

14 days.

Brody's choice

2010-11-16T21:02:00.001-07:00

I gave the letter talking about Brody's arms to the parents a couple of weeks ago. A few of the moms complimented me on it, and thanked me for it too. Since then, Brody hasnt brought up his arms. Until tonight.

Tonight, just as I was tucking Brody into his bed, he said, out of the blue, "So no one asks me about my arms anymore."

"How do you feel about that?"

"No one know 'bout my arms."

"And how do you feel about that?"

"How long does it take for a checkup?"

"We don't need a checkup, honey. But if you want your arm straight, we can go to the doctor and put a cast on it, and make it straight. If you want."

"Hmmm.... Let me think about dat..." (putting his finger up to his chin like he's contemplating).

"I like your arm just the way it is. But if you want it straight, we can make it straight."

"No, I don't want it straight cause I can still hold stuff wis it."

"Ok, then we don't need a checkup. If you ever want it straight, you just tell mommy or daddy and we can get the cast on. Ok?"

"Ok."

Then we had this "photo shoot" with him hanging off the side of his bed.

I love this person.

-Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

When are you above it all?

2010-11-16T12:33:00.000-07:00

I have learned of something recently that I will not get into detail about here. But this bit of information - about someone talking about me in a negative way - bothers me.

I don't know why it bothers me so much. Can I blame the hormones?

But here is my question. When do you rise above personal conflict and "let it go"? And when is the right time to address an issue? Which is which?

I never, ever, EVER thought I'd say this.......

2010-11-11T13:37:00.000-07:00

Having been through 5 miscarriages, and then having a baby at 33 weeks, I have, at times, not been.... sympathetic to women's complaints in their last weeks of pregnancy. As in, how dare they complain about the insomnia, discomfort, etc. I *wish* I could be that pregnant. Etc.

So when I say this, this is really something I never, ever, EVER thought I would feel, let alone say: I want the baby to come out now. Safely and healthfully, but my patience is at an end.

I'm not even that uncomfortable, but I just want to meet him already and hold him and kiss him and love on him. What does he look like and sound like and smell like? Plus, I'm a waddling walrus. Also, I want to make our Christmas cards.

Had my 37 week appointment today. BP was 102/78, non stress test was awesome (I think he was actually kicking or punching the monitor on my stomach for a bit), and I do not have gestational diabetes. The nurse informed me when she showed my obgyn the non stress test results that the doc "has huge smiles on her face." I got the DTaP vaccine. Cervix is closed. No contractions whatsoever.
It's like the farther this pregnancy goes, the better I get at being pregnant. Which, if you had told me 8 months ago, I would have laughed at you. I mean, I turn 40 in a month. Look at my history. And yet.... It's strange to learn something about yourself that you thought was so elemental and instrinsic, and turns out, you were wrong. The story in my head was that I was bad at being pregnant, that my body wasn't good at it, didn't like it, and frankly, didn't want it.

But I'm here. And not likely to go anywhere anytime soon.

My coworkers are throwing me a shower on November 21 at one of their houses. Not only do I get better at being pregnant, but good fortune is being thrown at us in waves. . . .

I packed my hospital bag. Turns out, when you're doing a c-section, the majority of things they list in a hospital bag are unnecessary. I have going home clothes and toiletries. I thought about bringing a novel to read, but then I thought someone would laugh at me.

Brody. My sweetness. It seems like we are getting daily deliveries of presents for the baby, left on our front porch or brought over by people. And he gets SO excited about them, thinking they are for him. But when we tell him not ("No, honey, it's a car seat base for your brother") his smile dims for a millisecond and then brightens again and he says "Oh yay! Let's put it togezzer!" We definitely need to give him some quality time in the next couple of weeks. I didn't think I could love him more, but then he does this....

I asked B if he could tell his brother anything right now, what would it be? I was thinking he would start talking about Spiderman, or Buzz Lightyear, or the dogs. But you know what he said? "I'd say I love him." Then he said, "I'm gonna tell him right now," and spoke into my bellybutton, "I love you." And then he kissed my belly.

This is how he looks brushing off my car in the morning.

How does your heart not break from being filled up with this much love?

Our village

2010-11-09T15:39:00.000-07:00

We moved the futon/couch out of the “guest” room and into Brody’s room. My mom - who I am happy to report insisted on coming as early as possible - is coming on December 7, and she is sleeping on it – with Brody – in his room. (Brody says he and Oma are sleeping on it, and I can sleep in the race car bed).

Now the “guest” room has been transformed back into a baby’s room (it was Brody’s baby room when he was a bubba). I saved the bedding from Brody because I couldn’t stand the thought of giving it up (It's puppy-themed). The crib, changing table, glider, diaper champ, lamp, bouncy seat, boppy,and toys are all in that room. Jeremy and I stood in there on Sunday once we had figured the configuration of the furniture and …. soaked in the surreal moment of silence. How can the same things look so different?

I’m 36 weeks. The doctor said if I go into labor, they won’t stop it. The baby measured 5 lbs, 1 oz two weeks ago. I keep thinking of the phrase, “It takes a village…” Not only have friends completely stepped up and given us 90% of the baby gear we need (stroller, bumbo, boppy, swing, crib, hundreds of pieces of clothes and toys), but I feel the remnants of Brody’s birth experience, too.
For example, a few weeks ago at work a tragedy occurred. The kind of thing that resulted in grief counselors coming to see us. One day in the midst of the aftermath, it was quiet. I mean, eerily quiet, in the normally loud and bustling office. My coworker said, “It hasn’t been this quiet since Brody was born.” I asked her to explain, thinking she meant that I was out on leave. She relayed to me that my coworkers were terrified and heartbroken when he was born because no one knew if he would live or not. (We didn’t know until he was born about his medical issues). For example, a male coworker who is in his late 40s, single, with no kids, apparently was crying, saying "What happened?" And no one talked except in hushed tones to hear the latest test results, silent in their worry for us. I had no idea.

Then there’s our neighborhood. We live on a close knit cul de sac. Half the people are original owners who moved into their houses in the 1960’s, and are now grandparents with children our age, and half the people are our age and younger having children. We wave to each other coming and going, and collect each others’ mail when we’re out of town. I only realized recently the impact of Brody's birth, and his brother's, because so many of them are asking, with sweet and serious upturned brows, “How are you doing? How’s the little one?” And the smiles I get when I say I’m doing well are so oddly genuine..... We’ve had many offers that if we go into labor in the middle of the night, please knock on their door, they’ll come over and watch Brody.…It makes my heart flip flop.
Then there are the doctors. My obgyn’s first name is Honey, and I think she is younger than me, but she is exactly her name. She is lovely and sweet. My non stress test is good, my blood pressure is good, and the labs they run on my blood show that my liver and kidneys are still functioning (symptom of preeclampsia). She grins wider and wider each time she sees me. It's infectious. I still can't wrap my head around our good fortune, and the doctor is beaming at me.

And then there are the moments when Brody spontaneously comes over to me, and wraps his arms around my stomach and says, "I'm hugging my brudder, mommy."

I feel blessed beyond words and beyond measure. Not only do we get to fill that crib once, but twice, and we get to experience the saturation of love from all the parts of our life: family, friends, coworkers, neighbors and doctors.

This weekend I also dug out the red Christmas stocking, the 40 year old stocking that I came home in, the one he’ll come home in.

And it dawned on me that this might be the happiest December of my life.

Magic? Miracle?

2010-11-03T10:38:00.000-06:00

“Out of difficulties grow miracles.”

~Jean de la Bruyere

The quote above is the quote used by the Vacterl Association. I’ve always loved it. It summarizes perfectly my miscarriages, and Brody, and so many other things I’ve experienced. Like winning a free trip to France. Like the generous angel who has regularly been sending us money to pay for the meds for this pregnancy. Like the fact that this baby is still here, growing, inside my body, my body that at one time was almost a professional miscarriager, despite not doing any kind of immune treatments beforehand.

This latest thing….I do not know how to describe this feeling. Joy. Relief. Humbled.

“That's the thing with magic. You've got to know it's still here, all around us,

or it just stays invisible for you.”

~ Charles de Lint

As you know, we love our daycare: A Child’s View Preschool. Brody has attended for 2 years. They are the ones who insisted that they would pick up Brody from his preschool every day – even though they don’t travel to schools that far away from the daycare for anyone else - instead of letting him go to another daycare.

We informed them that our new son would be attending too. And then did the math. For two full-time tuition, one infant, one pre-K, it’s tight on our budget. Razor thin margin of error. Not unlike many families.

But it was not such an expense that would justify J or me quitting our jobs to go full-time at home (we checked).

Then, yesterday, Tracy, the assistant director, informed me that she and Kim, the executive director, were talking about us (?) and they thought that they could help us out, seeing as how we’d been through so much with Brody. Now, we’re never late on payments, we’ve never discussed finances with the daycare, although they do know that little man is a big surprise.

Nevertheless, Tracy said that once the baby starts going to daycare there (in February) ($205/week including formula), that they will not charge us for Brody’s care. ($170/week).

I made her repeat it a couple of times to make sure I heard her right. This is a business. With employees and people to pay and rent.

But I heard her right.

After drying my eyes and hugging her, I rushed home to tell Jeremy. He questioned me too: Really? Seriously? No way. That’s crazy. Who does that?

Who does that? Not half off, but free. Until he starts kindergarten in late August.

“The universe is full of magical things,

patiently waiting for our wits to grow sharper.”

~Eden Phillpotts

What do you say when "thank you" could never be enough?

