Breast Cancer Awareness Month
Technically, I'm a breast cancer survivor. Not that it really tried to kill me, mind you. It was more a tourist than a killer when they found it. The chronicle starts here, and writing kept me mostly sane during the surreal treatment process. My mother, on the other hand, is a for real survivor of not only breast cancer but now ovarian cancer. Hats off, mom.
What bothers me about breast cancer awareness month is that it focuses on fear. Get checked! Get your mammogram! YOU MIGHT HAVE CANCER RIGHT NOW! To me, the tone if it is all wrong. Not that the at risk among us shouldn't get checked - it should be a normal part of their routine though, not something they have to be frightened into.
Here is what I want out of breast cancer awareness month. I would like each and every one of you when you hear something about it (or any other scary awareness month for that matter), to try and make a commitment to treat your body better. Yes, you. Here is what I'm talking about, and over here is a link to a study that backs me up on this one - we could reduce the cancer rate significantly if we just stop living like assholes (oops sorry mom).
1. This is going to sound kind of dumb, but eat things that are actually, you know, food. If you read the label (please read labels!) and it has a bunch of stuff on there you can't pronounce and wouldn't know it if you saw it in the food laboratory or wherever they concoct that mess, please please please put it back on the shelf. You don't need it. Your body will thank you. Also, eliminate fast food from your options. Just pretend all the fast food places were blown off the face of the earth (don't I wish). If you want to know about ingredients you can't pronounce, go to the fast food laboratories... or wherever they concoct that mess.
2. Once you have the hang of ingredients that you can pronounce and identify, get to work on finding organic produce. Here is a picture of how they grow non-organic bananas. Appetizing, no? Following that, see if you can find meat that comes from animals that aren't treated with hormones and don't live in their own shit (sorry again mom).
3. Dairy should be a sometimes food. I know my Wisconsin peeps don't want to hear that one, but there it is. Dairy is another big source of where our hormones get tampered with, along with birth control pills (don't get me started on that one) and the now-known-as-contributor hormone replacement therapy. If you have trouble with the concept, realize that there is no way to process milk enough to remove all the pus and blood from it. Mmmmmoooo.
4. Exercise, and drink water. The exercise part is the most difficult for me, especially now with a wee baby and a full time job. I just have to keep telling myself that some is better than none, and even if I slack for a week or two, I should at least take a walk around the block at some point. Lucky for me, I became a total water fiend while in music school. Speaking of ingredients you can't pronounce - read a can of soda, yuck.
I'm going to step down off the soapbox, now. I just wish I had come to these realizations a long time ago, and without having to go through a "cancer tourist" in order to take a good hard look at how I was treating my body. So, that is my wish for all of you for breast cancer awareness month. I consider this my contribution to the cause.
Plus, I look lousy in pink.
Friday, October 22, 2010
Saturday, July 31, 2010
The Janice Story, Part 4 (and Finally Done)
This one will be a bit long, but it all sort of goes together...
Janice's going away party was clearly in retaliation for the party I threw. Lucky me, I was home when it started and Stephanie was not. First Janice's boyfriend arrived with a pony keg, then some of his friends started showing up. These were friends of the real whiskey tango variety. Acid washed jean jackets and mullets in tow, they proceeded to set up camp in the kitchen and drink beer. I considered my options, and decided the best thing to do was to leave. I hung out at a friend's house until pretty late, and then returned and found them gone.
Here is what else I found. Poor Bus Couch, which had never done anything to anyone, had a cigarette hole burned into it. There were cigarette ashes everywhere, along with lakes and rivers of beer on the floor. My cordless phone from the living room was absent - we later found it smashed in the parking lot. The posters we got from the upstairs neighbors were torn up and strewn about the beer-soaked floor. This was evidently as trashed as four people could get the apartment without, you know, putting much effort into it. Probably the funniest thing she did was to change the outgoing message on the answering machine. When we set it up initially, she insisted that we not leave our names or our phone number on the outgoing message for safety reasons. After all, what if some psycho rapist freak got the wrong number and liked the sound of the voice on the answering machine? If we put our phone number on there, he could totally call back (gasp)! Needless to say, the outgoing message now gave both our names and said we definitely weren't home, and gave the address and phone number.
I immediately called Stephanie to let her know what had happened, and we decided that it would be worth calling the police. Since I had not yet located the cordless phone handset, she called them. Very sympathetic officers showed up and took a look around, took my report, and took the cassette out of the answering machine as evidence. (I guess we were lucky that voicemail wasn't that prevalent in 1995.) They gave me a business card and told me to call them when we knew where Janice was so they could pick her up. We now had a mission.
The next morning, I heard Janice come home to pick up the pony keg, and I leapt for the business card and the cordless phone, which one of the officers had located for me the night before. I called the number, but was scared out of my mind that Janice would hear me, and was just scared in general of what else she was plotting. The guy that answered the phone was decidedly not sympathetic or understanding. I guess Sympathetic Cop was on vacation as of that day, and this was his substitute, Sarcastic Cop. I explained my situation in a whisper, and Sarcastic Cop said, "Um... are you whispering, ma'am?" I told him I was, and that I didn't want her to hear me. He said, "Uh-huh." It was clear this was not going to be an easy battle, and let's face it, Janice was probably not sticking around, so I thanked him for being so helpful and hung up.
Stephanie and I had another strategy session, and through some digging around (again, friend of a friend) found out where Janice's parents lived. It was pretty close to where a friend of ours lived, so we set up a home base of surveillance operations there with Stephanie, her boyfriend, and me. It was kind of surreal - it felt like a regular hanging out/party evening except for the times when we would go driving by our target house to see if we saw Janice's car. Then we'd hang out some more, switch cars, and drive by again. Oh yeah, we were total pros at this. Finally, pay dirt. We called the police again, and they asked for our phone number so they could call us once they had her in custody. We booked it back to our apartment and waited. And waited and waited - man, it seemed like the longest wait in the world but we were far to excited to sleep.
Finally the call came in, and it was ONE IN THE MORNING. Oh dear lord, they went and arrested her at her parents' house after midnight. This was worth its weight in gold to us, we were so happy. Did she have to post bail? Did this cost someone money? It was too good. The officer in charge asked us what happened, then asked her about it, then asked questions back and forth. He indicated to us that she was very, very angry. He even reprimanded her for doing something so childish, and he said she scowled at him but didn't have much of a response.
Of course the upshot was that nothing stuck. As the officer explained it to us, "Once you live with someone in this state for more than 6 months, even if it's not a 'girlfriend-girlfriend' situation, everything in the apartment becomes community property." So, they were unable to get her for destruction of property and had to charge her with disorderly conduct. They also lost the answering machine tape so it was basically our word against hers, and some pictures of the apartment.
We were just mad. I mean sure, the fact that she got arrested was pretty cool, but we had put up with a lot, and felt like she was getting off pretty lightly. We realized that the way to get to this lunatic was through her stuff. After all, she did have a freakin' deadbolt on her door. I set about to deny her access to the few things she had remaining in her bedroom, and broke a bobby pin off in the deadbolt. Again, the Lifetime Movie heroine in me was screaming in triumph.
When Janice arrived to collect the rest of her stuff, I decided I shouldn't be there. I went and hung out with the upstairs neighbors and observed, instead. I saw Janice come out and wait in the parking lot for something, and then the police arrived. Yep, in retaliation for us calling the police, she called the police. It was almost funny until I saw a cop prowling around on the roof overhang trying to break into my (deadbolted) bedroom. I decided to intervene. I guess Janice was convinced that Stephanie and I, being the master criminals that we are, had broken into her room, taken her stuff and stashed it in my room, and then changed the lock on her door. Yeeeeah. I let the cop into my room and showed her that I didn't have what Janice was looking for (her cookie sheets, I think) and that settled that. Then the cop helped Janice move the refrigerator so she could get in the other door to her bedroom, in the kitchen. I bet she was really glad we hadn't figured that out. It was at this point that she decided that poor Anna didn't deserve a bed. I fished the bobby pin piece back out of her lock to avoid repercussions from the landlord.
The only other major thing she did was to cut off our phone service completely. Not only did it tick us off, it meant we had to pay the reconnect fee, which made us angry all over again. Anna was a good sport and helped us pay for it, but we felt guilty about dragging her into the whole mess. Janice didn't give up completely though. She did several other minor things, like repeatedly removing our names from the mailbox downstairs (oh no), and renting out "her" parking space to one of the other neighbors. We politely explained the situation to him, and said we hoped he didn't give the crazy lady any money, since after all, we had her arrested once! The look on his face was semi-priceless.
As you might be able to tell from the details that I still remember after all this time, Stephanie and I have told this story many, many times. We would be in some social setting and someone would bring up a roommate story, then we would volunteer ours or someone who had already heard it would request that we tell it. Combined we could do a much more thorough job, since we each had our own separate run-ins with Janice.
We always ended it the same way: the most ironic and scary part is Janice's major and eventual degree.
Social work.
This one will be a bit long, but it all sort of goes together...
Janice's going away party was clearly in retaliation for the party I threw. Lucky me, I was home when it started and Stephanie was not. First Janice's boyfriend arrived with a pony keg, then some of his friends started showing up. These were friends of the real whiskey tango variety. Acid washed jean jackets and mullets in tow, they proceeded to set up camp in the kitchen and drink beer. I considered my options, and decided the best thing to do was to leave. I hung out at a friend's house until pretty late, and then returned and found them gone.
Here is what else I found. Poor Bus Couch, which had never done anything to anyone, had a cigarette hole burned into it. There were cigarette ashes everywhere, along with lakes and rivers of beer on the floor. My cordless phone from the living room was absent - we later found it smashed in the parking lot. The posters we got from the upstairs neighbors were torn up and strewn about the beer-soaked floor. This was evidently as trashed as four people could get the apartment without, you know, putting much effort into it. Probably the funniest thing she did was to change the outgoing message on the answering machine. When we set it up initially, she insisted that we not leave our names or our phone number on the outgoing message for safety reasons. After all, what if some psycho rapist freak got the wrong number and liked the sound of the voice on the answering machine? If we put our phone number on there, he could totally call back (gasp)! Needless to say, the outgoing message now gave both our names and said we definitely weren't home, and gave the address and phone number.
I immediately called Stephanie to let her know what had happened, and we decided that it would be worth calling the police. Since I had not yet located the cordless phone handset, she called them. Very sympathetic officers showed up and took a look around, took my report, and took the cassette out of the answering machine as evidence. (I guess we were lucky that voicemail wasn't that prevalent in 1995.) They gave me a business card and told me to call them when we knew where Janice was so they could pick her up. We now had a mission.
The next morning, I heard Janice come home to pick up the pony keg, and I leapt for the business card and the cordless phone, which one of the officers had located for me the night before. I called the number, but was scared out of my mind that Janice would hear me, and was just scared in general of what else she was plotting. The guy that answered the phone was decidedly not sympathetic or understanding. I guess Sympathetic Cop was on vacation as of that day, and this was his substitute, Sarcastic Cop. I explained my situation in a whisper, and Sarcastic Cop said, "Um... are you whispering, ma'am?" I told him I was, and that I didn't want her to hear me. He said, "Uh-huh." It was clear this was not going to be an easy battle, and let's face it, Janice was probably not sticking around, so I thanked him for being so helpful and hung up.
Stephanie and I had another strategy session, and through some digging around (again, friend of a friend) found out where Janice's parents lived. It was pretty close to where a friend of ours lived, so we set up a home base of surveillance operations there with Stephanie, her boyfriend, and me. It was kind of surreal - it felt like a regular hanging out/party evening except for the times when we would go driving by our target house to see if we saw Janice's car. Then we'd hang out some more, switch cars, and drive by again. Oh yeah, we were total pros at this. Finally, pay dirt. We called the police again, and they asked for our phone number so they could call us once they had her in custody. We booked it back to our apartment and waited. And waited and waited - man, it seemed like the longest wait in the world but we were far to excited to sleep.
Finally the call came in, and it was ONE IN THE MORNING. Oh dear lord, they went and arrested her at her parents' house after midnight. This was worth its weight in gold to us, we were so happy. Did she have to post bail? Did this cost someone money? It was too good. The officer in charge asked us what happened, then asked her about it, then asked questions back and forth. He indicated to us that she was very, very angry. He even reprimanded her for doing something so childish, and he said she scowled at him but didn't have much of a response.
Of course the upshot was that nothing stuck. As the officer explained it to us, "Once you live with someone in this state for more than 6 months, even if it's not a 'girlfriend-girlfriend' situation, everything in the apartment becomes community property." So, they were unable to get her for destruction of property and had to charge her with disorderly conduct. They also lost the answering machine tape so it was basically our word against hers, and some pictures of the apartment.
We were just mad. I mean sure, the fact that she got arrested was pretty cool, but we had put up with a lot, and felt like she was getting off pretty lightly. We realized that the way to get to this lunatic was through her stuff. After all, she did have a freakin' deadbolt on her door. I set about to deny her access to the few things she had remaining in her bedroom, and broke a bobby pin off in the deadbolt. Again, the Lifetime Movie heroine in me was screaming in triumph.
When Janice arrived to collect the rest of her stuff, I decided I shouldn't be there. I went and hung out with the upstairs neighbors and observed, instead. I saw Janice come out and wait in the parking lot for something, and then the police arrived. Yep, in retaliation for us calling the police, she called the police. It was almost funny until I saw a cop prowling around on the roof overhang trying to break into my (deadbolted) bedroom. I decided to intervene. I guess Janice was convinced that Stephanie and I, being the master criminals that we are, had broken into her room, taken her stuff and stashed it in my room, and then changed the lock on her door. Yeeeeah. I let the cop into my room and showed her that I didn't have what Janice was looking for (her cookie sheets, I think) and that settled that. Then the cop helped Janice move the refrigerator so she could get in the other door to her bedroom, in the kitchen. I bet she was really glad we hadn't figured that out. It was at this point that she decided that poor Anna didn't deserve a bed. I fished the bobby pin piece back out of her lock to avoid repercussions from the landlord.
The only other major thing she did was to cut off our phone service completely. Not only did it tick us off, it meant we had to pay the reconnect fee, which made us angry all over again. Anna was a good sport and helped us pay for it, but we felt guilty about dragging her into the whole mess. Janice didn't give up completely though. She did several other minor things, like repeatedly removing our names from the mailbox downstairs (oh no), and renting out "her" parking space to one of the other neighbors. We politely explained the situation to him, and said we hoped he didn't give the crazy lady any money, since after all, we had her arrested once! The look on his face was semi-priceless.
As you might be able to tell from the details that I still remember after all this time, Stephanie and I have told this story many, many times. We would be in some social setting and someone would bring up a roommate story, then we would volunteer ours or someone who had already heard it would request that we tell it. Combined we could do a much more thorough job, since we each had our own separate run-ins with Janice.
We always ended it the same way: the most ironic and scary part is Janice's major and eventual degree.
Social work.
The Janice Story, Part 3
Once Janice had a deadbolt on the door to her room, Stephanie and I started to worry. I mean, if she was so worried about us messing with her stuff and created this little fortress, what attacks was she plotting from within? Inevitably, Stephanie and I got locks on our bedroom doors. I wonder what the next tenants thought of all this. They probably couldn't even guess at what actually happened there, it's too off the wall.
Finally, we neared the end of the school year. All three of us were graduating, and even though Stephanie and I felt like we had been through a war together, we were optimistic. After all, hallelujah, Janice had let us know that she was not staying for the summer and would be subletting. The first thing we realized is that she would be taking the couch with her, so we started hunting yard sales. Once we bought a replacement couch we were wondering what to do with it. And sure, storing it at one of our parents' houses would have been an option, but we decided that would be wasted effort. We set it up in the living room, in front of Janice's couch. We now had what appeared to be a bus in our living room. We were fairly certain this displeased Janice a fair bit, but hey, she wasn't allowed to watch the TV so why not set Bus Couch in front of Forbidden Couch?
As graduation neared, we had a going away party for Janice. Naturally, she was not invited. It was extra nice because she wasn't even home - it was always nice when she wasn't home, actually, things were so relaxed. We talked to our friends about the weird stuff that had gone down, and laughed about a lot of it. At some point Janice came home and scurried into her room, but I must have been elsewhere or not paying attention - I kept talking about her as if she weren't there. Later somebody told me she had come home, and I felt this adrenaline surge and panic about it. At some point I had become fairly afraid of Janice and her instability.
Stephanie and I almost felt like the heroines in one of those cheesy Lifetime Movies of the Week, except instead of an abusive husband, we had Janice. Little things, like having a graduation party that we called a going away party, made us feel like we had a modicum of control over our own situation. Our upstairs neighbors were PhD candidates in math and were truly nerds with hearts of gold. At some point they gave us little posters that said, "Keep Your Chin Up!" We taped them to our (deadbolted) bedroom doors. The other "oh you're such a rebel" moment was when we put our Dean's List notifications on the fridge with magnets. We had a fairly good sense that Janice had not made the Dean's List.
Finally, graduation. The morning of the ceremony, Stephanie and I were in the living room hanging out until it was time to get ready and go. Stephanie was sitting on Bus Couch, writing out invitations to her graduation party, and had the phone book out to look up addresses. There was a knock on the door, and Janice's mother came in and went into Janice's room. We didn't pay much attention to this until she came out and started lecturing us about how we shouldn't be mean to her daughter and how we should be ashamed of ourselves. We dutifully ignored her since that seemed like the wisest move. At this point, she walked over to Stephanie and yanked the phone book away from her and held it behind her back and told us we were acting like kindergarteners (pronounced "kiddiegartners").
The whole situation was bizarre and unreal. It was also humorous because it was really easy to get her to forget what she was talking about. For example, I pointed out that I hadn't been at the apartment all that much since I had to practice. She started regaling me with tales of her cousin Eugene, who was a music major at such-and-such college, and how wonderful he was. When this would happen, Janice would emerge from the bedroom and start lecturing us about what horrible people we were. This tag teaming went on for a good half an hour before they got tired of it. Nothing was resolved - I'm not sure what they were going for but whatever it was, they probably didn't get it. Later (friend of a friend, remember?) we found out that Janice's mother was banned from a grocery store in town because she shoplifted. Suddenly Stephanie was extremely suspicious about some of her jewelry that she was unable to find.
Janice was in charge of getting a subletter for the apartment, since she was the one subletting. Naturally, she set about to try and get us the worst roommate possible. Fortunately, Janice's idea of the worst roommate possible was somebody who smokes and possibly does drugs. As it turned out, we got Anna, a sweet southern hippie chick who was surprised when we asked her not to smoke in the apartment. She was such a relief after Janice, it was unbelievable. Don't think that Janice let her off the hook though - she had agreed to leave her a bed to sleep on, and naturally went back on that little promise. More on that later. Anna had to sleep on a borrowed mattress on the floor until she bought a bed.
Of course, before she moved out, Janice had to have her own going away party. (To be continued so this post isn't 5 miles long)
Once Janice had a deadbolt on the door to her room, Stephanie and I started to worry. I mean, if she was so worried about us messing with her stuff and created this little fortress, what attacks was she plotting from within? Inevitably, Stephanie and I got locks on our bedroom doors. I wonder what the next tenants thought of all this. They probably couldn't even guess at what actually happened there, it's too off the wall.
Finally, we neared the end of the school year. All three of us were graduating, and even though Stephanie and I felt like we had been through a war together, we were optimistic. After all, hallelujah, Janice had let us know that she was not staying for the summer and would be subletting. The first thing we realized is that she would be taking the couch with her, so we started hunting yard sales. Once we bought a replacement couch we were wondering what to do with it. And sure, storing it at one of our parents' houses would have been an option, but we decided that would be wasted effort. We set it up in the living room, in front of Janice's couch. We now had what appeared to be a bus in our living room. We were fairly certain this displeased Janice a fair bit, but hey, she wasn't allowed to watch the TV so why not set Bus Couch in front of Forbidden Couch?
As graduation neared, we had a going away party for Janice. Naturally, she was not invited. It was extra nice because she wasn't even home - it was always nice when she wasn't home, actually, things were so relaxed. We talked to our friends about the weird stuff that had gone down, and laughed about a lot of it. At some point Janice came home and scurried into her room, but I must have been elsewhere or not paying attention - I kept talking about her as if she weren't there. Later somebody told me she had come home, and I felt this adrenaline surge and panic about it. At some point I had become fairly afraid of Janice and her instability.
Stephanie and I almost felt like the heroines in one of those cheesy Lifetime Movies of the Week, except instead of an abusive husband, we had Janice. Little things, like having a graduation party that we called a going away party, made us feel like we had a modicum of control over our own situation. Our upstairs neighbors were PhD candidates in math and were truly nerds with hearts of gold. At some point they gave us little posters that said, "Keep Your Chin Up!" We taped them to our (deadbolted) bedroom doors. The other "oh you're such a rebel" moment was when we put our Dean's List notifications on the fridge with magnets. We had a fairly good sense that Janice had not made the Dean's List.
Finally, graduation. The morning of the ceremony, Stephanie and I were in the living room hanging out until it was time to get ready and go. Stephanie was sitting on Bus Couch, writing out invitations to her graduation party, and had the phone book out to look up addresses. There was a knock on the door, and Janice's mother came in and went into Janice's room. We didn't pay much attention to this until she came out and started lecturing us about how we shouldn't be mean to her daughter and how we should be ashamed of ourselves. We dutifully ignored her since that seemed like the wisest move. At this point, she walked over to Stephanie and yanked the phone book away from her and held it behind her back and told us we were acting like kindergarteners (pronounced "kiddiegartners").
The whole situation was bizarre and unreal. It was also humorous because it was really easy to get her to forget what she was talking about. For example, I pointed out that I hadn't been at the apartment all that much since I had to practice. She started regaling me with tales of her cousin Eugene, who was a music major at such-and-such college, and how wonderful he was. When this would happen, Janice would emerge from the bedroom and start lecturing us about what horrible people we were. This tag teaming went on for a good half an hour before they got tired of it. Nothing was resolved - I'm not sure what they were going for but whatever it was, they probably didn't get it. Later (friend of a friend, remember?) we found out that Janice's mother was banned from a grocery store in town because she shoplifted. Suddenly Stephanie was extremely suspicious about some of her jewelry that she was unable to find.
Janice was in charge of getting a subletter for the apartment, since she was the one subletting. Naturally, she set about to try and get us the worst roommate possible. Fortunately, Janice's idea of the worst roommate possible was somebody who smokes and possibly does drugs. As it turned out, we got Anna, a sweet southern hippie chick who was surprised when we asked her not to smoke in the apartment. She was such a relief after Janice, it was unbelievable. Don't think that Janice let her off the hook though - she had agreed to leave her a bed to sleep on, and naturally went back on that little promise. More on that later. Anna had to sleep on a borrowed mattress on the floor until she bought a bed.
Of course, before she moved out, Janice had to have her own going away party. (To be continued so this post isn't 5 miles long)
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
The Janice Story, Part 2
As background, I should mention our living arrangement. There were two bedrooms in the apartment, and then there was a "bedroom" that was really a slightly converted porch. There were also two parking spaces allotted to our apartment. I was willing to take the tiny "bedroom" (I spent most of my time in a practice room anyway) and I didn't feel the need to have a car on campus so I didn't use the parking space. To even this out, we agreed that I would pay slightly less rent than Janice and Stephanie.
The two parking spaces were in a driveway (the apartment was a converted house) and forced Janice and Stephanie to park each other in, depending on who got home first. This obviously became a problem as neither one of them trusted the other one with her car keys, and sometimes you'd just rather walk where you're going. I remember a particularly bad screaming match right around the time we decided that Janice wasn't using our stuff and vice versa.