That's enough of that

2010-11-02T12:48:00.001-06:00

Brody sleeps in a twin size race car bed, meaning it’s lower to the floor than a regular bed, and one has to pull oneself up to get over the sides of the “car” before exiting.

It is rather difficult to elevate myself into and out of the thing lately. Think of a beetle stuck on its back.

I’m having round ligament pain, which feels like my sides are being ripped apart when I try to use my “ab muscles” for such things like twisting and bending, rising or sneezing. All of this is an excuse for what happens next.

Usually, Brody and I read books in bed, then I turn out the light, and I lay with him. It’s getting almost impossible for me to lever myself out of that bed.

The last couple of nights, we’ve been changing the routine: we read books in the chair, then he climbs into bed, and I stay in the chair and sing to him until he falls asleep.

Reading in the chair really wasn’t working last night. My stomach protrudes, and he is almost falling off my lap, and neither of us is very comfortable.

So after we read the books, he climbs into bed and I turn off the lights. “Stay in da chair and rock, mommy.”

“Ok.”

“And sing. Sing twinkle twinkle, itsy bitsy spider, den rock a bye baby.”

“Ok.” So I do. Then I notice that he’s watching me from the bed.

“What are you doing?” I ask with a smile.

“I like watching you rock” he says. Aw hell.

I keep singing. I finish the songs. He’s still watching me, curled up with his hands under his cheek, just watching.
“I like hugging you mommy,” he says, very quietly. Come ON.

I get up to give him a hug. Then climb into bed with him, ligament pain be damned.

I’m having a moment. You know, those parenting/mommy moments where you sort of exhale and think all is Right with our world? We’re cuddled up and reasonably comfortable, despite the beach ball between us. I’m stroking his hair with my hand, watching him fall asleep, relishing these last moments of just me and him.

Right up until he grabs my hand - the one that is stroking his hair - and says “Ok, mommy. Dats enough of dat.”

Moment over.

Here's how I am

2010-10-25T16:38:00.000-06:00

My sis sent me a care package (as have her 2 daughters) and I get teary eyed. Clothes for the boys (boys!!!) from my alma mater, teensy weensy monkey shoes, a wall stencil that says “every day holds the possibility of miracles” for the baby’s room, presents for Brody, presents to take care of me, presents to pay for the baby. They made me feel like I was swaddled.

On the other hand, we’re working on finances. You can imagine how that is. I called to cancel HBO and Showtime, and instead Directv knocked down our cost for those two by 66%, gave us a $50 credit, a free HD DVR, and free installation of the DVR. I wish our mortgage company or day care would do that.

I’m 34 weeks. I’ve never been this pregnant. I waddle, and I can feel his head (or butt) and his kicks and hiccups all the time. Most shirts and pants ride up, or down, respectively. My last blood pressure at the doctor’s was 110/68. Yes, I’m on meds for it, but ….. that's fairly outstanding. No other signs of pre-eclampsia. I do start stress tests next week.

I’ve been concentrating so hard on making it this far, and I somehow feel surprised that I did. I really didn’t think I would. It highlights for me how bad my prenatal care was with Brody, because I had pre-eclampsia that essentially went un-treated for weeks, I see now.

Here I am at 34 weeks, with nothing to do. Oh, we still have to do the baby's room; it is still the guest bedroom. Know why? Because I figure that “when” I get admitted to the hospital for pre-eclampsia, Jeremy can do the room without me. I figure “when” baby is in the NICU for a while, we can finish up his room at home. I was actually looking forward to a day or two in [hospital] bed before giving birth, time for the lung maturation shot to take effect. Watch TV and read books all day. I’m prepared for the unexpected!

How the universe must enjoy my lessons. Just when I thought I had accepted that I had no control over this process, the universe sends me for a loop. December 1 is looking more and more likely. We scheduled the c-section for that date. (Although I dreamt I gave birth November 23)

I'm full of distraction, procrastination, a desire to bake lemon bread, envy for those who can drink stiff drinks (I salivated at the sight of a martini the other night), interest in things pagan, setting boundaries, increased difficulty in twisting and rising from bed, adoration for Brody as always, and putting up with my husband when I can stand it. Hubs did wash the walls behind the sofa this weekend and deep cleaned the bathrooms and kitchen. But he made me help him, so he’s not that great.

Right after this photo was taken from my office this morning, all hell broke lose with a wicked rainstorm, and most of the leaves on these trees disappeared:

Wordless Wednesday

2010-10-20T18:45:00.001-06:00

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Revelation?

2010-10-19T04:41:00.001-06:00

A few nights ago, in the living room, Brody was playing with parts of an erector set. He had two sticks, and he said they were his baby.

He went to Jeremy and imitated, with disturbing accuracy, the incessant "Wah wah wah" of a newborn. Then Brody said in a soothing, lilting voice, "Its okay, baby. It's okay." And the "baby" stopped crying.

Jeremy muttered under his breath, "So, basically, you're more ready for this baby than I am."

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Update

2010-10-13T12:44:00.000-06:00

I just found this blog and am in love with that little boy. He is SO cute. Not to mention that this is a spectacular list of books for me to read at B's school. The rest of the blog has lots of pictures, and is very interesting to read about their adventures.

I talked some more to B about the questions. He's pretty secure - we say "Nothing's wrong with my arm, it's not a big deal, I was just born like that," etc.

I asked him which friend asked him about his arm. He said, "a lot of dem do." :-( I think I know it was daycare, not preschool. So that's where I'm volunteering first.

He still likes going to school. But he has been sleeping with us every night. Still scared of the dark.

So I'm going to his school at some point, not sure when, to read some books about differences. And I'm re-drafting and re-deciminating the letter to parents (and teachers) because, well, everyone needs to be educated.

I also got in trouble from MY mom for not telling her I was contracting. Sorry mutti. I didn't want to worry her, but then she read it HERE.

My contractions stopped by the time I went to sleep Friday night. They haven't returned. I think I was very dehydrated. I'm off bedrest - didn't even need to go see doctor. Have been at work and feeling very good. In a walrus sort of waddling way.

Here's a question for those moms with partners: when I go play with Brody, I rarely ask J to join in. I view it as Mommy/B time, and as Daddy rest time. When J goes off to play with B, though, the most 'break' I get is 3 minutes, then it's screaming for me to come and join them in the fun. But I just wanted to watched My Fair Wedding or The Office episode I missed or read Us Weekly. It's so annoying. I love playing with B, but sometimes, it's nice to have some me time, especially since I'm about to lose ME time for a long time in a few weeks. Anyway, do other partners do this? Or is it just me and my one friend's, to whom I've already complained? :-)

Finally, we decided not to do the 3D/4D ultrasound. $159 is just too much - it's pretty much the budget for furnishing the rest of bubba's room. I'm hoping this means bubba will stay put long enough to make it to the scheduled December 1 c-section.

Already?

2010-10-08T21:51:00.001-06:00

I thought about 2 hours ago that I'd be blogging about my contractions. But now, I have this thing to write. Because I feel so inadequte to deal with it. Oh, the contractions have slowed. I'm on bedrest.

I was laying with Brody after we read our books for the night. We talked about letters and sounds they make. And then he said, "My friends ask me what's wrong wis my arm." And he held up his right arm.

I asked him what he said to them. He said, "I tell dem I'm getting a checkup."

I asked him how he felt when they asked that question. I said, "Do you feel happy? Or sad? Or strange?"

He was silent and he wouldn't look at me. He said finally, "I feel strange. I feeled ..... embarrassed."

And then I hugged him so hard and I told him he had nothing, nothing to be embarrassed about and that his arms were perfect and beautiful just the way they are and I love him and his arms and his nose and when someone asks him what's wrong with his arm he should say "Nothing" and then I told him he was just born that way and he can do everything he wants to and it's cool to be different and have a hand that looks different because it's boring to be the same. And he was hugging me like I was hugging him and my tears were falling into his hair and I just kept telling him over and over how much I loved him and how wonderful and beautiful he is.....

And then I said, "what do we say when your friends ask what's wrong with your arm?" and he said, "Nothing!" and I said "And it's cool to be different," and he said "Yeah! Cool," and he started playing with a toy that he'd been holding and because of how his wrist is bent he can fit it into a part of the toy so I said how cool it was that he could do that with his hand and how his friends couldn't do that....I couldn't do that.

Then he was quiet again and I asked him what he was thinking about and he said what to be for Halloween and now he wants to be Superman. And I made him laugh and giggle, and held him until he fell asleep.

But what the hell?

Already? He feels shame, and that's on us, isn't it? We missed it, and our boy felt ashamed of himself. And I never want him to feel embarrassed again.

So what do I do? We tell him we love his arms but he hears us talking to OTs and surgeons about straightening it. Is that how he learned it? How do I make whatever he learned that made him feel bad go away?

My beautiful, sweet, smart, strong son.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Updates

2010-10-07T15:27:00.000-06:00

Copied from B's carepages:

I'm really writing this update as a call for information, if any of you have experience with bilateral radial hypoplasia (club hands).

First, some background: Brody was born without thumbs and without radius bones in his forearms. When one does not have radius bones, the hands grow inward - at around 90 degrees (or more). The first surgical step is to centralize (ie, straighten) the wrist, so that it comes off the arm at 180 degrees, not 90 (increasing reach and functionality).

We've done that on both of Brody's arms. One arm - the left, dominant hand - is doing a great job at staying straight. The other arm has a mind of its own, and has come back to almost 90 degrees, despite the surgery.