Anyway, back to the story. During Christmas break, I picked up the phone to call one of my friends that went back to Milwaukee. The call wouldn't go through no matter what I did, even using a calling card, so I called the phone company. Near Christmas. I spent about an hour on hold, and finally talked to someone who told me there was a long distance block on my line. I asked him to remove it, and he asked me for THE PASSWORD.
Immediately knowing who was behind this injustice, I took the phone into Janice's room and explained to her that I needed the password so I could call my friend. She said she had no earthly idea what I was talking about and I explained to her that the guy at the phone company begged to differ. She grabbed the phone, told him she was in the middle of something important AND HUNG UP ON HIM. You know that feeling, that one where you literally see little flashes of light behind your eyelids? I now had that feeling. I'm not proud of this, but I gave her a big ol' shove onto her bed and screamed at her. She picked up her stuff and said (in the most dramatic tone possible), "I have to go, there are PEOPLE WHO NEED ME!" And left.
Once we were finally able to talk about this rationally, she explained that she would be happy to take the block off of the long distance, "when Jen starts paying her rent." Apparently, she was asleep when we negotiated the rent split deal. We told her she could swap bedrooms with me or give me her parking space, and then we would pay the same amount of rent every month. Then she said she would unblock the long distance but that I would have to put it in my name. I should mention here that we never had any trouble with not paying bills or being behind on bills, but I think she was plotting her next move, and didn't want to leave us with any way to get back at her.
Fast forward a little bit to a time when I have a friend visit me for the week-end. Stephanie and I are hanging out in the living room (on the floor of course since Janice's couch is off limits at this point), and we are discussing whether or not my friend can sit on Janice's couch. After some serious consideration, we decide that friends have no part in this war, and are free to sit on the couch. The friend sits on Forbidden Couch.
Later that night, Stephanie is studying in the living room (on the floor), and decides it's time for bed. She gets up and turns off the only light that's on the apartment. Right at this moment, Janice returns home and opens the door. Stephanie is startled and lets out a little yelp, which Janice takes as an admission of guilt. Clearly the only reason she can be startled is that she had been sitting on Forbidden Couch. After Stephanie goes to bed, Janice feels the couch cushions. Oh yes, you heard me right, she feels the couch cushions - and they are warm!
The next morning, I wake up and wander out into the living room and see that Forbidden Couch now has no Forbidden Cushions on it. What the...? When Stephanie gets up, I point this out to her, and she is equally clueless about what might have happened. We begin reconnaissance activities: the hallway, the basement, the kitchen, but do not locate the cushions. Finally, it can no longer be avoided - we look in Janice's room. OH GOD there they are, wedged between the recliner, bed, and dresser. For the next few weeks, Janice hauls the couch cushions with her from her room every time she wants to sit on Forbidden Couch. Granted this is not often because she is no longer allowed to watch our TV.
One week-end, Janice's father showed up with power tools. After everything we'd been through I guess we shouldn't have been surprised when he installed a dead bolt on her bedroom door. Oh yeah, she would unlock the apartment door with one key, then carry all her stuff to her bedroom and unlock that door with another key. Now, the Forbidden Cushions were safely locked in her room and we couldn't get to them. Thank goodness.
Next: things start to get even uglier.
As background, I should mention our living arrangement. There were two bedrooms in the apartment, and then there was a "bedroom" that was really a slightly converted porch. There were also two parking spaces allotted to our apartment. I was willing to take the tiny "bedroom" (I spent most of my time in a practice room anyway) and I didn't feel the need to have a car on campus so I didn't use the parking space. To even this out, we agreed that I would pay slightly less rent than Janice and Stephanie.
The two parking spaces were in a driveway (the apartment was a converted house) and forced Janice and Stephanie to park each other in, depending on who got home first. This obviously became a problem as neither one of them trusted the other one with her car keys, and sometimes you'd just rather walk where you're going. I remember a particularly bad screaming match right around the time we decided that Janice wasn't using our stuff and vice versa.
Anyway, back to the story. During Christmas break, I picked up the phone to call one of my friends that went back to Milwaukee. The call wouldn't go through no matter what I did, even using a calling card, so I called the phone company. Near Christmas. I spent about an hour on hold, and finally talked to someone who told me there was a long distance block on my line. I asked him to remove it, and he asked me for THE PASSWORD.
Immediately knowing who was behind this injustice, I took the phone into Janice's room and explained to her that I needed the password so I could call my friend. She said she had no earthly idea what I was talking about and I explained to her that the guy at the phone company begged to differ. She grabbed the phone, told him she was in the middle of something important AND HUNG UP ON HIM. You know that feeling, that one where you literally see little flashes of light behind your eyelids? I now had that feeling. I'm not proud of this, but I gave her a big ol' shove onto her bed and screamed at her. She picked up her stuff and said (in the most dramatic tone possible), "I have to go, there are PEOPLE WHO NEED ME!" And left.
Once we were finally able to talk about this rationally, she explained that she would be happy to take the block off of the long distance, "when Jen starts paying her rent." Apparently, she was asleep when we negotiated the rent split deal. We told her she could swap bedrooms with me or give me her parking space, and then we would pay the same amount of rent every month. Then she said she would unblock the long distance but that I would have to put it in my name. I should mention here that we never had any trouble with not paying bills or being behind on bills, but I think she was plotting her next move, and didn't want to leave us with any way to get back at her.
Fast forward a little bit to a time when I have a friend visit me for the week-end. Stephanie and I are hanging out in the living room (on the floor of course since Janice's couch is off limits at this point), and we are discussing whether or not my friend can sit on Janice's couch. After some serious consideration, we decide that friends have no part in this war, and are free to sit on the couch. The friend sits on Forbidden Couch.
Later that night, Stephanie is studying in the living room (on the floor), and decides it's time for bed. She gets up and turns off the only light that's on the apartment. Right at this moment, Janice returns home and opens the door. Stephanie is startled and lets out a little yelp, which Janice takes as an admission of guilt. Clearly the only reason she can be startled is that she had been sitting on Forbidden Couch. After Stephanie goes to bed, Janice feels the couch cushions. Oh yes, you heard me right, she feels the couch cushions - and they are warm!
The next morning, I wake up and wander out into the living room and see that Forbidden Couch now has no Forbidden Cushions on it. What the...? When Stephanie gets up, I point this out to her, and she is equally clueless about what might have happened. We begin reconnaissance activities: the hallway, the basement, the kitchen, but do not locate the cushions. Finally, it can no longer be avoided - we look in Janice's room. OH GOD there they are, wedged between the recliner, bed, and dresser. For the next few weeks, Janice hauls the couch cushions with her from her room every time she wants to sit on Forbidden Couch. Granted this is not often because she is no longer allowed to watch our TV.
One week-end, Janice's father showed up with power tools. After everything we'd been through I guess we shouldn't have been surprised when he installed a dead bolt on her bedroom door. Oh yeah, she would unlock the apartment door with one key, then carry all her stuff to her bedroom and unlock that door with another key. Now, the Forbidden Cushions were safely locked in her room and we couldn't get to them. Thank goodness.
Next: things start to get even uglier.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
The Janice Story, Part One
I was reminded the other day of a roommate I had in college. Her name wasn't Janice, but for the purposes of this story it will be. My friend Stephanie and I moved in with Janice when we found out she was looking for two roommates for a pretty sweet place near campus. Janice was a "friend of a friend" kind of person, not someone we knew, but someone we knew of. I'm going to go out on a limb now and recommend you never, ever do that. Interview potential roommates if you don't know them yourself, people.
The first sign that things were going to be a little bit rocky was when we borrowed a small square of Janice's saran wrap. Stephanie had made some pudding, and we had just moved in so she hadn't stocked up on all the keep-pudding-fresh essentials, so she tore of a small piece of saran wrap and used it. Being a considerate person, she informed Janice and told her that she was going shopping the next day and shouldn't need to borrow anything else.
The next day, we came into the kitchen and saw that every box containing a bulk quantity good was labelled JANICE in capital magic marker letters. We thought, collectively... "hmm."
The next thing we started to notice is that none of the furniture in the apartment belonged to Janice. In her bedroom, she had a full set of furniture - bed, recliner, desk, two dressers(?), TV, and VCR, but in the living room was my recliner and TV, Stephanie's computer, and my printer - Janice's couch was the only thing she contributed to the community. She also had a mini fridge in the living room, but we weren't to use it. This becomes important later, but the reason this came up initially was that Janice would sit in her room and type up papers for school on her word processor thing, but then come out and print them on Stephanie/my computer/printer - and would just turn it off without shutting down when she was done. We actually managed to clear this up without bloodshed, but the days were early.
Another sharing issue emerged, and the second dresser went into the kitchen to store all of Janice's dishes and crap. We were forbidden access to the Dresser of Janice.
There were several more my stuff/your stuff issues as we went, including the time that Janice gave a tampon of mine to one of her friends (seriously, what the hell?), and managed to break my shampoo bottle and not say anything about it since, you know, that's totally OK and normal.
Some insight into Janice: Once, I agreed to play piano for her boyfriend's sister's wedding. We had song choices more or less narrowed down, but I didn't get to meet the couple until the rehearsal. We headed to downtown and found that nobody was at the church to meet us. After we sat in a car outside a church for about an hour making awkward small talk, the groom showed up and said he got mugged outside the tuxedo rental place. Now, we were in a city to be sure, but not in a city where the tuxedo rental places are dangerous. When the rehearsal/wedding were called off, it became clear to me that he got cold feet, but seriously - that's your excuse??
More insight: One night I didn't have anything to do, and Janice invited me to go out dancing with her and her boyfriend. I thought well, alright, maybe this will help us get along a little better, but it was really just more evidence that I was living with a crazy person. As soon as we went out on the dance floor, Janice started accusing the girl next to us of intentionally bumping into her. After that point, it was pretty much on. They slammed into each other over and over again, and we got followed into the parking lot when we left. Thankfully, there was just a lot of yelling curse words back and forth, and no actual fight. I decided going out with Janice wasn't a good idea.
Midway through our tenuous coexistence, I broke up with my fiance. It was a really good thing that it ended, but left me a bit emotionally vulnerable. I ended up hanging out with some guys who were much younger than I, but obviously they couldn't go to the bars with me. We ended up at the apartment late one night and they (being underage) asked if I had alcohol on hand. I didn't but Janice did. Despite it obviously being the worst idea in the world, I took two beers from the Forbidden Mini Fridge and, being conscientious and stuff, left Janice a note with some money. A little bit later, she came out and told us SHE needed HER SLEEP and we should shut the hell up. We moved the conversation to my bedroom, though it was a bit awkward since I didn't know them extremely well and we had to sit on my bed - more about my room later.
The next day there was a screaming match over the beers and the noise. It was like I had a wild bachelor party in the apartment or something, the way she lectured and yelled and carried on. I mostly smoothed it out by telling her it wouldn't happen again, which I was pretty sure it wouldn't anyway so it wasn't much of a loss. Later that day, the mini fridge got moved into her bedroom with everything else.
At some point, Janice accused us of going in her room and touching her stuff. We thought - eh? Why on earth would we do that when we have everything we need in the shared areas? Shortly after that, Janice got a phone call and Stephanie opened the Forbidden Bedroom door to see if Janice was inside. Janice was out, but had propped a pair of her shoes just on the inside of the door as a booby trap. Stephanie shrugged and replaced the shoes when she left.
Later, one of us was looking for her again and forgot to replace the booby shoes. OH IT WAS ON. Despite everything we did, we could not convince Janice that we had no malicious intent when we opened that door. As an end result, Janice told us we weren't allowed to use anything of hers anymore. Having come to the realization that we would only be without a couch we said FINE - but you can't use anything of ours anymore, either. Bear in mind now this includes the microwave, toaster, kitchen table, and everything in the living room except the couch.
I was reminded the other day of a roommate I had in college. Her name wasn't Janice, but for the purposes of this story it will be. My friend Stephanie and I moved in with Janice when we found out she was looking for two roommates for a pretty sweet place near campus. Janice was a "friend of a friend" kind of person, not someone we knew, but someone we knew of. I'm going to go out on a limb now and recommend you never, ever do that. Interview potential roommates if you don't know them yourself, people.
The first sign that things were going to be a little bit rocky was when we borrowed a small square of Janice's saran wrap. Stephanie had made some pudding, and we had just moved in so she hadn't stocked up on all the keep-pudding-fresh essentials, so she tore of a small piece of saran wrap and used it. Being a considerate person, she informed Janice and told her that she was going shopping the next day and shouldn't need to borrow anything else.
The next day, we came into the kitchen and saw that every box containing a bulk quantity good was labelled JANICE in capital magic marker letters. We thought, collectively... "hmm."
The next thing we started to notice is that none of the furniture in the apartment belonged to Janice. In her bedroom, she had a full set of furniture - bed, recliner, desk, two dressers(?), TV, and VCR, but in the living room was my recliner and TV, Stephanie's computer, and my printer - Janice's couch was the only thing she contributed to the community. She also had a mini fridge in the living room, but we weren't to use it. This becomes important later, but the reason this came up initially was that Janice would sit in her room and type up papers for school on her word processor thing, but then come out and print them on Stephanie/my computer/printer - and would just turn it off without shutting down when she was done. We actually managed to clear this up without bloodshed, but the days were early.
Another sharing issue emerged, and the second dresser went into the kitchen to store all of Janice's dishes and crap. We were forbidden access to the Dresser of Janice.
There were several more my stuff/your stuff issues as we went, including the time that Janice gave a tampon of mine to one of her friends (seriously, what the hell?), and managed to break my shampoo bottle and not say anything about it since, you know, that's totally OK and normal.
Some insight into Janice: Once, I agreed to play piano for her boyfriend's sister's wedding. We had song choices more or less narrowed down, but I didn't get to meet the couple until the rehearsal. We headed to downtown and found that nobody was at the church to meet us. After we sat in a car outside a church for about an hour making awkward small talk, the groom showed up and said he got mugged outside the tuxedo rental place. Now, we were in a city to be sure, but not in a city where the tuxedo rental places are dangerous. When the rehearsal/wedding were called off, it became clear to me that he got cold feet, but seriously - that's your excuse??
More insight: One night I didn't have anything to do, and Janice invited me to go out dancing with her and her boyfriend. I thought well, alright, maybe this will help us get along a little better, but it was really just more evidence that I was living with a crazy person. As soon as we went out on the dance floor, Janice started accusing the girl next to us of intentionally bumping into her. After that point, it was pretty much on. They slammed into each other over and over again, and we got followed into the parking lot when we left. Thankfully, there was just a lot of yelling curse words back and forth, and no actual fight. I decided going out with Janice wasn't a good idea.
Midway through our tenuous coexistence, I broke up with my fiance. It was a really good thing that it ended, but left me a bit emotionally vulnerable. I ended up hanging out with some guys who were much younger than I, but obviously they couldn't go to the bars with me. We ended up at the apartment late one night and they (being underage) asked if I had alcohol on hand. I didn't but Janice did. Despite it obviously being the worst idea in the world, I took two beers from the Forbidden Mini Fridge and, being conscientious and stuff, left Janice a note with some money. A little bit later, she came out and told us SHE needed HER SLEEP and we should shut the hell up. We moved the conversation to my bedroom, though it was a bit awkward since I didn't know them extremely well and we had to sit on my bed - more about my room later.
The next day there was a screaming match over the beers and the noise. It was like I had a wild bachelor party in the apartment or something, the way she lectured and yelled and carried on. I mostly smoothed it out by telling her it wouldn't happen again, which I was pretty sure it wouldn't anyway so it wasn't much of a loss. Later that day, the mini fridge got moved into her bedroom with everything else.
At some point, Janice accused us of going in her room and touching her stuff. We thought - eh? Why on earth would we do that when we have everything we need in the shared areas? Shortly after that, Janice got a phone call and Stephanie opened the Forbidden Bedroom door to see if Janice was inside. Janice was out, but had propped a pair of her shoes just on the inside of the door as a booby trap. Stephanie shrugged and replaced the shoes when she left.
Later, one of us was looking for her again and forgot to replace the booby shoes. OH IT WAS ON. Despite everything we did, we could not convince Janice that we had no malicious intent when we opened that door. As an end result, Janice told us we weren't allowed to use anything of hers anymore. Having come to the realization that we would only be without a couch we said FINE - but you can't use anything of ours anymore, either. Bear in mind now this includes the microwave, toaster, kitchen table, and everything in the living room except the couch.
It only gets stranger from here on out.
Wednesday, March 03, 2010
Son of Frankenboob
Brace yourselves, this is a long one.
I call my husband and I "neo-hippies" sometimes. It all started gradually, and the impetus was my (non-invasive) breast cancer diagnosis. We progressed from cutting dairy out of our diet (much to the chagrin of my Wisconsin-based family) to cutting out junk food (OK, BoJangles makes an occasional appearance), to cutting out partially hydrogenated oils and MSG, to shopping exclusively at Whole Foods and buying organic produce (local AND organic when possible). We use cloth shopping bags, we don't take "regular" medicine if we can possibly help it, we recycle. So, it's no surprise that we were pretty much pre-sold on the idea of breastfeeding.
Unfortunately, frankenboob (lefty) had been radiated and was quite obviously not growing with the pregnancy. I mentally counted frankenboob out, but was assured that righty, with enough encouragement, would produce enough to be viable. I have to say that this was the aspect of newborn care I was the most apprehensive about. I know several moms who had trouble and/or weren't able to breastfeed at all, and I knew how devastated they were by it. I suppose this all put me in the wrong frame of mind to begin with, but I am a worrier by nature. So, I worried.
When the time came to try and breastfeed, the whole latching process seemed OK, but righty didn't seem to be with the program. I suffered through the indignity of complete strangers coming in to try and milk me (what the blazes??), but there really wasn't a whole lot going on until the day we checked out of the hospital. Then I could tell that righty was finally doing something, and I couldn't wait to give this another try. The lactation people (the aforementioned milkers) had given me an apparatus to hang on my bra. It dispenses formula through a tiny tube, so that the baby drinks formula while he also is attempting to extract breast milk. Genius, right? Well... trying to get a good latch AND position this tiny flexible tube in exactly the right spot when the baby is hungry and lunging at me and just basically wiggling all over the place is something like impossible. I must have latched and unlatched him 10 times per feeding before he wasn't hurting me AND was getting formula.
By the end of the week, this was taking a toll. My poor brother, who was visiting for Christmas, had the bad luck of being up late enough to witness my husband and I doing extensive searches for relief of MY NIPPLE IS ON FIRE. And of course, we're looking at pictures of various ailments and then looking at my boob, and dear lord I think we scarred my brother for life. The next day, I shelved the stupid apparatus and just tried the "breastfeed, THEN bottle feed" strategy. The pain subsided, and the baby seemed happy not to be interrupted so many damn times.
Righty, being equally suspicious to the oncologist, had gone through three separate biopsies, one that left a long scar right across the top. Going by the fact that it never produced more than half an ounce (not NEARLY enough for any baby), I'm going to guess that the surgeries messed up the whole deal. On the plus side, the baby was getting something, but on the minus side, our whole neo-hippy plan of exclusive breastfeeding was just not gonna happen. When I went back to work, I ditched the breastfeeding entirely, knowing that pumping enough for even one feeding would take me several days. Nuts to that.
So, we have a bottle baby. It was a somewhat long process for me to accept that, even though in some ways I was mentally prepared even before I had the baby. I have made some kind of peace with it now, and of course we have organic formula so some part of our neo-hippiness is being appeased. Still, every time I see some smarmy comment about how you really *should* be breastfeeding (oh, those people are out there lurking on seemingly innocent forums about babycare), I want to punch them in the nose.
Brace yourselves, this is a long one.
I call my husband and I "neo-hippies" sometimes. It all started gradually, and the impetus was my (non-invasive) breast cancer diagnosis. We progressed from cutting dairy out of our diet (much to the chagrin of my Wisconsin-based family) to cutting out junk food (OK, BoJangles makes an occasional appearance), to cutting out partially hydrogenated oils and MSG, to shopping exclusively at Whole Foods and buying organic produce (local AND organic when possible). We use cloth shopping bags, we don't take "regular" medicine if we can possibly help it, we recycle. So, it's no surprise that we were pretty much pre-sold on the idea of breastfeeding.
Unfortunately, frankenboob (lefty) had been radiated and was quite obviously not growing with the pregnancy. I mentally counted frankenboob out, but was assured that righty, with enough encouragement, would produce enough to be viable. I have to say that this was the aspect of newborn care I was the most apprehensive about. I know several moms who had trouble and/or weren't able to breastfeed at all, and I knew how devastated they were by it. I suppose this all put me in the wrong frame of mind to begin with, but I am a worrier by nature. So, I worried.
When the time came to try and breastfeed, the whole latching process seemed OK, but righty didn't seem to be with the program. I suffered through the indignity of complete strangers coming in to try and milk me (what the blazes??), but there really wasn't a whole lot going on until the day we checked out of the hospital. Then I could tell that righty was finally doing something, and I couldn't wait to give this another try. The lactation people (the aforementioned milkers) had given me an apparatus to hang on my bra. It dispenses formula through a tiny tube, so that the baby drinks formula while he also is attempting to extract breast milk. Genius, right? Well... trying to get a good latch AND position this tiny flexible tube in exactly the right spot when the baby is hungry and lunging at me and just basically wiggling all over the place is something like impossible. I must have latched and unlatched him 10 times per feeding before he wasn't hurting me AND was getting formula.
By the end of the week, this was taking a toll. My poor brother, who was visiting for Christmas, had the bad luck of being up late enough to witness my husband and I doing extensive searches for relief of MY NIPPLE IS ON FIRE. And of course, we're looking at pictures of various ailments and then looking at my boob, and dear lord I think we scarred my brother for life. The next day, I shelved the stupid apparatus and just tried the "breastfeed, THEN bottle feed" strategy. The pain subsided, and the baby seemed happy not to be interrupted so many damn times.
Righty, being equally suspicious to the oncologist, had gone through three separate biopsies, one that left a long scar right across the top. Going by the fact that it never produced more than half an ounce (not NEARLY enough for any baby), I'm going to guess that the surgeries messed up the whole deal. On the plus side, the baby was getting something, but on the minus side, our whole neo-hippy plan of exclusive breastfeeding was just not gonna happen. When I went back to work, I ditched the breastfeeding entirely, knowing that pumping enough for even one feeding would take me several days. Nuts to that.
So, we have a bottle baby. It was a somewhat long process for me to accept that, even though in some ways I was mentally prepared even before I had the baby. I have made some kind of peace with it now, and of course we have organic formula so some part of our neo-hippiness is being appeased. Still, every time I see some smarmy comment about how you really *should* be breastfeeding (oh, those people are out there lurking on seemingly innocent forums about babycare), I want to punch them in the nose.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
The 5 S Words
Overall, I think we had a fairly smooth transition into parenting. We have talked with enough parents that we know to realize that you will have to accept a "new normal" as fast as possible in order to survive with your mind intact. That's not to say that we don't forget to do things, forget what time appointments are, forget our names, etc. After all, the sleeping conditions with a baby in the room are less than ideal. Seriously, "sleeping like a baby?" what is THAT supposed to mean? That you grunt or make weird elephant noises every so often, and wake up every 3 hours? The baby, of course, is perfect. He is a big fan of having his hands up next to his head, and says, "LAAAAAA LAAAAA" when he cries - we call him our little French baby.
The best thing that we have done for ourselves so far is to practice some of "The Happiest Baby on the Block" techniques. 5 S words between you and peace & quiet. The night after we watched the video, the baby woke up at 2am and it was time for me to practice. I was reciting it to myself: Swaddle, Side, Shush, Swing, Suck. OK. So I swaddled him like it showed in the video and... he went immediately to sleep and stayed that way. Our baby only needs one S! Victory!