We've consulted with Shriners and with the occupational therapists at Children's Hospital in Denver. Here is the gist of what they say: this happens. Sometimes the surgery doesn't work as well as we would hope. It's a constant tension/battle between surgical procedure vs. an arm that naturally grows its own way, ie, 90 degrees. When Brody reaches skeletal maturity, at 16 or 17 or 18, we can - if Brody wants - surgically fuse the hand onto the end of the wrist, so this issue does not reappear in adulthood.

The options we are faced with now are:

1. Re-do the surgery. Risks? Affecting the growth plate on that arm, stunting that arm's growth (his arms are already around 60% of average arm length).

2. Serial casting. Putting Brody in an arm cast to hold his hand at 180 degrees, for 3 weeks, to stretch the tendons out. Then creating a night splint that Brody sleeps in.

3. Night splint only.

4. Nothing.

We've told Brody repeatedly - since he is now at the age that he can understand what we're tlaking about at doctors' appointments - that we love his arms and think his hands are marvelous. In fact, the OT said his right thumb was stronger than his left, and he uses it more. Nevertheless, Brody says he wants the right hand to get straight. Why? Two reasons: 1. He wants it "to match" his other arm; and 2. He wants to be able to shoot webs (a la Spiderman) from his right arm.

I'm in the less-is-more camp. Maybe try night splinting to see if we get any stretch and see how it goes. The good news is that, according to all OT's, while Brody has fine motor "delays" he can do everything he wants to do with the hands as they are right now.

We're waiting to get another opinion from a hand surgeon in Denver. In the meantime, if anyone has any experience with this, we'd love to hear your thoughts!

Other than that, all is well. I had an ultrasound on Brody's little brother today - 32 weeks! He is growing right on track, with a due date of December 3. My blood pressure is still nicely controlled, and I saw the baby blink on the ultrasound, and he has hair! We scheduled the c-section for December 1, in case I make it that far. The bubba weighs as much as Brody did when he was born: 3 lbs, 12 oz. Now all we need to do is firm up a name (Brody and I have a favorite, but Jeremy is still on the fence).

Thank you for checking in!

Brodyisms, and gossip from daycare

2010-09-29T15:37:00.000-06:00

Brody is starting to tell me the news from daycare. We always ask how his day was (then he asks how ours were). It's very cute.

Lately, he's told me the following:

Zach called the teacher "stupid" and then he ran under the grey table and the teacher was maaaaad. And he said, "Miss Susan, you are stupid" and then he ran.

Cadence cries a lot because she takes toys that aren't hers and puts them in her cubby.

Noah pooped on the floor of the bathroom, and Mr. David had to clean it up and he wasn't happy at Noah. (Brody laughed and laughed and laughed)

***************************************

Also, I took Brody to work one day, and as we were driving home, we passed by the State capitol. I said, "Look Brody, that's where the people make the laws!"

He said, "Day make da laws?"

I said, "Yes! That's where they make laws!"

And then he said, "And where day eat squirrels?"

***************************************

Also, he received a transformer Bumblebee for his birthday. It's one of the ones that actually transforms from yellow car to yellow robot. Last night at dinner, he was examining underneath the car, and proclaimed, "Dere's Bumblebee's arms, and feet, and penis." Because, really, why wouldn't a transformer robot have one?

***************************************

The boys went to Shriners last week - a post for a different day - to have an exam done on Brody's right hand. The right hand is back to 90 degrees off the wrist, and the fingers are very stiff and not moveable. For example, when Brody shoots webs while playing Spiderman, he only uses his left hand (this becomes important in a second). The issue up for discussion is whether to do another surgery on that hand to get it straighter (and increase his reach by 3 inches). I talked to Brody about whether he wanted the surgery. I told him I really like his right hand just the way it is. He thought about it, and then said, "No I want da doctor to make my hand straight. So I can shoot webs wis it."

And that's why Brody is not quite in charge of his medical care.

Obsession

2010-09-23T16:33:00.000-06:00

Obsessed.

No longer with Christmas.

But definitely with baby.

What did I think about before?

I’ve had birth dreams two nights in a row – all goes well. Mostly. In one story, the OR where I will have my c-section is attached to the mall, and I get lost in the mall – hospital gown and IV pole attached – and can’t find my way back to the OR part. Even when I’m rollerskating around the mall. In the other dream, after he is born, J and I have to attend a “political” rally with the baby, who just sort of slid out of me painlessly (turns out the rally is really more of a religious cult, looking back but I don’t think that’s the point of the dream).

But the baby is fine and healthy in these dreams. And very cute.

I watched NICU while home with a cold this week. I look for pictures of newborns. They are so squishy and wee. I look for baby announcements and silly, adorable hats for him to wear.

I registered at Target, for goodness sakes. After telling Jeremy it was inappropriate because it’s our second baby.

Brody heard us talking about whether we will have a shower (I did state firmly that that was inappropriate). Then later that day, Brody said, "If we put my brudder in da shower, den he will grow."

We have a name, I think. Brody sort of picked it. We had a few and this name is the one he liked. It was strange how opinionated Brody was about the name. No to this one, no to that one. Firmly and without hesitation. Brody listens every day to his brother, lifting my shirt up wherever we are, and putting his ear to my stomach. I’ll ask him what his brother is doing, and he’ll say “Babies don’t talk” and then explain that his brother is farting or drinking milk.

My friend Stacy dropped off a truckload of baby toys and, naturally, Brody loves to play with them. But when Mocha, the dog, started sniffing one, Brody said, “No, Mocha! Dat’s fer my brudder!”

We have a changing table in our living room because the “baby’s” room is still a guest room because we have nowhere to put the bed at the moment. I think if we actually put the baby’s room together right now, I might never leave it.

I want him here now, but not now really but closer to Thanksgiving but I wish it was mid-November right about now.

I want to see what he looks like, who he looks like and whether he has black hair like Brody did ...

My birthday is December 23, and the legend goes that I came home in a giant red and white Christmas stocking on Christmas day.

Years ago, my mom gave me that same Christmas stocking.

I want to bring him home in it.

Insight

2010-09-20T14:26:00.000-06:00

Lately, the last several weeks, I've been obsessed with a holiday.

Christmas, in fact.

Yes, I'm born right before Christmas, yes, it's my favorite time of year. But really, since July I would say, when I bought a Christmas tree or two, (since cancelled) I have been bewitched by Christmas.

Why?

I have figured it out.

I am fixated by Christmas because I want the bubba to be here, safe and sound.

And by Christmas, he will be.

And that is when I can rest easy.

I'm torn this whole time, still. After viability, after entering the third trimester, after feeling him kick every day. I’m still unable to be completely believe it will be okay. It’s so improbable, it’s so fantastical and miraculous and unexpected and incredible, how can it come to actually happen?

I feel better knowing why I was obsessed with Christmas. It makes it feel less urgent to happen.

And I have forgiven myself for not ever fully embracing pregnancy. It's like, for me, embracing open heart surgery. Yes, it is miraculous when it works, but I've seen it fail too often.

But I do know that I am grateful for pregnancy. Even when I look forward to its successful conclusion with a compulsive bent.

And as for the why, as in, why do I get so lucky twice, this quote came into my head this weekend:

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio
Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.

I don't have to know the why. At least, not yet.

What's the word I'm looking for?

2010-09-14T10:50:00.001-06:00

Remember my dispute with my health insurance company and how they wouldn't cover the generic form of my Lovenox even though it was 1/4 the price of name brand? (aka, $50 copay every 6 days vs $10 copay every 6 days) (United Healthcare said my plan only authorized 6 days supply at a time)

Well, the next time - after my latest 6 day supply ran out - that I went to fill my prescription for Lovenox, Target told me I had to call my insurance company.

Uh-oh.

But not really.

Because now somehow I got mail order meds.

Will they send only 6 days supply at a time? And only name brand?

Let's examine the evidence that was delivered at 9am today.

Answers to the above questions: No. And no.

I just paid $10 for 60 doses of GENERIC Lovenox. (aka 30 days supply). Somehow generic IS covered by my plan. And they CAN fill more than 6 days at a time. What a miracle!!!

Asshats.

Question: what's the word for what my insurance company has been doing to me this whole time? Fleecing? Tricking? Lying?

Something stronger?

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Trying to get to Chapter 5

2010-09-09T15:38:00.000-06:00

I'm borrowing this from Jacque. And I have determined that learning to move from chapters 1 through 4 to chapter 5 is painful.

Autobiography in 5 Simple Chapters

By Portia Nelson

Chapter One

I walk down the street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I fall in.

I am lost .... I am helpless.

It isn't my fault.

It takes forever to find a way out.

Chapter Two

I walk down the street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I pretend that I don't see it.

I fall in again.

I can't believe I am in this same place.

But, it isn't my fault.

It still takes a long time to get out.

Chapter Three

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I see it is there.

I still fall in ... it's a habit ... but, my eyes are open.

I know where I am.

It is my fault.

I get out immediately.

Chapter Four

I walk down the same street.

There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.

I walk around it.

Chapter Five

I walk down another street.

Give me strength

2010-09-07T17:02:00.000-06:00

I had such high hopes on Friday. I had a very very good weekend. Three days.

Then Tuesday came. I know it's whiny, but here you go.

Locked myself and Brody out of the house.

While trying to access another door, drove a (probably lead based) paint chip half way undernearth my thumbnail.

Didn't settle a case. Going to trial September 20.

Daycare forgot to pick up B at preschool, so I got a million calls during court from work and preschool.

Tried the pretzel M&M's to console myself. Meh. B-. More like malt balls than pretzels and chocolate.