Of course, that didn't remain the case. Also, he outgrew all the swaddling blankets we owned in a hurry. We bought bigger ones, he outgrew those. We looked online and found a sleep sack, where you zip him in and then pull velcro flaps around him - first he got too long for it, then he got strong enough to get the velcro loose. We are now on incarnation #3 of swaddling the baby, which is a product called the Miracle Blanket. Hopefully by the time he outgrows this one, he'll be able to sleep without a swaddle! I don't want to think about how much money we've thrown at this problem, but it has ALL BEEN WORTH IT.
Overall, I think we had a fairly smooth transition into parenting. We have talked with enough parents that we know to realize that you will have to accept a "new normal" as fast as possible in order to survive with your mind intact. That's not to say that we don't forget to do things, forget what time appointments are, forget our names, etc. After all, the sleeping conditions with a baby in the room are less than ideal. Seriously, "sleeping like a baby?" what is THAT supposed to mean? That you grunt or make weird elephant noises every so often, and wake up every 3 hours? The baby, of course, is perfect. He is a big fan of having his hands up next to his head, and says, "LAAAAAA LAAAAA" when he cries - we call him our little French baby.
The best thing that we have done for ourselves so far is to practice some of "The Happiest Baby on the Block" techniques. 5 S words between you and peace & quiet. The night after we watched the video, the baby woke up at 2am and it was time for me to practice. I was reciting it to myself: Swaddle, Side, Shush, Swing, Suck. OK. So I swaddled him like it showed in the video and... he went immediately to sleep and stayed that way. Our baby only needs one S! Victory!
Of course, that didn't remain the case. Also, he outgrew all the swaddling blankets we owned in a hurry. We bought bigger ones, he outgrew those. We looked online and found a sleep sack, where you zip him in and then pull velcro flaps around him - first he got too long for it, then he got strong enough to get the velcro loose. We are now on incarnation #3 of swaddling the baby, which is a product called the Miracle Blanket. Hopefully by the time he outgrows this one, he'll be able to sleep without a swaddle! I don't want to think about how much money we've thrown at this problem, but it has ALL BEEN WORTH IT.
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
The Big Day
Since it has now been six weeks, I feel like I have regained enough of my sanity to post about our little guy's first day. Since he never did get turned around to the proper exiting position (keeping all feet, hands and objects inside the ride at all times), it was scheduled c-section all the way. As I mentioned, it is now considered far too dangerous to deliver a breech baby, and hey, I'm A-OK with whatever is safest for the baby regardless of what our birth plan may have been.
That being said, I feel like I didn't get full disclosure about this whole c-section thing. I mean, just because I don't have to recognize the signs of labor or do breathing exercises or push doesn't mean I'm not involved, amirite? Pretty much the only information you get in the birth classes about c-sections is that one in ten pregnancies will be delivered that way, you will get an epidural but be awake, and they don't take very long.
WELL. Here are some things I wish they would have mentioned. I'm sure they wouldn't have helped me sleep any better the night before, but holy hallelujah they would have minimized some of the psychological trauma I experienced during delivery. After all, they wouldn't prepare you for a vaginal delivery and not tell you about the pain. The squeamish may skip the next section. By the way, I will get to talking about the baby, I just want to get this part out of the way.
1. Numb? Yes. Can you also tell exactly what is going on down there? Yes. I could handle when the doctor announced there was a "gusher" by going to my happy place and thinking something along the lines of "lalalalalalala" but it's tough to ignore the amount of moving your body actually does. I'll leave it at that.
2. I thought naively that the doctor would reach in and pull the baby out once it was go time. OH NO. This is the point where she pushes with all her might on the top part of the baby which happens to be DIRECTLY OVER MY RIBCAGE so that the baby squirts out the incision. Granted, once I thought about it, reaching into someone's body creates increased risk of infection, so the "break your ribs" technique makes more sense. However, since there was no warning at all, I think my eyes about popped out of their sockets.
3. By the way, at some point you may feel incredibly nauseous. Picture this: the baby is out, they showed him to me, they cleaned him off, and my husband and new son are sitting next to my head while the procedure progresses behind the drape (thank god for the drape). Suddenly I feel a nearly uncontrollable urge to vomit on my child. Once I make everyone aware of this, the husband and child are whisked away to be replaced by a bedpan. Fantastic. The psychological trauma continues as I am informed my organs are being put back in their proper places and it may be jostling my stomach. Uh huh.
Oh yeah, and after the surgery, whilst you are in a fair amount of pain and have gotten no sleep at all, you get to find out what contractions feel like, you lucky thing. But hey, on the bright side, contractions were in my birth plan.
Since it has now been six weeks, I feel like I have regained enough of my sanity to post about our little guy's first day. Since he never did get turned around to the proper exiting position (keeping all feet, hands and objects inside the ride at all times), it was scheduled c-section all the way. As I mentioned, it is now considered far too dangerous to deliver a breech baby, and hey, I'm A-OK with whatever is safest for the baby regardless of what our birth plan may have been.
That being said, I feel like I didn't get full disclosure about this whole c-section thing. I mean, just because I don't have to recognize the signs of labor or do breathing exercises or push doesn't mean I'm not involved, amirite? Pretty much the only information you get in the birth classes about c-sections is that one in ten pregnancies will be delivered that way, you will get an epidural but be awake, and they don't take very long.
WELL. Here are some things I wish they would have mentioned. I'm sure they wouldn't have helped me sleep any better the night before, but holy hallelujah they would have minimized some of the psychological trauma I experienced during delivery. After all, they wouldn't prepare you for a vaginal delivery and not tell you about the pain. The squeamish may skip the next section. By the way, I will get to talking about the baby, I just want to get this part out of the way.
1. Numb? Yes. Can you also tell exactly what is going on down there? Yes. I could handle when the doctor announced there was a "gusher" by going to my happy place and thinking something along the lines of "lalalalalalala" but it's tough to ignore the amount of moving your body actually does. I'll leave it at that.
2. I thought naively that the doctor would reach in and pull the baby out once it was go time. OH NO. This is the point where she pushes with all her might on the top part of the baby which happens to be DIRECTLY OVER MY RIBCAGE so that the baby squirts out the incision. Granted, once I thought about it, reaching into someone's body creates increased risk of infection, so the "break your ribs" technique makes more sense. However, since there was no warning at all, I think my eyes about popped out of their sockets.
3. By the way, at some point you may feel incredibly nauseous. Picture this: the baby is out, they showed him to me, they cleaned him off, and my husband and new son are sitting next to my head while the procedure progresses behind the drape (thank god for the drape). Suddenly I feel a nearly uncontrollable urge to vomit on my child. Once I make everyone aware of this, the husband and child are whisked away to be replaced by a bedpan. Fantastic. The psychological trauma continues as I am informed my organs are being put back in their proper places and it may be jostling my stomach. Uh huh.
Oh yeah, and after the surgery, whilst you are in a fair amount of pain and have gotten no sleep at all, you get to find out what contractions feel like, you lucky thing. But hey, on the bright side, contractions were in my birth plan.
Friday, December 04, 2009
Once More Unto the Breech...
So, at 36 weeks we start having the up-close-and-personal style appointments once a week. Without getting graphic, the doctor checks to see how things are progressing, and checks the baby's position. The first of these appointments left us feeling pretty good - dilated (already!) 1cm, and baby has his head pointed down, in the proper "exit" position.
At least that's what the doctor thought. At 38 weeks (we skipped a week because of Thanksgiving), a different doctor said 2cm, but wasn't quite positive about the position, so he hauled out the ultrasound machine. The verdict was that, like his mother, this baby is NOT turned in the proper direction. Now, when I was born, they just went ahead and delivered me butt first. However, I think that the liability has now caught up with the medical profession, and this is no longer an option.
So, despite this being just a faint glimmer in the (unofficial) birth plan, we are now scheduled for a C-section on December 14th. If the baby gets with the program and flips around, we will cancel it and wait for labor. We are doing all sorts of things to try and get the baby to somersault... some of it seems almost like old wives' tales, but if it's not going to hurt anything and might help, we're trying it. I'm not comfortable with "inversion" where they try and manually flip him - it just seems too invasive to me. So if anyone needs me, I'll be upside down.
So, at 36 weeks we start having the up-close-and-personal style appointments once a week. Without getting graphic, the doctor checks to see how things are progressing, and checks the baby's position. The first of these appointments left us feeling pretty good - dilated (already!) 1cm, and baby has his head pointed down, in the proper "exit" position.
At least that's what the doctor thought. At 38 weeks (we skipped a week because of Thanksgiving), a different doctor said 2cm, but wasn't quite positive about the position, so he hauled out the ultrasound machine. The verdict was that, like his mother, this baby is NOT turned in the proper direction. Now, when I was born, they just went ahead and delivered me butt first. However, I think that the liability has now caught up with the medical profession, and this is no longer an option.
So, despite this being just a faint glimmer in the (unofficial) birth plan, we are now scheduled for a C-section on December 14th. If the baby gets with the program and flips around, we will cancel it and wait for labor. We are doing all sorts of things to try and get the baby to somersault... some of it seems almost like old wives' tales, but if it's not going to hurt anything and might help, we're trying it. I'm not comfortable with "inversion" where they try and manually flip him - it just seems too invasive to me. So if anyone needs me, I'll be upside down.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Thanksgiving, Pregnancy Edition
Things I'm thankful for this year:
Yoga pants
Zantac 150
Our Tempur-Pedic mattress
All my friends who have been pregnant before and are willing to listen to me and/or give me advice
My husband for making our Thanksgiving roast beef (since I'm off poultry...)
The in-laws for bringing us Thanksgiving leftovers (pig roast!)
Continued health and (relative) happiness, for all of us
Things I'm thankful for this year:
Yoga pants
Zantac 150
Our Tempur-Pedic mattress
All my friends who have been pregnant before and are willing to listen to me and/or give me advice
My husband for making our Thanksgiving roast beef (since I'm off poultry...)
The in-laws for bringing us Thanksgiving leftovers (pig roast!)
Continued health and (relative) happiness, for all of us
Saturday, September 12, 2009
I Probably Shouldn't Jinx It
I have about a week left in my second trimester, and I have to say that things are going really, really well. I can (mostly) breathe through my nose again, and I can now brush my teeth without feeling like I'm going to hurl. That was weird. Also, I'm sleeping pretty well on average, not including the early morning pee breaks. Most of the time when I wake up in the morning I don't even feel pregnant, I'm so amazingly comfortable. My monthly doctor's appointments last approximately 5 minutes. We listen to the heartbeat, and confirm there are no problems or questions. Done!
Lately I have been reflecting about how lucky we are that things have gone so normally. I have heard so many horror stories and seen so many disturbing things on TV, I feel like I have spent the last 6 months waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or maybe the first shoe. Somewhere, I just know a shoe is waiting to drop. Like I said, I probably shouldn't jinx it. Then again, it can't be a bad thing to realize how good I have it, right?
I will probably take this all back in the third trimester, but I'm hoping that I am able to continue being active, which seems to help me sleep and feel a lot better overall. I have this DVD made by a Cirque du Soleil trapeze artist when she was really, REALLY pregnant. Observe:
Granted, I'm not doing this workout very often, maybe once a week, but I always feel pretty good when I do. The only thing I object to in this DVD is that her final move is to put her arms straight out to the sides and make little circles with them for 3 minutes straight. I'm not sure how much practice it would take me to go from my pitiful 1 minute to her 3, but more than my remaining 3 months!
I have about a week left in my second trimester, and I have to say that things are going really, really well. I can (mostly) breathe through my nose again, and I can now brush my teeth without feeling like I'm going to hurl. That was weird. Also, I'm sleeping pretty well on average, not including the early morning pee breaks. Most of the time when I wake up in the morning I don't even feel pregnant, I'm so amazingly comfortable. My monthly doctor's appointments last approximately 5 minutes. We listen to the heartbeat, and confirm there are no problems or questions. Done!
Lately I have been reflecting about how lucky we are that things have gone so normally. I have heard so many horror stories and seen so many disturbing things on TV, I feel like I have spent the last 6 months waiting for the other shoe to drop. Or maybe the first shoe. Somewhere, I just know a shoe is waiting to drop. Like I said, I probably shouldn't jinx it. Then again, it can't be a bad thing to realize how good I have it, right?
I will probably take this all back in the third trimester, but I'm hoping that I am able to continue being active, which seems to help me sleep and feel a lot better overall. I have this DVD made by a Cirque du Soleil trapeze artist when she was really, REALLY pregnant. Observe:
Granted, I'm not doing this workout very often, maybe once a week, but I always feel pretty good when I do. The only thing I object to in this DVD is that her final move is to put her arms straight out to the sides and make little circles with them for 3 minutes straight. I'm not sure how much practice it would take me to go from my pitiful 1 minute to her 3, but more than my remaining 3 months!
Thursday, August 27, 2009
Travelogue: Jacksonville, NC
I have found this whole writing thing to be a bit more difficult since we never seem to stay home on the week-ends. On the bright side, we've taken some pretty neat trips, so I decided that it's time to catch up on some field reporting.
The first trip we took this spring/summer was to see my cousin-in-law get married. Her new husband was in the Marines at the time, so they opted to get married on the beach near Camp Lejeune, in Jacksonville, NC. There were lots of good reasons to do this - the scenery was beautiful, the atmosphere was fairly casual (second marriage for both), and the price was definitely right. Say what you will about the military, but they definitely provide some nice extras for their people when they can.
I had never been through a security clearance for a military base before - the only time I had ever been on base was to go on a sailboat that happened to be docked at a Naval base, and they didn't really care to check us in (after all, it was quite a few years before September 11th). Checking in wasn't really a huge deal except that we had to wait in line in the heat. The thing that entertained me throughout this process was reading the Dos and Don'ts of the dress code for times when you are not in uniform. The rules themselves weren't all that earth shattering, but there were pictures to illustrate - upstanding young men in their polo shirts and khaki shorts, and then some candids of the guys in ripped cutoffs and sleeveless t-shirts, who, honestly, looked like they were having a bit more fun.
From a purely self-centered perspective, I will admit that seeing Lisa did not help with my Shamu feelings. You see, Lisa is due a full month before me. Go ahead, check out the pictures and tell me she looks pregnant. Yeah, that's what I thought. I comfort myself with the knowledge that she is in a tough spot, as this pregnancy comes after gastric bypass surgery, and she definitely cannot eat with anything resembling reckless abandon. When we heard the news, we were mostly concerned since we didn't have any information about how one would cope with that combination. I'm happy to say that she (as you can see from the pictures) is incredibly healthy and so is the baby. She is also having a boy, so that should be fun at family gatherings.
On the way in, I saw the following sign and demanded that we pull over on the way out so I could get a picture of it. Now this is something you will only see when you are on a military base:
I was pretty surprised that somebody decided to draw a picture of the thing, since "TANK XING" seems pretty self-explanatory.
I have found this whole writing thing to be a bit more difficult since we never seem to stay home on the week-ends. On the bright side, we've taken some pretty neat trips, so I decided that it's time to catch up on some field reporting.
The first trip we took this spring/summer was to see my cousin-in-law get married. Her new husband was in the Marines at the time, so they opted to get married on the beach near Camp Lejeune, in Jacksonville, NC. There were lots of good reasons to do this - the scenery was beautiful, the atmosphere was fairly casual (second marriage for both), and the price was definitely right. Say what you will about the military, but they definitely provide some nice extras for their people when they can.
I had never been through a security clearance for a military base before - the only time I had ever been on base was to go on a sailboat that happened to be docked at a Naval base, and they didn't really care to check us in (after all, it was quite a few years before September 11th). Checking in wasn't really a huge deal except that we had to wait in line in the heat. The thing that entertained me throughout this process was reading the Dos and Don'ts of the dress code for times when you are not in uniform. The rules themselves weren't all that earth shattering, but there were pictures to illustrate - upstanding young men in their polo shirts and khaki shorts, and then some candids of the guys in ripped cutoffs and sleeveless t-shirts, who, honestly, looked like they were having a bit more fun.
From a purely self-centered perspective, I will admit that seeing Lisa did not help with my Shamu feelings. You see, Lisa is due a full month before me. Go ahead, check out the pictures and tell me she looks pregnant. Yeah, that's what I thought. I comfort myself with the knowledge that she is in a tough spot, as this pregnancy comes after gastric bypass surgery, and she definitely cannot eat with anything resembling reckless abandon. When we heard the news, we were mostly concerned since we didn't have any information about how one would cope with that combination. I'm happy to say that she (as you can see from the pictures) is incredibly healthy and so is the baby. She is also having a boy, so that should be fun at family gatherings.
On the way in, I saw the following sign and demanded that we pull over on the way out so I could get a picture of it. Now this is something you will only see when you are on a military base:
I was pretty surprised that somebody decided to draw a picture of the thing, since "TANK XING" seems pretty self-explanatory.
Monday, August 10, 2009
Baby's First Sheep
A friend of mine introduced me to the Martha's Vineyard Fiber Farm Blog a while back. It is an excellent place to get your cute fix, what with all the pictures of baby lambs, among other things. Not only that, but there are usually links to all sorts of interesting things. One that caught my eye was a link to a pattern for some knitted sheep. That very same week, I bought some yarn and knitting needles, and went about re-learning to knit. My mom taught me how once, but I was probably 15, and had long since forgotten almost everything. And yes, I'm aware that the pregnant lady knitting is a little bit of a cliche. I'm OK with that.
For the first project, I knitted a scarf. It started a little bit rough, left a couple of holes along the way, but finished strong. It won't win any prizes, but I may wear it for the two weeks or so that we call "winter" here in North Carolina. Then I tried to learn the purl stitch, and it wasn't pretty. I spent a couple of weeks just toying with it, seeing if I could get it to look cohesive, but it just wasn't happening, so I left knitting be for a little bit. See how I am when the going gets tough?
Finally, I decided it was time to attempt the sheep. A quick glance at the pattern revealed there was no purling required - sweet! After another trip to the craft store, I was all set. And (fanfare please!) after a few days of working while we watched TV, baby's first sheep was all ready to go:
OK, so now all I have to do is knit the little sheepy blanket. Per hubby's request, it is Carolina blue in color, and may or may not get a little UNC logo at some point. I re-checked the pattern and it says "moss stitch." Eh? So I look up moss stitch and find out it's knit 1, purl 1 for two rows, then purl 1 knit 1 for the next two rows. Crap! I tried, I really did. The problem was, if I pulled the yarn from one side, my stitches multiplied. Multiplied! I started with 24 and would end up with between 27-30 by row 2. So I tried pulling the yarn the other way. It went OK for about 6 rows, but then I noticed that I wasn't getting a blanket so much as I was getting a clumped-up knot of something that resembled rope. Awesome. So for the second time since starting, I abandoned the purl stitch. I just knitted the blanket, and I think it looks just fine:
I had the inspiration to create a few of these, and make them into a mobile. If I manage to do that I'll definitely post a picture - I'm pretty proud of my craftiness!
A friend of mine introduced me to the Martha's Vineyard Fiber Farm Blog a while back. It is an excellent place to get your cute fix, what with all the pictures of baby lambs, among other things. Not only that, but there are usually links to all sorts of interesting things. One that caught my eye was a link to a pattern for some knitted sheep. That very same week, I bought some yarn and knitting needles, and went about re-learning to knit. My mom taught me how once, but I was probably 15, and had long since forgotten almost everything. And yes, I'm aware that the pregnant lady knitting is a little bit of a cliche. I'm OK with that.
For the first project, I knitted a scarf. It started a little bit rough, left a couple of holes along the way, but finished strong. It won't win any prizes, but I may wear it for the two weeks or so that we call "winter" here in North Carolina. Then I tried to learn the purl stitch, and it wasn't pretty. I spent a couple of weeks just toying with it, seeing if I could get it to look cohesive, but it just wasn't happening, so I left knitting be for a little bit. See how I am when the going gets tough?
Finally, I decided it was time to attempt the sheep. A quick glance at the pattern revealed there was no purling required - sweet! After another trip to the craft store, I was all set. And (fanfare please!) after a few days of working while we watched TV, baby's first sheep was all ready to go:
OK, so now all I have to do is knit the little sheepy blanket. Per hubby's request, it is Carolina blue in color, and may or may not get a little UNC logo at some point. I re-checked the pattern and it says "moss stitch." Eh? So I look up moss stitch and find out it's knit 1, purl 1 for two rows, then purl 1 knit 1 for the next two rows. Crap! I tried, I really did. The problem was, if I pulled the yarn from one side, my stitches multiplied. Multiplied! I started with 24 and would end up with between 27-30 by row 2. So I tried pulling the yarn the other way. It went OK for about 6 rows, but then I noticed that I wasn't getting a blanket so much as I was getting a clumped-up knot of something that resembled rope. Awesome. So for the second time since starting, I abandoned the purl stitch. I just knitted the blanket, and I think it looks just fine:
I had the inspiration to create a few of these, and make them into a mobile. If I manage to do that I'll definitely post a picture - I'm pretty proud of my craftiness!
Thursday, July 23, 2009
Ultrasounds
For my first ultrasound (around 5 weeks or so), for once I was really glad I paid attention during all the movies I've seen that involve pregnancy. You see, I astutely noticed during movies like "Knocked Up" that the mother-to-be was wearing one of those drapes during the procedure. And every woman knows what that drape signifies. So, I did some research ahead of time to see if it was possible that the first ultrasound would be - how can I put this - a little up close and personal. And oh yes, it was. The actual image was pretty anticlimactic. I mean, it's basically a blob. Oh, with a fluttery blob inside it. It was so startling to see something with a beating heart on that screen that I laughed. This was not the best thing to do when the ultrasound wand is up close and personal - she had to re-find the image a couple of times during this process. But hey, we got the baby measured and confirmed that the heart was beating, no problem.
We just had ultrasound #2 (18 weeks). My mother-in-law lives about an hour away, and was able to get off work to come along, which was really cool. My mom had a short hospital stay last week (nothing awfully serious, she's OK!) so was unable to join this party. I thought, "Hey! No problem, we'll just bring a video camera and she can see it later." Which was all cool until we got there and they told us no cameras. Dammit. I'll admit, there were tears - I blame the hormones. The genetic counselor we talked to was very understanding and has probably seen all sorts of weird behavior. Pregnant women are not the most stable of creatures at the best times.
I'm not sure what I was expecting from this second scan. I mean, I knew it wouldn't look like a blob. At least hopefully we're not giving birth to an amoeba, that would suck. Instead, now we've got an alien fossil. What? Well, allow me to illustrate. First of all, the baby is transparent. This, to me, was a little bit shocking. Also, here is the face, which just screams alien:
And here is the profile, which looks like some sort of fossil:
It was still a pretty cool experience. Now, a word on finding out the gender ahead of time. We have heard lots of stories from other parents about wanting to be surprised. My personal thought on this subject is that there will be shock and awe a-plenty when another person comes out of my body, and I'm not in need of any further surprises, thankyouverymuch. Also, we have had a really hard time with names, and narrowing the field by 50% sounds like an excellent idea at this stage. So, we found out by way of another ultrasound image taken from the baby's bottom: it's got junk! The tech even put an arrow pointing to the body part in question and wrote BOY, just in case there was any confusion. So look out world, we're having a son!
For my first ultrasound (around 5 weeks or so), for once I was really glad I paid attention during all the movies I've seen that involve pregnancy. You see, I astutely noticed during movies like "Knocked Up" that the mother-to-be was wearing one of those drapes during the procedure. And every woman knows what that drape signifies. So, I did some research ahead of time to see if it was possible that the first ultrasound would be - how can I put this - a little up close and personal. And oh yes, it was. The actual image was pretty anticlimactic. I mean, it's basically a blob. Oh, with a fluttery blob inside it. It was so startling to see something with a beating heart on that screen that I laughed. This was not the best thing to do when the ultrasound wand is up close and personal - she had to re-find the image a couple of times during this process. But hey, we got the baby measured and confirmed that the heart was beating, no problem.