OH and one more thing. The geniuses who cleaned out the fridge at work on Friday (we all rotate) for some dumb reason turned OFF the fridge while cleaning it (WTF?) and then FORGOT to turn it back on. So my popsicles and my lunches for the week are kaput.

And...let's talk healthcare.

Name brand meds for the month cost my insurance company: $1600+

Generic meds for the month cost my insurance company: $366

You'd think that my insurance company,United Healthcare, would love to pay for the generic. But no. It's not on the plan.

I have to appeal to them to get them to save them over 75% a month on the prescription.

Give me strength.

My life got made

2010-09-01T07:42:00.001-06:00

Four years ago today, my life got made.

9/1/06

9/1/10

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My blessings

2010-08-28T10:03:00.000-06:00

Friends. I don't understand women (or men) who can live without dear friends.

In 1997, I moved to Denver. I knew my sister, and her husband, and that was it. Through my first job, I met 3 incredible friends. At the time, we were all single, all new to Denver, all new to our careers, all in our mid-20s, and full of endless energy. Since then, we've fallen in love, gotten married, and experienced the unspeakable love of being mothers; since then we've endured illnesses, loss of loved ones, fertility issues, financial hardship, family trauma, career triumphs and disasters, and things that, had we known about in 1997, we would have run away from many times over.

One of us moved out of state. Two of us work in the same building, and still never see each other. I thought maybe we had drifted apart, the 4 of us. But I've since decided that I was wrong.

This week, the one who moved out of state returned for a visit. We're in touch, on facebook and email and phone. But I hadn't seen her since .... I was pregnant with Brody. Four years ago. The four of us hadn't all been together since then.

We went to lunch. The opening line from Charlie's Angels, of all things, kept running through my head, slightly altered: Once upon a time there were four little girls who moved to Denver.....

We still think of each other as girls, and I force myself to say women, with a smile. We sat around a table, with two sons of ours in attendance, and I don't think we could stop smiling, any of us. And while everything about each of us had changed, nothing had really changed at all. We celebrate each other, support each other, encourage each other, and love each other. Regardless of distance, regardless of how often we see each other, regardless of the passage of time. The friendship is unconditional.

I think about these friends I am so blessed to have. Friends I've known since kindergarten, friends I met at the office, friends I happen to be related to, friends I've never met face-to-face but with whom I have shared the best and the worst of me. I don't know what I did to get all of these friends, but I hope I keep doing it. And the gratitude wells up in me and I cannot even express what my heart feels.

If someone forced me to count these blessings, I don't think I'd ever stop.

Silence

2010-08-20T20:48:00.001-06:00

J & B left today for a 5 day vacation to visit family. I was weepy last night but today I said goodbye without crying. They left. And then I vomited.

I didn't go to Oregon because I have no vacation time left at work (which is awesome before taking maternity leave) and also, work has ratcheted up. Three notches.

I don't know if it's because I'm hormonal or distracted or if work really is crazy but .... this week was more than busy. Frantic? No, frenetic. I feel so disorganized and like I'm just triaging work and behind the 8 ball and this week I had to travel for work and at times in court I wanted to just not be there and it was awful and then the boys left and don't get back until Wednesday and there's SO much to do (at work) until the end of September and and and

And now, I made it through the week (pretty significant) and B leaving and I'm in the house, with the dogs, and it's.... quiet. It's more quiet than it is when they are gone for a couple of hours. Like a deep saturation of silence.

And it's ..... weird.

I didn't know what i wanted to do after work or what I wanted to eat for dinner. What the hell? So I ate brie and French bread. And eggrolls. (I am pregnant, after all). And I watched Monk.

I think I'm going to try to embrace the silence and quiet the frantic and not do anything except ....

hibernate.

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Natural killer cell test results

2010-08-05T11:18:00.001-06:00

No spike.

Whew.

I feel like I did the after Brody's skull surgery when they said he was out and safe in recovery. Like a load is literally lifted from my shoulders and I get tingles running up and down my arms.

I meant to do this last time - here's a link to NK cells and what they are (scroll down). Here's a discussion of pretty much all of my immune issues related to pregnancy.

Next test is in a month. Then, after 28 weeks, the placenta and baby should be strong enough that any spikes in NK activity will not harm him.

I'm 23 weeks tomorrow.

I cried when I read the comments to the last post. And when two friends emailed me their own comments, I smiled and wanted to hug everyone.

What I really wanted to write after the last post, and reading that quote, and remembering the fierce confidence of my little-girl, grinning, pig-tailed self, was this: Fuck it. I'm having this baby.

Coconuts

2010-08-02T14:08:00.000-06:00

When I was young, I’d go with my mom on Saturdays, to the grocery store, and then the fruit market.

At the fruit market, I’d always beg for coconuts. Why? They were exotic and hairy and different. I promised her each time that I’d eat it. I swore I’d eat the coconut, just please please please buy me one!

She did.

I never ate one. Not once. Coconuts are gross. Even now, I only like coconut if it’s part of a curry.

For some reason, that memory is in my head.

What else is in my head is anxiety.

Now it’s not about Brody’s health, but his brother.

And nerves about this baby.

I’m waiting for results. I swear, this whole pregnancy I’m just waiting. I hate waiting. I’m resolving to stop waiting.

The results I’m waiting for are the immune testing results. Did my natural killer cells spike yet? Are they going to spike?

If they rise, the pregnancy is at risk. The treatment is IVIg. Which isn’t covered by insurance. Why? Because it’s experimental. Unless you live in any other industrialized country.
And it costs a lot. Like one dose is $2500.

My NK cells spiked with Brody at week 30. I did an IVIg treatment. They went back down.

I’m 22 weeks.

Two more weeks until the baby reaches viability too.

Also? I can’t get life insurance. Why? Recurrent miscarriages and pregnancy and history of preeclampsia.

I have some life insurance through work. But the thing that gets to me about the denial is that it feels proof that this is risky. And I worry for Brody. What if something – God forbid – happens to me? He’ll be left without me and I cry almost every day over something but this. . . I can't even begin to process that spectre.

I hate victimhood. I abhor people who are victims. And I feel like I am starting to become one. I have to start to be strong.

I’m doing everything I can.

Oh, the docs still can't tell whether the baby's heart is perfect. We need to return to the high risk place and check to see the cardiac outflow tracts. The obgyn says she is 95% sure it's fine, but the thing is, they just can't see it to confirm either way.

I have to stop worrying about what might be and start embracing what is. He's here, he's kicking, and he's survived in the toxicity of my body for 22 weeks so far.

I thought I loved Brody before I was pregnant but now that I am hormonal, I could cry looking at him I love him so much. I just want to be with him all the time. I lay with him until he's asleep most nights. I spoon him, and hold my stomach with my other hand. I could lay with him all night and all day.

The other day we were eating dinner and he said, out of the blue, “I can’t wait to meet my bruzza.” My heart broke and melted and built up three times its size.

Which is another worry. What if the pregnancy…. is not successful? How do I explain that to Brody?
A friend of mine just asked me – a someone who dealt with miscarriage and health issues of a child - what I thought about her having another child. She has serious health issues and if she gets pregnant, it’s an equal chance her health could get worse, get better or stay the same. I told her “if there is something that 5 miscarriages and Vacterl association have taught me, anything can happen, regardless of how we plan or worry. But as this pregnancy has taught me, that anything can be good, too, and not just the bad stuff that we've encountered.”

Where the hell is the part of me who wrote that right now? I need her. I need the little girl who shamelessly begged for coconuts knowing she'd never eat them to be with me. I need to throw off the bowlines. What’s that Mark Twain quote?

Ahh…. Here it is….
“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn't do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.”

So this is me, sailing away from safe harbor.

Las Cruces & Oma

2010-07-25T14:00:00.001-06:00

Pics from Las Cruces...

Climbing yet another mountain....

Batman and Brody and Jacques, oh my!

Practicing standing on one leg....

Silly faces

Climbing again....

Relaxing while learning letters (except HE asks ME, like he's the teacher)

At La Posta, best restaurant in town..

Buzz Lightyear stance

Just a bit bright with Oma and Brody in the pool.

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Less drama, more mama. Final amnio results.

2010-07-16T11:11:00.001-06:00

Normal. 46xy.

Weight off my shoulders.

All clear for any and all genetic problems, and open neural tube defects (I didn't even look it up) were clear, and still, most definitely, a boy.

And with my new fiscal year, comes new insurance through my job. And for once, it's better coverage. As in, instead of $362 a month for Lovenox, it's $100. This new insurer will only issue me 6 days worth at a time, but at that cost, it's worth it.

And this weekend, Brody and I are visiting my mom and stepdad in Las Cruces. They live 100 feet from the pool. We are very excited for our 5 day respite.

Just when home and personal life is seemingly lovely, work implodes.

And explodes.

Too busy to think, getting deadlines wrong, incredible, unearthly workload, feeling frantic on a day to day basis.

Literally overwhelmed.

In a way I have never been.

It is sucking me dry.

Looking forward to 5 days with my mama and my boy.

One hell of a week

2010-07-08T22:41:00.000-06:00

Tuesday, 12:30pm: Got the call, from the actual obgyn. Note to future self: When the doctor herself calls with test results, it is never a good sign.

Quad screen results. All fine, except for Trisomy 18, which is essentially a fatal diagnosis. The babies who manage to be born alive do not live longer than a few days. My risk for Trisomy 18 just based on my age: 1 in 350. My risk for Trisomy 18 based on the quad screen results: 1 in 13.

As if to underline the gravity, the doctor said she already had an appointment for me the next morning at a perinatalogist, to do a Level II ultrasound and, if we wanted, amniocentesis.