We just had ultrasound #2 (18 weeks). My mother-in-law lives about an hour away, and was able to get off work to come along, which was really cool. My mom had a short hospital stay last week (nothing awfully serious, she's OK!) so was unable to join this party. I thought, "Hey! No problem, we'll just bring a video camera and she can see it later." Which was all cool until we got there and they told us no cameras. Dammit. I'll admit, there were tears - I blame the hormones. The genetic counselor we talked to was very understanding and has probably seen all sorts of weird behavior. Pregnant women are not the most stable of creatures at the best times.
I'm not sure what I was expecting from this second scan. I mean, I knew it wouldn't look like a blob. At least hopefully we're not giving birth to an amoeba, that would suck. Instead, now we've got an alien fossil. What? Well, allow me to illustrate. First of all, the baby is transparent. This, to me, was a little bit shocking. Also, here is the face, which just screams alien:
And here is the profile, which looks like some sort of fossil:
It was still a pretty cool experience. Now, a word on finding out the gender ahead of time. We have heard lots of stories from other parents about wanting to be surprised. My personal thought on this subject is that there will be shock and awe a-plenty when another person comes out of my body, and I'm not in need of any further surprises, thankyouverymuch. Also, we have had a really hard time with names, and narrowing the field by 50% sounds like an excellent idea at this stage. So, we found out by way of another ultrasound image taken from the baby's bottom: it's got junk! The tech even put an arrow pointing to the body part in question and wrote BOY, just in case there was any confusion. So look out world, we're having a son!
Thursday, July 16, 2009
Return of Frankenboob
(and other oddities)
Let me just preface this by saying that I have known at least ten women that have been pregnant during the time I have known them. Also, due to my pregnancy obsession developed during the "trying" phase, I had read about lots of the possible "benefits" that occur. Naturally none of these have happened to me, just ones I had no idea were even possible. I have consulted Doctor Google a LOT, usually entering "pregnancy and..." whatever it is at the moment. Here are the highlights.
1. I can't breathe through my nose. Nobody ever mentioned pregnancy boogers, but let me tell you, they exist. It's the worst at night, as if I'm not uncomfortable enough. Speaking of uncomfortable...
2. I am a freakin' whale. Don't get me wrong, I understood going into this thing that I would... expand. I just seem to be ahead of the curve (no pun intended) so far. I'm not even halfway through this process and already the pregnancy is unmistakable. Granted, my husband is on the large side so this could be a MegaBaby(TM), but most of the comments I've been hearing lately are like "Wow, you ARE pregnant" and "HOW far along did you say you were?" and my favorite "I can't believe how big you are already!"
3. Frankenboob. Remember the radiation? Yeah, the Frankenboob is making an appearance, this time not as the boob that ate Manhattan, but rather the boob that refuses to grow like the other one. It might be the only part of me that is NOT growing, and I'm extrapolating this in my head to the point where I have to lean to one side to balance.
4. My shoes no longer fit. WTF, are my feet pregnant? I have been assured by Doctor Google that this is normal and happens to other people but seriously, that one was a surprise.
Other than that, things have been going pretty well. No weird food cravings, which is probably good. I can't eat grilled chicken anymore, though, it totally grosses me out. We're on track to find out the gender next week, and I'm super impatient to find out. Given my size, I'm going to make sure they take a good long look around and make sure it's not twins! [insert shudder... here.]
(and other oddities)
Let me just preface this by saying that I have known at least ten women that have been pregnant during the time I have known them. Also, due to my pregnancy obsession developed during the "trying" phase, I had read about lots of the possible "benefits" that occur. Naturally none of these have happened to me, just ones I had no idea were even possible. I have consulted Doctor Google a LOT, usually entering "pregnancy and..." whatever it is at the moment. Here are the highlights.
1. I can't breathe through my nose. Nobody ever mentioned pregnancy boogers, but let me tell you, they exist. It's the worst at night, as if I'm not uncomfortable enough. Speaking of uncomfortable...
2. I am a freakin' whale. Don't get me wrong, I understood going into this thing that I would... expand. I just seem to be ahead of the curve (no pun intended) so far. I'm not even halfway through this process and already the pregnancy is unmistakable. Granted, my husband is on the large side so this could be a MegaBaby(TM), but most of the comments I've been hearing lately are like "Wow, you ARE pregnant" and "HOW far along did you say you were?" and my favorite "I can't believe how big you are already!"
3. Frankenboob. Remember the radiation? Yeah, the Frankenboob is making an appearance, this time not as the boob that ate Manhattan, but rather the boob that refuses to grow like the other one. It might be the only part of me that is NOT growing, and I'm extrapolating this in my head to the point where I have to lean to one side to balance.
4. My shoes no longer fit. WTF, are my feet pregnant? I have been assured by Doctor Google that this is normal and happens to other people but seriously, that one was a surprise.
Other than that, things have been going pretty well. No weird food cravings, which is probably good. I can't eat grilled chicken anymore, though, it totally grosses me out. We're on track to find out the gender next week, and I'm super impatient to find out. Given my size, I'm going to make sure they take a good long look around and make sure it's not twins! [insert shudder... here.]
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Misconceptions
Get it? 'Cause I'm going to talk about babymaking and stuff and there's the word "conception?" It's true though, there were some things that I thought I knew before we went into this whole "create another person" process. I ended up going to a consult with an OB/GYN for advice and she was incredibly kind and helpful. I recommend that, rather than going to the Internet, if this is something in your immediate future.
1. You really have to be vigilant about protecting yourself from unwanted pregnancy, because if you let one sperm past your defenses, that is it.
2. You should have sex every day between periods if you are trying to get pregnant, then take a home pregnancy test as soon as you are one day late.
3. You will "just know" when you are pregnant.
The bright side is that we did finally have success, it was just 15 months later. That may not sound like a long time, but it felt like forever. I talked to a friend of mine who has two children, and she advised me to enjoy the time I had left with my "old" life while I could. Just when I took that advice and started to think about things we could do, trips we could take, etc... I got pregnant. Ha, ha, ha, universe. Don't get me wrong, this was still fantastic news. I do have a lot to say about this whole pregnancy thing, though, so bear with me for a few posts, OK?
Get it? 'Cause I'm going to talk about babymaking and stuff and there's the word "conception?" It's true though, there were some things that I thought I knew before we went into this whole "create another person" process. I ended up going to a consult with an OB/GYN for advice and she was incredibly kind and helpful. I recommend that, rather than going to the Internet, if this is something in your immediate future.
1. You really have to be vigilant about protecting yourself from unwanted pregnancy, because if you let one sperm past your defenses, that is it.
I don't know why I've been trying so hard this whole time to prevent unwanted pregnancy. Seriously, the whole process of trying to figure out when you might ovulate was unbelievably difficult for me. It was just a lot of math, and even then I was never really sure.
2. You should have sex every day between periods if you are trying to get pregnant, then take a home pregnancy test as soon as you are one day late.
No. First of all, that is a LOT of sex. And it's a lot of perfunctory sex. I'll just leave it at that. Also, home pregnancy tests, while I'm sure they are useful in certain situations, just take you on an emotional rollercoaster that could just as easily be avoided (along with the expense) by being a little bit patient. Granted, I'm not a patient person, which is probably why I bought so many of the damn things.
3. You will "just know" when you are pregnant.
Oh hell no. Actually, the only time I "knew" was when something was wrong, early in the process. I was technically pregnant (see home pregnancy test / emotional rollercoaster comment, above) and my midsection blew up like a freakin' balloon. Luckily, we had heard the advice about not telling everyone right away, because my period was really late and heavy, so evidently that one didn't take. I probably went through 1/10 of the suffering that people who have later miscarriages went through, but it was still pretty horrible.
The bright side is that we did finally have success, it was just 15 months later. That may not sound like a long time, but it felt like forever. I talked to a friend of mine who has two children, and she advised me to enjoy the time I had left with my "old" life while I could. Just when I took that advice and started to think about things we could do, trips we could take, etc... I got pregnant. Ha, ha, ha, universe. Don't get me wrong, this was still fantastic news. I do have a lot to say about this whole pregnancy thing, though, so bear with me for a few posts, OK?
Wednesday, July 08, 2009
Where Do We Go From Here?
My surgeon and I had a conversation after my last biopsy about what they found. Like I mentioned, it wasn't cancer, just more warning signs. To sum up: 1) family history 2) previous DCIS diagnosis 3) "markers" found in second surgery 4) let's be frank: lumpy boobs that seem to continually make more lumps. It's what they do. So, suffice it to say my "team" doesn't think that sitting back and monitoring the situation is quite enough.
Tamoxifen is always the first option presented, since it is the least invasive from the doctors' perspective. I am pretty anti-drug, and am particularly anti that drug. Don't get me wrong, I take antibiotics when I'm sick, and would accept chemotherapy if I ever needed it (but hopefully not). My friend Rich had migraine headaches every day, for example, and I think it's fantastic that his doctors found a drug that would stop that nonsense. EVERY DAY! Yikes. The drugs I am not a fan of are the ones that people seem to take because the drug companies tell them they should and/or convince them they have a "disease." I feel slightly that tamoxifen falls into that category, not to mention the side effects scare the bejoolies out of me.
That left us to discuss prophylactic mastectomy. That's right, cutting off the boobs so they have a much lower chance of killing me. Several thoughts went through my head at that point, like, has it really come to this? Am I so scared that I would willingly undertake a somewhat major surgery not to mention the ramifications that follow? Finally, am I done with my boobs?
The last question got me to thinking about babies. I mean, not that we hadn't talked about the subject before; at the last family reunion I attended I realized how much love my family - heck, our families - have to offer, and how lucky we are in that respect. My stance on the whole childbearing subject was always "Someday but not now," because I genuinely have liked my life the way it is, and I'm not foolish enough to think that having a baby wouldn't change that in a very fundamental way. But this, plus my age which is *mumble mumble* made me realize that it's time to change my life (our lives) fundamentally.
So, I signaled for a time out to the surgeon and the oncologist, whilst we get with the baby-making. No, not right there in the office, although from the way they were talking about the urgency of the whole thing I'm not sure they would have been disappointed. And hey, nothing helps you make a baby like other people telling you to hurry, right? Right?
My surgeon and I had a conversation after my last biopsy about what they found. Like I mentioned, it wasn't cancer, just more warning signs. To sum up: 1) family history 2) previous DCIS diagnosis 3) "markers" found in second surgery 4) let's be frank: lumpy boobs that seem to continually make more lumps. It's what they do. So, suffice it to say my "team" doesn't think that sitting back and monitoring the situation is quite enough.
Tamoxifen is always the first option presented, since it is the least invasive from the doctors' perspective. I am pretty anti-drug, and am particularly anti that drug. Don't get me wrong, I take antibiotics when I'm sick, and would accept chemotherapy if I ever needed it (but hopefully not). My friend Rich had migraine headaches every day, for example, and I think it's fantastic that his doctors found a drug that would stop that nonsense. EVERY DAY! Yikes. The drugs I am not a fan of are the ones that people seem to take because the drug companies tell them they should and/or convince them they have a "disease." I feel slightly that tamoxifen falls into that category, not to mention the side effects scare the bejoolies out of me.
That left us to discuss prophylactic mastectomy. That's right, cutting off the boobs so they have a much lower chance of killing me. Several thoughts went through my head at that point, like, has it really come to this? Am I so scared that I would willingly undertake a somewhat major surgery not to mention the ramifications that follow? Finally, am I done with my boobs?
The last question got me to thinking about babies. I mean, not that we hadn't talked about the subject before; at the last family reunion I attended I realized how much love my family - heck, our families - have to offer, and how lucky we are in that respect. My stance on the whole childbearing subject was always "Someday but not now," because I genuinely have liked my life the way it is, and I'm not foolish enough to think that having a baby wouldn't change that in a very fundamental way. But this, plus my age which is *mumble mumble* made me realize that it's time to change my life (our lives) fundamentally.
So, I signaled for a time out to the surgeon and the oncologist, whilst we get with the baby-making. No, not right there in the office, although from the way they were talking about the urgency of the whole thing I'm not sure they would have been disappointed. And hey, nothing helps you make a baby like other people telling you to hurry, right? Right?
Monday, July 06, 2009
The Recap
Hi, I'm Jen. My friend Melisa has inspired me to start writing again, with a combination of writing herself and gentle cajoling. But, in order to appreciate some of the weird stuff that is happening to me this time, you have to have a small understanding of what prompted me to write so much here in the first place.
Back in 2002, I had a small run-in with breast cancer. Since I have family history (both mother AND grandmother on the opposite side), my oncologist at the time recommended radiation so that it reduced the chances of recurrence. Most of the bizarre shit that happened to me during that time either related to my doctors, the treatments, or strange reactions of the boob in question, which at the time I dubbed Frankenboob.
So here I am 7 years later (I can't really believe it has been that long) and all kinds of stuff is happening - but I'm going to save that for the next post or this will be entirely too long. I did have one more biopsy, but no cancer this time only "markers" which just means it's even MORE likely now that my breasts will, in fact, try and kill me. Oh yeah, and I fired my oncologist "Dr. Turban" because he weirded me out. I mean, he wanted to hug me every time I saw him, for one thing. I'm not a very "huggy" person (what can I say I'm from the Midwest) and seriously, the most I want from a doctor even when I'm distraught is maybe some tissues and a reassuring pat on the back. The last thing I wanted was a hug every time I went to see him, that's just yucky. He also mentioned that I should be drinking milk every time I saw him, even knowing that wasn't going to happen. So I've got a new oncologist, and she does none of these things. That aspect is much better.
Wrapping up the disease updates, I have also found out that I do not carry the breast cancer gene. So, mom, you are off the hook, at least in theory. My oncologist was quick to point out that we don't have tests for *all* the breast cancer genes, just the ones we know about. Thanks - remind me why this test has value again? Speaking of mom, she also survived a bout with ovarian cancer last year. It was, to sum it up, terrifying. She is doing much better now, and even took a trip to Italy recently. However, I feel like there are now new and exciting body parts that can threaten to kill me down the road. I'm trying not to think about it.
Other than the random health nonsense, things have been going along really well, and clearly I haven't been inspired to complain about anything or there would be more posts!
Hi, I'm Jen. My friend Melisa has inspired me to start writing again, with a combination of writing herself and gentle cajoling. But, in order to appreciate some of the weird stuff that is happening to me this time, you have to have a small understanding of what prompted me to write so much here in the first place.
Back in 2002, I had a small run-in with breast cancer. Since I have family history (both mother AND grandmother on the opposite side), my oncologist at the time recommended radiation so that it reduced the chances of recurrence. Most of the bizarre shit that happened to me during that time either related to my doctors, the treatments, or strange reactions of the boob in question, which at the time I dubbed Frankenboob.
So here I am 7 years later (I can't really believe it has been that long) and all kinds of stuff is happening - but I'm going to save that for the next post or this will be entirely too long. I did have one more biopsy, but no cancer this time only "markers" which just means it's even MORE likely now that my breasts will, in fact, try and kill me. Oh yeah, and I fired my oncologist "Dr. Turban" because he weirded me out. I mean, he wanted to hug me every time I saw him, for one thing. I'm not a very "huggy" person (what can I say I'm from the Midwest) and seriously, the most I want from a doctor even when I'm distraught is maybe some tissues and a reassuring pat on the back. The last thing I wanted was a hug every time I went to see him, that's just yucky. He also mentioned that I should be drinking milk every time I saw him, even knowing that wasn't going to happen. So I've got a new oncologist, and she does none of these things. That aspect is much better.
Wrapping up the disease updates, I have also found out that I do not carry the breast cancer gene. So, mom, you are off the hook, at least in theory. My oncologist was quick to point out that we don't have tests for *all* the breast cancer genes, just the ones we know about. Thanks - remind me why this test has value again? Speaking of mom, she also survived a bout with ovarian cancer last year. It was, to sum it up, terrifying. She is doing much better now, and even took a trip to Italy recently. However, I feel like there are now new and exciting body parts that can threaten to kill me down the road. I'm trying not to think about it.
Other than the random health nonsense, things have been going along really well, and clearly I haven't been inspired to complain about anything or there would be more posts!
Thursday, June 29, 2006
Same As It Ever Was
I overheard our receptionist talking to a group of small children in the lobby today.
Receptionist: What's your name?
Child #1: Kyle.
Receptionist: And what's YOUR name?
Child #2: (babbles semi-incoherently)
Child #1: He said Roy Rogers.
Receptionist: Roy Rogers??
Child #1: His real name is Gabriel.
The funniest part about this exchange is that I'm not 100% sure that the receptionist knows who Roy Rogers was. We are the generation, after all, that likes to forget anybody came before us. Kind of like her cohort, who didn't know who sang Blackbird, and then had trouble figuring out that Paul McCartney was one of the Beatles. It makes me want to lie about my age in the wrong direction.
I overheard our receptionist talking to a group of small children in the lobby today.
Receptionist: What's your name?
Child #1: Kyle.
Receptionist: And what's YOUR name?
Child #2: (babbles semi-incoherently)
Child #1: He said Roy Rogers.
Receptionist: Roy Rogers??
Child #1: His real name is Gabriel.
The funniest part about this exchange is that I'm not 100% sure that the receptionist knows who Roy Rogers was. We are the generation, after all, that likes to forget anybody came before us. Kind of like her cohort, who didn't know who sang Blackbird, and then had trouble figuring out that Paul McCartney was one of the Beatles. It makes me want to lie about my age in the wrong direction.
Monday, July 18, 2005
I Hope You Know That This Will Go Down on Your Permanent Record
The Violent Femmes played Raleigh this week-end, and of course I went. I spent countless hours as a teenager listening to their first album. On casette tape, of course, so that it subsequently started sounding like the band was playing underwater on some of the songs, and then the tape finally just broke. We would play their music on the band bus (oh yes, the band bus), and many times my own personal judge of character of somebody I had just met was whether they liked the Femmes or not. Needless to say, my husband is a fan. I don't know if he wore out his casette tape playing it or not, but he knows the lyrics to some of their more obscure songs, so he passes the test.
The concert was free, and held in downtown Raleigh at a tiny park in the middle of the bar/restaurant/art gallery/trendy junk shop district. Let me preface my review of the concert with this: I am old. I'm convinced of this fact for several reasons.
First, I don't really enjoy drinking cheap, overpriced beer. I mean, $4 per can isn't THAT bad, by concert standards, but after one can of Bud Light I'm ready to just give up on drinking for the night. Also, they used this stupid ticket system, which means you have to wait in line to buy a ticket, then wait in line to trade your ticket for a beer. This means that you buy a bunch of tickets intending to trade them in later, but then if you don't want any more to drink, the bastards running the concert get to keep your money. Yeah, we drank ALL of the beers. No unused tickets for us! Looking around, I saw that most people also used all of their tickets. Many, many, tickets.
Second, I don't like crowds. It seemed like most people around me were basically OK with standing around shoulder-to-shoulder. This could have more to do with redeeming all of their tickets than with their age, I'm not sure. All I know is that I was hot (it was 95 degrees and humid with no breeze, even at 9 at night) and people kept shoving through us. Why in God's name can't people just stand the fuck still when the band is playing?? I mean, send one person to go get beer, there is no need for all seven of you to come shoving through everybody in a bizarre, rude, conga line.
This was not helped by the lesbian couple next to us, who decided to bring their children along, ages 12 and 8. The 12-year-old seemed OK, bobbing her head along to the music, smiling, trying not to acknowledge the drunk men next to her that were perving on her something fierce by the end of the set. The 8-year-old was NOT happy, and looked like he was going to throw up at any minute. Thankfully, he held off. He was practically laying down on the ground though, which meant that his mothers had the job of making sure he didn't get stepped on. They proceeded to direct traffic around him, which made some people get a little unruly. At which point, one of them would threaten to kick his/her ass, and the unruly person would walk away. We were pretty thankful for the "walking away" part, although generally it was more like "walking around the crazy lesbian and then shoving whoever else happens to be in the way (usually me or Nikki)."
That being said, the Violent Femmes still rock my world. They are good at what they do, which is more than I can say for other artists that are currently played on Top 40 (although I listen to less and less of that, to be sure), and they are still very odd. They played Country Death Song, which is a dark and ironic choice being that they were fairly close to being in the Appalachians. We sang along and looked around, expecting outrage. All we got was drunken revelry, and somebody behind us shouting FREEBIRD about 25 times throughout the course of the set. The set was much to short, of course, but hey - the price was right.
The Violent Femmes played Raleigh this week-end, and of course I went. I spent countless hours as a teenager listening to their first album. On casette tape, of course, so that it subsequently started sounding like the band was playing underwater on some of the songs, and then the tape finally just broke. We would play their music on the band bus (oh yes, the band bus), and many times my own personal judge of character of somebody I had just met was whether they liked the Femmes or not. Needless to say, my husband is a fan. I don't know if he wore out his casette tape playing it or not, but he knows the lyrics to some of their more obscure songs, so he passes the test.
The concert was free, and held in downtown Raleigh at a tiny park in the middle of the bar/restaurant/art gallery/trendy junk shop district. Let me preface my review of the concert with this: I am old. I'm convinced of this fact for several reasons.
First, I don't really enjoy drinking cheap, overpriced beer. I mean, $4 per can isn't THAT bad, by concert standards, but after one can of Bud Light I'm ready to just give up on drinking for the night. Also, they used this stupid ticket system, which means you have to wait in line to buy a ticket, then wait in line to trade your ticket for a beer. This means that you buy a bunch of tickets intending to trade them in later, but then if you don't want any more to drink, the bastards running the concert get to keep your money. Yeah, we drank ALL of the beers. No unused tickets for us! Looking around, I saw that most people also used all of their tickets. Many, many, tickets.
Second, I don't like crowds. It seemed like most people around me were basically OK with standing around shoulder-to-shoulder. This could have more to do with redeeming all of their tickets than with their age, I'm not sure. All I know is that I was hot (it was 95 degrees and humid with no breeze, even at 9 at night) and people kept shoving through us. Why in God's name can't people just stand the fuck still when the band is playing?? I mean, send one person to go get beer, there is no need for all seven of you to come shoving through everybody in a bizarre, rude, conga line.
This was not helped by the lesbian couple next to us, who decided to bring their children along, ages 12 and 8. The 12-year-old seemed OK, bobbing her head along to the music, smiling, trying not to acknowledge the drunk men next to her that were perving on her something fierce by the end of the set. The 8-year-old was NOT happy, and looked like he was going to throw up at any minute. Thankfully, he held off. He was practically laying down on the ground though, which meant that his mothers had the job of making sure he didn't get stepped on. They proceeded to direct traffic around him, which made some people get a little unruly. At which point, one of them would threaten to kick his/her ass, and the unruly person would walk away. We were pretty thankful for the "walking away" part, although generally it was more like "walking around the crazy lesbian and then shoving whoever else happens to be in the way (usually me or Nikki)."
That being said, the Violent Femmes still rock my world. They are good at what they do, which is more than I can say for other artists that are currently played on Top 40 (although I listen to less and less of that, to be sure), and they are still very odd. They played Country Death Song, which is a dark and ironic choice being that they were fairly close to being in the Appalachians. We sang along and looked around, expecting outrage. All we got was drunken revelry, and somebody behind us shouting FREEBIRD about 25 times throughout the course of the set. The set was much to short, of course, but hey - the price was right.
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