I hung up and was calm enough at first. Then I went to google. I wasn't sure which Trisomy that 18 was. It is also never good when you can find no pictures of living children with the disease you think your child might have.

I left work early, shaking, crying, in utter and complete panic. No.... more like terror. I called Jeremy; I texted a couple of close friends and my sisters.

When Jeremy got home that night, he wanted to know what stuff the blood test measured and how exactly it went from 1 in 350 to 1 in 13. I, of course, got defensive; Brody was with my mother in law, so we took the opportunity to yell a bit. Who cares how we got to 1 in 13; the fact is we are there. But as a wise friend told me that night, J has to understand how to build a watch before he can tell time. So. True.

But Tuesday? Not a good day.

Wednesday, 9am: Antepartum Testing, LLC. Probably the kindest, gentlest doctor's office I've ever experienced; I think kinder and gentler than the NICU. Soft words, reassuring when they could be, gentle touches, joking about my Lovenox bruising, not condescending, but smiling and kind.

First, the ultrasound. It took an hour. It was the regular 2D ultrasound. She started from the head and worked her way down.

Thanks to Google, J and I had achieved mini-masters' degrees in Trisomy 18 overnight. He knew about mosaic Trisomy 18. I knew that physical markers of Trisomy 18 that they see on the ultrasound include strawberry shaped head, clenched fists, rocker bottom feet, and a baby that is not growing, and is very much behind where he or she should be.

When the tech measured something I instantly paid attention to the automatic calculating on the screen and each time it registered within a week of my due date, I took a breath. The head size: ahead of schedule and awesomely round.

Breath.

Brain: perfect. All the things there and no structural anamolies.

Breath.

We asked her whether she saw radius bones and thumbs (since Brody had neither). She said, "I can't tell about the thumbs right now, because I'm looking at the hands opening and closing. They aren't clenched. See? Opening and closing. That is a very good sign."

Breath.

"Yes, there are radius bones in both arms. And I think that's a thumb, but I can't be sure."

I saw that the hands came off the wrists at 180 degrees, not 90 degrees. After that, I didn't care if the baby had thumbs or not; we can get thumbs. But if the wrist is straight, that's half the battle right there.

Breath.

She measured the upper arm bone. I watched the measurement calculator. On target.

Breath.

We saw the mouth opening and closing, and the tongue moving and the lungs taking practice breaths. Jeremy squeezed my hand. The tech smiled a lot. She called the baby stinker when she couldn't get a good measurement.

Breath.

Heart: beating. I saw 4 chambers. But the doc and the tech said it's too early to confirm all is well, just because of the size. At 22 weeks, they can confirm. They didn't see anything that gave them cause for concern.

Kidneys? We think so. Two, even. They are tiny, but she took a picture of the "renals."

Breath.

And it's a boy. Jeremy laughed out loud. I'm still in shock. A boy? My sugarplum is a boy? I really thought it was a girl. So much for my and everyone else's theories. I didn't want a girl, per se. But I thought he was a girl. Strange.

Feet: Not rocker bottom.

Breath.

After the ultrasound, the doctor put our risk for Trisomy 18 at 1 in 100.

We did the amnio.

It stung, it didn't hurt. After my abdomen was very tight, kind of crampy but not. No bleeding though.

They said there was a 75% chance that the preliminary results - to check for Trisomy 13, 18, 21 and gender - would be in Thursday. The doc said if we hadn't heard from them by 3:30, to call the office.

I rested the rest of the day.

Thursday: Apparently, both Jeremy and I interpret "75%" as being 100%. He called me, had I heard? No. A few friends texted - news? No. (As an aside, I have the best friends and sisters a girl could ever hope to have).

10 am, 11am. . . Seriously? Every time the phone rang, I picked up on the first ring. Not the doctor's office.

1pm, 2pm, 3pm. . .3:40pm. I call. They put me on hold.

I get a work phone call. I hang up on the doctor's office.

I finish the work call, call the doctor's office back, apologize for hanging up.

"That's okay; actually, your husband is on hold on the other line. Do you want to wait on hold too?"

I start laughing. "No, I'll let him get the news."

3:50, 3:51, 3:52.....

I have to go meet with my boss and my boss's boss for a quick little thing. I bring the phone.

Of course, it rings and finally it is the doctor's office number. I look at my boss, who knows everything that's going on. She nods, and I step out of the deputy's office.

It's good news. "You can breathe a sigh of relief. We couldn't be more pleased with the results. Everything is negative, and you are having a boy. The rest of the results will come in about 10 days." (The FISH result only measures the 4 I mentioned; the other 42 pairs of chromosomes are being tested right now, as well as the official version of the first 4).

I hang up and immediately Jeremy calls. I thought he knew the news. "Did you get the results?" he asks. "Yup. It's a girl! That's crazy!" I say.

"What? No, did you get the results?"

"Yes. Didn't you?"

"No, I got disconnected."

My poor husband. I quickly told him it was all negative, and that we are having a boy.

My braw and brave little sugarplum.

News? Hoping not.

2010-07-06T14:20:00.001-06:00

Quad screen results came back for trisomy 18. Based on my age alone, chances are 1 in 350. Based on my blood tests, 1 in 13 chance the baby has trisomy 18. Amniocentesis and in depth ultrasound tomorrow morning 9am.

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July 10

2010-07-05T22:25:00.001-06:00

I'm just putting this all out there.

I scheduled a gender check ultrasound at a private ultrasound place. For July 10 at 10am. Brody, Jeremy and me.

I can't wait until July 27, which is the next obgyn ultrasound.

Now that I've done that, I'm a mess of nerves. This week- immune testing, and I get the quad screen results back. I keep thinking that at the ultrasound, the tech will find something horribly wrong, like no kidneys or half a spine or a massive hole in the heart. And then Brody would be there and I'd break down and he'd be scarred and and and....

I almost just went by myself, without telling the boys.

It was like that in the beginning. J didn't come to an appt until just after the first trimester. I just was fine, less nervous by myself. Like I can handle devastation better if I can process it by myself first.

What the hell, right? That seems malfunctioning.

For my third miscarriage, my sister and 6 year old nephew were at the appointment. Routine appointment; we'd already seen the heartbeat once. But no heartbeat.

For every bad thought, I force myself to think of a positive. Thursday I heard her heartbeat. 150 bpm. I think about that.

18 weeks. 18 weeks. 18 weeks.

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Question

2010-07-02T21:47:00.001-06:00

If we all grow up reading fairy tales, and believing in them for a time, why is it so difficult for us to fathom that we get to live in one?

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What the French do well, and not so well

2010-06-27T05:33:00.002-06:00

Jeremy and I made this list on the last day of our trip to France.

What the French do well, in no particular order:

1. Safe sex. In tourist shops, it is commonplace that condoms emblazoned with "I ♥ Paris" were for sale. Also, in the Metro stations, next to the automatic ticket dispensers, were condom machines. Not quite as large as candy vending machines, but right out there, conveniently located and priced.

2. Health care. Of the seven or so prescription medications I had to bring, I forgot one: progesterone. The dosage was such that, in the US, with my insurance, it cost $60 a month. In Paris, and the cities we visited in the south, there were pharmacies on almost every block. Panicked about not having the progesterone with me, I went into one. I ended up getting, without a prescription, the same dosage, with no insurance. Cost? 5.60 euro.

3. No chain stores. We were surprised by how pleasant that felt. No chain restaurants, no chain supermarkets. . . everything was unique. It was refreshing.

4. Body confidence. I'm talking about the beach. Topless is acceptable. I expected the 20 year old women to have body confidence. But was surprised, again, at the 80 year old, and 70 year old women we saw, a few of whom changed from street clothes into bathing suits just two feet away from us. They didn't care that there bodies weren't perfect. Nor did the quite overweight 20 year old woman wearing a bikini with her hot, cute, fit boyfriend at the beach. No shame. When we say in the US someone has no shame, it's an insult. I mean this as a statement of fact, and a positive quality. You know what I loved best about the older women? That when they were sunbathing on their stomachs, they'd hike up their swimsuit bottoms to thong status. Tan lines are ugly, I guess, even at 80.

5. Cafe life. I now know what that means. It means no to-go cups of coffee. Can you imagine not seeing a Starbucks coffee cup for 2 weeks? If you wanted coffee, you sat down, and shared one with a friend. Not on your mobile, doing 10 other things, but sitting, sipping and contemplating. It was almost meditative.

6. Coffee. Oh my god.

7. Wine. Yes. I had a few glasses. And also, oh my god.

8. Public transportation. Paris Metro, the TGV train to the south, and the trains running along the French Riviera. All accessible to people with limited or no French skills, always on time, and cheap.

9. Outdoor living. Most apartments have balconies of some sort, and if they did not, the windows opened. And there were no screens. A little thing, but an uninterrupted by a screen flow of air is markedly more refreshing. And in the cafes, even in cold and rainy weather, people were outside.

10. Food. Obviously the food. Jeremy: They have perfected the art of the omelet. We were silent every time we ate for the first few bites, with our eyes closed, savoring. Our palettes were not used to the. . . . delight.

11. Food part II. Jeremy and I disagreed on this part. Jeremy likes a lot of stuff in his salads and sandwiches. "Stuff" is what Brody calls anything that is not the pure thing he wants to eat. For example, a pizza with everything has "stuff" on it. For me, I like "stuff" except for sandwiches and salads. In France, the sandwiches you buy don't typically have lettuce and tomato, let alone onions and artichokes etc. Just meat and cheese, and butter. Same with salads. Salade verte, green salad, is literally, just lettuce with exquisite dressing. My idea of heaven.

12. Food part III. When people buy those sandwiches, they are always on baguettes. And instead of wrapping them in paper, a la Quizno's or Subway, they put them in long brown paper bags, like homeless alcoholics drink their liquor in the US. It's delightful.

13. Carousels. I counted six, SIX, carousels inside Paris. And not ones we were looking for, just that we happened to come across. Right outside our metro station, a carousel. TWO-tiered, thankyouverymuch. Usually pretty full regardless of date and time. I wish you could just turn a corner in Denver and there was a carousel. Two blocks later, another one.

14. People. The French have a reputation for rudeness. We did not encounter this at all. AND we had a 3 year old with us.

Example (a): I was struggling to understand how to work the automatic metro ticket dispenser. A Frenchwoman came over, spoke English, and helped me purchase our tickets. And if that wasn't enough, she said, "Don't worry. It's hard even for French people to do with zese macheens."

Example (b): Outside the Louvre, we stopped at a touristy shop for souvenirs. I saw a Christmas ornament of Santa climbing the Eiffel tower. Showed it to Brody for approval; he loved it. I let him hold it. I know I know. Stupid. Well, to prove it, Brody swung it, lost his grip, and it broke after hitting the floor. I told the cashier, who spoke perfect English, "thank goodness for glue" so he wouldn't think we wouldn't pay for it. His co-worker handed me another one and said, "No, here is a new one. We tell za vendor zis one is defective."

Example (c): Went to an upscale restaurant in Villefranche-sur-mer. Like any parents of small children, we bring toys for Brody to occupy him while we wait. Of course, Brody drops things, including one of his "guys", on the floor. Our very handsome, and very French waiter retrieved it when he saw it and, handing it to Brody with a smile, said, "Is zis yours, monsieur?"

15. No tipping. Awe.some. We still did, if the service was good (or our waiter was cute).

What the French do not do well:

1. Clean up after their dogs. In our hood, if you don't pick up your dog's poop, it's akin to a crime against humanity. Having seen so many dogs in France, I'm sure some people are picking up. But a LOT of people aren't. It's just there, on the sidewalk, probably already stepped in a little bit. (gag).

2. Coke is more expensive than wine. We adapted.

3. No free refills. Ah, we are so entitled in America.

4. Skimpy on coffee condiments like sugar and cream. Jeremy and I will clear out a creamer thingie at IHOP on the weekends just between the two of us.

5. Driving. I could say that the French actually drive well, because most French people have driven and have not died. However, I'm going to conclude otherwise. Jesus CHRIST. That's what we kept saying in the cab ride from the airport to our apartment. I think there are traffic laws, but I don't think they are followed by anyone, or enforced by anyone. It's a free-for-all: drive as fast as you can, do whatever you want, and hope for the best. I mean, cab rides in every city are harrowing. But our cab drivers were no less crazed than the rest of the drivers in France. Motorcycles, for example, regularly went between speeding cars and trucks, not in their own lane, but literally between them, at high rates of speed. The French made New York drivers look civilized. When I started to count how many near-crashes we had by the number of inches by which we missed the other cars, I began to hope that I never had to drive anywhere in France. (It's just as bad in the south of France as in Paris).

That's our take on France. One of these days, now that our monitor at home is working, I hope to get the pictures up.

Brodyism: Grandpa Ed.

2010-06-24T21:21:00.000-06:00

My dad died when I was 18.

I think all the time about how he would be with Brody. What they would talk about, I envision my dad hugging Brody, or having Brody sit on his lap.

And how extraordinarily happy he would be with this pregnancy.

I have a picture of my dad on the bookshelf in our bedroom. I put it on the next to the bottom shelf, so Brody can see it.

It's a photograph from World War II, my dad in his dress army uniform, smiling. He's very handsome. In the picture, he's around 26 (I think). He had written "Love, Ed" on the bottom of the photograph.

Sometimes we talk about my dad. Brody knows I have a mom (Oma) and that Oma is always with Jacques (her husband who we love).

Last night, I was in the room and Brody walked in, right up to the picture.

Brody: Is dis yer daddy?
Me: Yeah, that's my daddy.
Brody: I would like to meet him.
Me: He would like to meet you too. He would love you.
Brody: Would he be nice to me?
Me: Of course he would.
Brody: Den I will be nice to him..... He's a police man.
Me: Well, he was actually a soldier.
Brody: But he's got a police man hat on.
Me: I guess he does.
Brody: Where is he?
Me: He's in heaven.
Brody: But I wanna see him!
Me: I know. .... Me, too.

And then I didn't know what else to say.

Still here

2010-06-22T11:43:00.000-06:00

Sort of quiet. Not much to report.

Waiting waiting waiting.

For July 1. Next appointment. I'll be 18 weeks, but it's not "the" ultrasound.

Missed the first trimester screening because I didn't realize I was farther along than I thought.

Dr. Beer's office. They are lovely. Working with us on billing. As of July 1, I get new flex spending account (new fiscal year/insurance year at my work).

They can send me the lab requisitions - completely willing to do anything they can to help us get this done.

It's nice they are so willing to accomodate. Such a different approach for a doctor.

That's all. I'm 16 weeks. Somehow, I'm a little down. Not sure why. I should be overjoyed. I am. I really am. I love feeling movement. I feel it almost every day. At least what I think is movement. I talk to her (although it might be a him I think) and Brody is learning he can't just climb all over my considerable belly. He says he will help take care of the baby and feed him/her and play with her/him. It's so cute how he gets this shy little smile on his face when talks about that.

But you know what?

I'm overwhelmed. Now, if anything goes wrong, it's not a miscarriage. It would be something worse.

And yes, something immunologically can still go wrong, something could just be wrong because I'm 39 and have old eggs.

I need a margarita, and I can't have one.

Have one for me, and I'll lighten up. Also, I'm sort of sick of intermittent blogging and only blogging pregnancy.

Brodyisms

2010-06-07T21:56:00.001-06:00

B: (from the other room) Mommy?

Me: Yes?

B: I wanna give you someting.

Me: (walking over to him) What is it?

He just leaned over and hugged me. A long hug. He started this routine on Saturday. He's done it approximately 8 times. I adore it.

•••••••••••••••••••

I inject Lovenox twice daily into my stomach. I look like a junkie in that area. Huge, ugly, awful bruises. The kind of bruises that when people see them - my mom, sister, husband and obgyn - they cringe. (The bruising doesn't hurt)

Brody sees my stomach a lot, mostly because he accompanies me to the bathroom every chance he gets. I saw him looking at the bruises. I asked him if he had any questions about my bruises. He didn't. I told them they aren't owie. I said mommy didn't have owies. Still he didn't say anything. I said "they are kinda yucky bruises, aren't they?" He finally spoke. "No.....they're pretty, mommy. Look at all da colors..... (pointing) red and purple and blue and green and lellow...."

•••••••••••

We were at the Farmers market Sunday. Brody wore his Spiderman shirt and Spiderman baseball cap. A very kind woman my age said to him, as he walked by, "Look! There's Spiderman!" Brody stopped, looked at her and said, "No, I'm Buzz Lightyear,"
turned around, and kept walking.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

What if this works? Like, really works?

2010-06-03T22:38:00.001-06:00

The sugarplum wrote back.

I was driving to work yesterday, and I started gagging. Then dry heaving. Then all out vomiting.

Since it was 8am, I had on dress clothes, and full application of bare minerals. You know when you throw up, your eyes water? I looked in the rear view mirror - after I had pulled over to vomit in peace - and there were streaks of white going down my face. A couple of women saw me- I looked like a horror movie.

And I was nauseous the rest of the day.

So this afternoon, I was most happy when we saw the heartbeat again. It was the portable ultrasound, so we saw a giant head, two legs, two arms, and one determined beating heart. Jeremy was there too. It hit him, and now it's hitting me.

What if this works?

Jeremy has started planning. But, "We just sold all our baby stuff, didn't we?" he asked. Yes, yes we did. I just laughed.

I have no worries about baby equipment. I have worries about being given a life that I long ago thought was lost to me. How do I reconcile that? It's like the world I love is being eclipsed by a world I always wanted and never thought I'd be able to have and I wonder, why me? But for once, it's not this self-pitying why me, but a genuinely curious, really, universe?, befuddled.... why me?Why do •I• get the rainbow?

I asked Brody if the baby is a boy or a girl. He's pretty sure it's a boy. And he wants to name him Castle.

Thank you for your prayers and good thoughts and wishes. xoxox

Also, we have about 500 pics from France, but we can't download them and our monitor is dead. J and I also created a list of things the French do well, and don't do well. I'm hoping to post them for posterity.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

A letter to the sugarplum

2010-06-01T09:14:00.001-06:00

Dear Zoe/Sadie/Savannah,

Remember last week when (I think) I felt you moving around in there? It really reassured me, and I loved it. But, it's been a few days, and I'm getting nervous. I know this Thursday at 3pm is our next appointment, but I was just wondering if you could wave? Or somersault? We would all appreciate it. I'll get you Thai food later as a reward.

Love,
me

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Home

2010-05-25T14:28:00.001-06:00

Got back Saturday night. All went well on the flights. We are back to school and work.

Was feeling weepy the Friday night before we left. It came to a point I couldn't hold back the tears, really. I didn't know why exactly, but it seemed so momentous, this vacation of ours, these 12 days of adventure and escape and fun and freedom and being a single family unit.

10pm. J and I were packing, B was sleeping, and then.... Boom.

Boom.

I looked up, and immediately rushed out onto the balcony.

Fireworks on the bay. Glorious, sparkly, vibrant fireworks. For a good 30 minutes.

I told J it was Villefranche telling us that it was going to miss us just as much as we were going to miss it.

He rolled his eyes but there we stood, hugging each other in silence on the balcony, watching our perfect farewell fireworks.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Villefranche-sur-mer

2010-05-18T15:23:00.001-06:00

Lovely.

Our beach.

Didn't know what day of the week it was yesterday. It didn't matter.

Brody walks down a street built 9 centuries ago to get to the boulangerie for his beloved baguette.

Bistro.

Morning.

~•~•~lovely~•~•~

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Villefranche-sur-mer

2010-05-16T02:05:00.001-06:00

Views from our balcony our first morning here. It feels like I'm dreaming.

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Location:French Riviera

Paris, day 2

2010-05-13T12:30:00.001-06:00

On the flight here, via Air France, i decided to atart using my French. So when the flight attendant asked me if i wanted coffee, i said, "Si." (i dont speak Spanish, so that was especially strange).

Then I became quite proud of myself when I realized I could understand the French pilot talking about turbulance. "I can understand French!" I thought! Until I realized he was speaking heavily accented English.

Jeremy, after eating two croissant, one pain au chocolat, and about to est a piece of bread, "The problem is, these people eat too many carbs."

I was surprised how many french-speaking people were at the Eiffel tower. I thought it would be a lot of Americans.

The French people we have encountered have been very kind. One woman helped us figure out how to buy Metro tickets; people in cafes are nice too. I think it's really true that if you try to speak their language, they respond positively.

Everything is served in small glasses. Even water. I feel like we are playing house.

One of Jeremy's secret talents is figuring out how to get around using the Metro.

Yesterday, Brody walked all the steps to Sacre Coeur. Today he could hardly stand in the elevator in the Eiffel Tower.

Whoever told me to buy tickets forthe Eiffel tower before we wnt to the tower, you probably saved us a 2 hour wait in line. I love you.

French ice cream is awe.some. Is it made with full fat cream? It's heavenly.

I think coming here even for the weekend would be worth it. Other than serious naps, we aren't jet lagged.

Speaking of naps, Jeremy and I took one. Brody did not, and when Jeremy woke up, Brody was watching some naked people on French tv.

Brody saw a alot of naked people today. He told us all about each naked statue we saw today. Paris has a lot of naked statues.

Finally, you know what's wrong with French cheese? Absolutely nothing.

- Posted using BlogPress from my iPhone

Location:Montmartre, Paris

The adventure begins

2010-05-11T07:06:00.001-06:00

One of my co-worker's has a brother who owns a car service.i thought we were getting a regular car. Instead, this is what we are driving in to the airport as I write. Oh, and it's supposed to snow in Denver tomorrow.

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It's working

2010-05-04T10:19:00.001-06:00

There's still a heartbeat! Measuring 9wks, 1day!
Doc said miscarriage risk was at 30% last ultrasound, and now it's down to 2%! Cleared for France and flying! Thank you thank you thank you!

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930am Tuesday

2010-05-03T18:05:00.000-06:00

Tomorrow is the ultrasound.

April 20 was the first ultrasound. I have no intuition or feeling or anything.

However, 830am California time, 930am Colorado, 1030am Chicago time, 1130am Michigan - New York..... this is it. Any energy, prayers or good thoughts, we would love them.

My friend, Jo (aka, Dante's mom) did some research about the sugarplum's Celtic birth sign. Turns out, she is due to be born under the sign of the raven, and raven people "will continue a struggle that would defeat most people."

This has given me enormous comfort the last two weeks. Truly, if anything describes my body's response to pregnancy, it's "a struggle that would defeat most people."

Here's hoping.

xoxoxoxo

An Embarrassment of Riches

2010-04-28T10:03:00.000-06:00

This will be the title of a book I'm writing, hopefully. Because really. This is ridiculous.

You each, you women, have warmed my heart and made me overflow with gratitude with your donations. I just . . . you are not the ones I meant to donate to the cause enfant, but you did, and I'm pretty sure you are not wealthy and I'm pretty sure you have bills just like me, and I've never even met you in person. And yet. . . .

and yet and yet and yet, you clicked that button and gave a substantial amount of money to me, a virtual friend.

And you know what it has taught me? That even if Brody never has a brother or a sister, he will have a family of his heart, as I do here. What wondrous women you all are. How can I be alone when I have all of you? Thank you thank you thank you.

Now for the rest of it.

April 30 - intake appointment at the ob/gyn. But NO ULTRASOUND.

May 4 - next ultrasound.

May 11 - we leave for France.

This was the thought flow in my head yesterday:

I need another check NOW, NOW, NOW! How can I get it? How can I get it? What could I tell them? I called and she said I couldn't absolutely couldn't get an ultrasound on Friday. WTF? What do I do? What can I do to make them give me an ultrasound? I don't think there's a heartbeat anymore. I want to know now if there's no heartbeat. What can I do? What can I do? I should just assume there is no heartbeat. We'll find that out on Tuesday, May 4. . . . ok ok ok ok. . . . I have no time at work to schedule a D&C between May 4 and the day we leave, May 11. Hmmm. . . . ok ok, think think think.....If I stop the progesterone May 4, I'll probably start miscarrying on May 7, oh lovely, just in time for Mother's Day and my mom's visit, but I'd rather have a natural miscarriage rather than a D&C, because I don't want to have general anesthetic. Well, if I miscarry in France, that will ruin the vacation. But last time it just hurt really bad during two nights, then it was fine. I'll be fine. Should we cancel the trip? This is crazy to go when I'm miscarrying isnt' it? Ah, jeez, on that long flight while miscarrying? Shit shit shit. I need another check now now NOW.

And then .. . . . my head imploded a little bit. And then this was my thought flow:

What the hell are you thinking, Chris? My God, I am having the same control issues I’ve always had. I don't even know if there's still a heartbeat or not and I am planning how and where to miscarry? That's sick. But I don't "feel" pregnant. But I didn't "feel" pregnant last Tuesday either. It's like I haven't learned anything in the years between 2004 and 2010. Life happens. Death happens. Miscarriages happen. I control zero of it. I cannot bend a doctor's office scheduler to my will. They aren't going to give me an ultrasound til the 4th. It's a week. If the worst has happened, so be it. I will be okay. WE will be okay. No matter what, I have Jeremy and Brody, and my friends, and our family, and we are blessed in ways uncountable. We'll be alright, and we will have the trip of our lives in two weeks no matter what. No.Matter.What.

So that's where I am right now.

I'm just so tired of trying to control this. It feels like trying to climb a 100 foot high wall with only my fingernails. I'm tired of living in an angst-filled limbo. I'm tired of worrying, and wondering, and waiting and worrying. I'm tired of putting my life on hold and becoming obsessed with trying to do something that isn't my job to do.

Just like it's not my job to figure out whether another ash cloud will prevent us from going to, or returning from, France, it is also not my job to obsessively fixate on whether there is still a heartbeat. There was last week. Since then, I've done all that is within my power to keep her in there, and I will continue to do all within my power to keep her healthy. Shots, meds, tests.... but I am going to stop trying to unsuccessfully do the other stuff.

I'm done. I'm giving it up. I hope.

It is maddening, madness, trying to control what I really cannot. What I'm not supposed to control. I control when I take these meds and how often I shower. I control what speed my car goes; I control what clothes Brody wears.

I'm not supposed to control miscarriages and volcanos. I'm supposed to hope, and to pray, for the best outcome.

When I think about the things in my daily life that seep into me and make me anxious, it is the things I cannot control. Other people's opinions, whether Brody's kidney will keep functioning, whether he will have good friends in school, what the judge will rule, what the jury will say, what the clients will think, what the doctor will say, what the genetics will be, what the review will say, what the witness will testify. . . .

I think it's healthy to hope for outcomes, but why do I spend my energy on worrying about them? What the hell is that about? What purpose does it serve? None.

So I'm done. Or I hope I'm done.

I give up.

I have no idea how these next two weeks before our trip will go. (Duh, you say. But to me, it’s a revelation). But whatever happens, I will be okay. I have Jeremy and Brody and friends. . . I have friends on facebook that I’ve known for decades that have posted the nicest messages to me. I have you, I have my sisters, and my mom. And whatever happens, it is an adventure. Perhaps one I do not want to experience, but one I am determined will teach me things I need to know.

The man who said this is probably a bit of a charlatan. But I like the quote anyway. “Control is never achieved when sought after directly. It is the surprising outcome of letting go.”

Here’s hoping.

Numbers and number$ and the voices on my shoulder

2010-04-23T10:34:00.002-06:00

Never let it be said I don't know my own body.

After seeing the heartbeat, I was coherent enough to request a progesterone check.

"Well, the baby looks great so we don't normally do that. If there's a heartbeat, it means the progesterone is good! But, given your history, we'll do it."

Progesterone returned: 9.9 (It should be in the 20s).

I never get to say "I told you so" to doctors, even well-meaning ones. Instead, I completely broke down in public. My friend Angie says that it seems like maybe I was due for one of those.

The doctor immediately prescribed 100mg progesterone, 3x a day.

I called Dr. Beer's office in California. Since it has been more than a year, they can only call in a month's supply of my previous medications (the ones I was on with Brody) and within a month I have to send them more blood work.

Cost of medications for one month (with my insurance):
Dexamethasone (steroid to depress my immune response to pregnancy): 4.00
Progesterone: 180.00
Lovenox (twice daily injections into my stomach to thin my blood because of my genetic predisposition to clotting): 250.00 (cheaper than it was in 2006, when it was $356/month; it's $1600/month without insurance)
Folgard: 10.00
Monthly meds: $444.00

Now for the labs. About half of the labs I can get covered: the ANA reflex to titer, the TSH, the chem panel, homocystine levels.

As for the other ones - natural killer assay, leukocyte antibody detection panel, antiphospholipid panel, human T-reg, anti-DNA/histone panel, and Factor XIII gene polymorphism - there is only ONE lab in the US that does the labs they need: and it is not inside my insurance coverage area. In other words, we pay for them: Cost for the initial testing?

$1461.00

And I think they will require monitoring blood work, of at least a few labs, every month (with Brody, it was about $350 each month for testing).

I do not know what to do. I know what I want to do, but we do not have that much money available. One little voice says "Just go natural. It's worked so far, so let this pregnancy be natural."

The other voice says "Isn't your baby worth a few thousand dollars? What kind of mother are you, anyway?"

If the meds are not needed, they are not harmful. If they are needed, and I don't have them, the pregnancy will end.

If anyone has any ideas, I'd love to hear them.

If you are a wealthy person, with money to spare, I'm swallowing my pride and putting this here.

It's not tax deductible, but it would go to a good cause. And if the pregnancy ends before I need these labs, I will return the money to you. I feel sick doing this, but for now, it's the only idea I have.

Is this growth? Or narcissism?

2010-04-21T13:02:00.000-06:00

In a state of elation and confusion, I posted not only yesterday's post, but a status update on facebook.

Worlds colliding a little bit.

My husband was a bit shocked that I did. "Aren't you waiting the 3 months?" Apparently not. A friend who has known me for over 30 years was also surprised I posted a blog about the pregnancy.

They have good reason for shock. In 2004, I didn't even tell my sisters about my miscarriages. Or most of my friends. Eventually I did. It was after the third one. We were supposed to go to a family reunion out of state. We were going to be the only couple without children. I told my husband that there was no way I could face them and just to tell them everything. I didn't care anymore. I needed to escape.

Now, five years later, I'm writing about this pregnancy on the internet. Repeatedly. And I know a lot of people I have lunch with read this blog. Why this change?

Before this latest happening, a few months ago I was talking with a friend who is also going through fertility issues. She talked about not understanding why she was so reticent to talk to others about what she was going through. She really struggled with why she could not talk about it, and after much soul-searching, she concluded that it was because she felt shame.

Shame about infertility. Shame about miscarriages.

I still remember it because, I think, I felt the same shame.

The definition: painful emotion caused by a strong sense of guilt, embarrassment, unworthiness, or disgrace.

Yes, yes, yes and yes.

Huh.

Intellectually I know I "shouldn't" feel shame. In my heart, I don't want to feel shame, and I don't want others going through something similar to feel it either. But I think I still might feel that way. A little bit, at least. Every thought that if it wasn't for me, Brody would have a sibling already, and Jeremy would have more children....I think those thoughts are based in shame.

And I think to try to decrease that feeling, I'm writing about it. A lot.

I hope this isn't narcissism, though. Definition: Person full of egoism and pride; One who shows extreme love and admiration for oneself. Dear God, I do not want to be that person.

Also, I think it's time I was honest. For a long while I was different versions of myself with different people, and my whole real self with just a few. I think I should be my whole real self wherever, and whenever, I want to be. And my whole real self is pregnant, with a pretty high risk of miscarriage. Why not be that person? Granted, I don't reveal that to most of the people I work with, or strangers on the street.

I know a lot of you, I know everyone on facebook. Why not tell?

And let's face it, if this pregnancy ends, I'm going to need . . . . something, and probably in the form of some kind of support.

If I had appendicitis or broke my leg, I'd tell. So why not this? This which is more important than most anything, and has the potential to affect me for the rest of my life. . .

For the record, though, I feel incredibly off-balance trying to be my whole real self with every set of friends and acquaintances.

Guarded

2010-04-20T11:28:00.000-06:00

Huh.

That's what I said when I saw the heartbeat.

I told the ultrasound tech, the nurses, everyone except the valet parker. I said, "I've had five miscarriages, I've done no treatment for this, this pregnancy is a surprise." In my head I was figuring out which day would be best for the D&C with my work schedule.

Then that fuzzy, grainy image came up on the screen, and for the first time in 6 pregnancies, I saw it immediately. It's that feisty, adamant flicker.

"Well," the tech said, "your little pumpkin has a heartbeat."

She measured the length and the rest of whatever measurements they do, and it came up as 6 wks, 5 days. I said, "But it's not measuring right." She looked and said, "No, your LMP puts you at 7wks, 4 days; there isn't even a week of discrepancy. This is fine." She sounded completely confident. Huh.

I feel fuzzy headed. Like I just inhaled laughing gas. But I'm not laughing or crying. I just keep saying Huh. I said that like 10 times in a conversation with Angie.

We talked to the nurse, and did the bloodwork.

Is it my cocktail of Excedrin and Diet Pepsi? Is that what I needed all along? Huh.

I'm not on the blood thinners, steroids, progesterone or IVIG I was on before. And we didn't do the lymphocyte immune therapy before conception.

And yet, a heartbeat. Huh.

It's good news. As far as I'm concerned, a heartbeat is a miracle. Each little heartbeat is a miracle. And as my friend Cathy, veteran of several miscarriages with a few miracle children herself, said, "Until it's not, it is."

Thank you thank you thank you for your texts, emails, comments here .. . . . I felt so surrounded by goodness going into the doctor's office today.
xo

Tuesday, 930am

2010-04-18T22:33:00.001-06:00

No change. As in, nothing is happening.

I don't feel pregnant. Or hopeful.

On the other hand, I have no miscarriage symptoms.

My third miscarriage, I made it this far. We saw a heartbeat. Believed we were in the clear. Went back for a routine ultrasound. No more heartbeat.

There is something to be said for miscarrying before there's a heartbeat.

Now it's Sunday night and I don't know what to hope for; could this be the fluke? The miracle?

I just can't believe my efficient and talented body wouldn't have miscarried a pregnancy if it ended at 5 or 6 weeks.

I'm 8 weeks.

I called the doc. Tuesday, 930am is the viability ultrasound.

-- Post From My iPhone

See spot run

2010-04-12T09:49:00.000-06:00

I'm not better, I'm not worse. Despite cramping most of Friday, and an hour or so of what comes after cramping, nothing.

Nothing.

Not spotting. Nothing heavier. Nothing.

No other symptoms of either miscarriage or pregnancy.

So I wait. If I'm going to lose it, I wish for it to happen sooner rather than later.

And tonight we are going to the Shrine in Denver for Family Night. We are the Shrine Family - I have to speak for a few minutes after the dinner about what Shriner's has meant to us.

Not an emotional day or anything like that.

Worse

2010-04-09T07:06:00.001-06:00

I'm traveling for work.

Specifically, I drove 5 hours yesterday to stay at a hotel and today I'm taking the deposition of a plaintiff in a federal lawsuit. After the deposition concludes today, I drive 5 hours home.

I joked to a friend yesterday that I was sure the miscarriage would start in earnest during this trip. Since the plaintiff's dep is the most important.

Guess what I woke up to?

It's not a joke today.

I suppose the bright side is that I'm so concerned with getting through the dep and drive home that I'm not completely falling apart. I'm also very hopeful that I can get to a store before the dep starts and get the requisite supplies.

Official stats (in honor of the Colorado Rockies' opening day):

17 days late

7 weeks gestation

7th pregnancy

6th miscarriage

Brody really is a bona fide, undeniable, genuine miracle. I cannot wait to hold him tonight.

-- Post From My iPhone

Location:Grand Junction, Colorado

Better

2010-04-05T20:09:00.000-06:00

I started this post out by apologizing for upsetting you. If I did, with that last post.

Then I stopped myself. I'm always saying to friends that they are entitled to their feelings. That's really annoying, I think. So fine, I'm not sorry about that last post.

The night I wrote it, and the night after that, were bad nights.

I spent Friday with Brody.

I feel better now.

Some symptoms of pregnancy have waned. And symptoms of miscarriage have started.

I'm not happy.

But I am better than I was.

It lightened me to write it all down.

And then I spoke with my sisters and brother over the weekend, and went to a friend's house for dinner, and talked with other friends, and read your comments.

It helped. We didn't talk about it, I don't know if they read the post, but it helped to see and talk with loved ones. Thank you.

Jeremy told me to remember how lucky we were to have Brody. I told him I wanted this baby, too. Then he said to remember all the good things we have. I told him that I was entitled to be sad. He had no response to that, and then he agreed.

I felt validated by him, and understood. It helps.

The Easter bunny left 6 water guns of varying sizes. Brody got the biggest one, which was bigger than half his body. I rationalized the purchase because (a) Brody already knows what guns are and (b) pulling the trigger is occupational therapy for his hands. (If you need to rationalize anything, email me; I will come up with a good reason for whatever you want to do).

It's Sunday morning. Brody is naked, naturally; Jeremy shirtless, me in my nightshirt. And the water fight began, inside (Brody refused to get dressed to go outside). By the time we were done, the kitchen, living room, stairs and bathroom floors were wet, and my stomach hurt from laughing so much and squealing. It was a take no prisoners-every person for himself water fight, and it was the best Easter morning I've had in a long time. Brody is ruthless.

I don't understand how a water fight helps, but it does.

Brody with his cousins on Easter Sunday: