Hello, Goodbye

Well, you've probably guessed by now that Manuji is here, and no longer Manuji.

Please say hello to Maxwell Robb, born at 12:25pm on Saturday, June 21st via emergency c-section.  He weighed 8lbs 2.5 oz, and was 21 inches long.

The birth story is a long one and I have so much to say about it.  But he is here!  Max is here!  And he's healthy and beautiful and safe and funny and all we ever hoped for.  And for the record - yep, the stripping of membranes did work and started my labor on Friday night.  But again, I'd like to do the birth story justice.  Hopefully one of these days Max will give me a few minutes to write it out.

Max's middle name is "Robb" which is also my father's middle name.  Not only my father's middle name, but his mother's maiden name before that and also the name the everyone who knows my father calls him.

I can't remember if I mentioned this in my last post, but last week (which now seems like an eternity), Dad decided to enter hospice care.  Last Thursday, Jeeves and I went out to visit Dad and were pleasantly surprised to see him in decent spirits, and not at death's door as my sister had described.  Before I saw him, I had a whole maudlin speech prepared in which I was going to tell my dad how much he meant to me (which he already knew), how much these last 5 years have meant to me, and that I would take care of my sister when he was gone.  But since he was doing so well, I held off.  But we did tell Dad Max's full name and he cried about the inclusion of Robb.

I didn't talk to my dad on Friday - he didn't answer his cell phone which is not surprising because in his failing health he was constantly leaving it around and forgetting how it worked.

On Saturday, when I came out of surgery, there were many texts from my sister.  Dad had fallen badly in the shower at the assisted living facility and hit his head.  He had a seizure and was sent to the ER.  There he was diagnosed with a brain bleed.  He was admitted to the oncology ward in a coma.  My sister didn't think he'd last very long.  As a hospice patient, he was just on IV fluids.  So, as I held my son for the first time, I cried that my dad was dying and hadn't even known I was in labor.

On Tuesday morning, as I prepared to be released from the hospital, my sister told me that the hospital had called - Dad had died.  We never got to see him, never got to tell him, even if he wasn't conscious, about Max.  

This has been the best and the worst of weeks.  I'm not sure how I've made it through.  But Max's sweet face has helped.

Fun with membrane stripping

40 weeks and 3 days pregnant.  OB appointment this morning.  The ultrasound tech assured me that Manuji's head is quite low (it sure fucking feels like it too).  My amniotic fluid continues to be perfect, and good ol' Manooj appears to be super happy and comfortable in there.  Growth estimate is 8lbs 3 oz.  

Today we had Dr. D, whom we both like very much.  We discussed picking an induction date for between weeks 41 and 42.  I should step back a little.  First off, my practice/hospital will only schedule inductions (other than ones where the mother's health is at risk) Sunday through Thursday.  The induction starts in the evening with cervical ripening, followed by a Foley balloon, and if necessary (and it usually is), Pitocin.  

The second element is that I watched my sister get induced at 41 weeks with my first nephew and it ended in a c-section, and the whole thing seemed awful and I'd like to avoid it.  

When we started this journey, I felt pretty strongly that if everything was okay with the baby, I'd like to go to 42 weeks before induction (not too many doctors, mine included, will let you go past 42 weeks, and based on the studies, especially for women my age, I understand why).  

Then this week, and deserving of its own post, something happened.  It's been a really rough week.  On Tuesday, Dad went to his oncologist and they decided it was time to stop treatment and start hospice care.  I had wanted Dad to have a blood transfusion in the hopes that it might help his anemia and give him some relief from the fatigue.  But his doctor felt it would not do any good.  Later, when I talked to his hospice case manager, she told me she thought the doctor was right - that at this point, the cancer would just eat up all those red blood cells and it might actually help the cancer grow even faster.

So, Dad started hospice care.  I'm going to save all the stuff that happened with that for another post, but the day after that, Dad had a really bad day and I started to wonder if he'd make it to meet the baby.  After seeing him yesterday, I feel like he will make it and will be cognizant when he meets his grandson.  But I don't feel very comfortable letting it go until week 42.  And Dr. D said that at my age, they prefer a woman go closer to week 41 than week 42.

Jeeves and I discussed induction dates, and I definitely want to wait until after I hit 41 weeks - I want to give this kid a little more time to come on his own and avoid what I suspect is going to be a miserable experience that may very well result in me having a c-section.  We had to pick two dates - first choice and second choice.  We'll find out if we got our first choice on Monday.

In the mean time, Dr. D offered to strip my membranes.  In case you don't know what "stripping the membranes" is, it means that the doctor inserts a gloved finger into your cervix and gently separates the bag of waters from the cervix.  This should release prostaglandins, which can kickstart labor.  All of the studies I have read indicate that stripping the membranes is safe and can help labor start naturally.  The only real downside is that it is uncomfortable and can hurt and may not work.  

Warning - I'm going to describe the stripping, so if you find such talk gross skip the stuff between the stars.

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

I was hooked up to the fetal monitor, and Dr. D started the exam.  She had a hard time reaching my cervix (I have a posterior cervix) but was ultimately able to get to it.  In order to do it, she needed to push the baby down, but she was finally able to get her finger into my cervix and do the sweep.  It was very uncomfortable and it was hard for me not to clench up.  Lots of pressure.  Not a lot of fun.  In retrospect, I should have had Jeeves stand next to me so I could squeeze his hand.  I think that would have helped.  When she finished, I sat up and I had pretty strong menstrual-type cramps.  They subsided.  

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

Dr. D stepped out to start the process of scheduling the induction date in case I don't go into labor before that.  I was still hooked up to the fetal monitor.  And as I sat there, I started to feel not right.  I started sweating profusely, my heart seemed slow, and I felt very woozy.  The room looked funny.  "I don't feel so good," I told Jeeves.  He asked if he should get the nurse and I said yes.  Dr. D came back in a moment later, put the table back and had me roll onto my side.  Apparently I was having a vagal nerve reaction - my vagus nerve had been stimulated, probably because of the discomfort from the membrane stripping.  As soon as I was lying down and on my side, I felt much better.  I drank some juice and stayed like that for a bit, and was able to get up and go a little while later.  The fetal monitor indicated that I had a couple of contractions - one I did not feel at all (it happened while I was worried that I was dying during the vagal reaction) and the other I felt a little.

Jeeves made me take a cab home, which was the right thing to do, but it made me sad because I had so wanted to stop at the pastry shop next to the subway.  Oh well.  Once home, I basically slept for two hours - the appointment and near-fainting had wiped me out.

Now we wait to see if this worked.  Dr. D said if it works, I'll go into labor within 24 to 48 hours after the stripping.  I've had some contractions, but nothing worth timing, and cramps for a chunk of the day.  I don't want to get my hopes up.  I know how incredibly lucky I have been in my life - I have the most amazing husband and a good job, I was able to get pregnant through IUI, my pregnancy was relatively uncomplicated, and my dad managed to last 5 years in pretty good health with stage IV colon cancer.  So I don't want to complain.  But the last couple of weeks, it's sort of felt like we can't catch a break.  The timing of Dad's decline has been terrible, and I just want this little boy to come out and meet his gramps.  It would be nice to get a win.

Father's Day, still no sign of Manuji

I mean, no sign other than the little feet he likes to jab sharply into my side.  I was hoping he might surprise Jeeves and be the best Father's Day gift either, but no.  As Jeeves puts it, Manuji is enjoying his rent stabilized apartment... even if the quarters are getting a little tight.

I'm 39w6d today.  Due date is tomorrow.

We went for the weekly OB appointment on Friday.  Fluid is still perfect.  And cervix is still shut tight. We met our last new doctor and I asked her if I should be concerned that my cervix is doing jack shit right now.  She said no.  She said, first, that it's my first, and first babies typically come after the due date; and second, she thinks these cervical checks are kind of dumb.  As she put it, she's had plenty of patients who had nothing going on call 3 hours after she saw them because they are in active labor. And she's had patients who were dilated 3cm just hang out like that for weeks.  Still, if I am pregnant at my next appointment (this Friday), they'll want me to schedule my induction.  I must have made a stricken face because she immediately assured me that it doesn't mean I'll have to be induced, just that they want to put something on the calendar.  So, she wanted me to think about choosing a date between weeks 41 and 42.  Jeeves and I are mulling it over.  At least part of the date choice will be contingent upon which doctor is on call.   I just keep hoping this will start on its own.

After much nagging from Jeeves, and a bit from Dad when he's actually with it, last Thursday was my last day of work.  While sitting at my desk was a piece of cake, and it's super air-conditioned in the office, and it was also a good way to take my mind off of when Manuji is coming and what's going on with Dad, the commute was getting a little rough.  New Yorkers can kind of be jerks and I couldn't always guarantee that I'd get a seat, the subway platform is HOT right now, and the stairs were becoming more of a struggle as my pelvis is starting to ache more.  So, no more work.  I miss it, and I felt depressed about it on Thursday.  Does that sound stupid?  I feel like everyone I know was so excited to stop work.  Maybe because my job was part-time and low stress, it seemed sad to stop.  And the other nice thing about it is that most of my co-workers are older and have already gone through losing a parent, or dealing with a frail, elderly parent, so they've always been very supportive and I find hearing their stories helpful.  For instance, last week my co-worker, J, (early 60s, has 4 grown children) told me that her mother was very sick when she was pregnant with her third child, and died about 3 weeks after she was born.  I look at J and think "She's okay.  She made it," and it makes me feel a little better.

Last week my sister took care of the stuff that needed to be done in order to get Dad into assisted living.  She also took Dad to his oncology appointment and called me up on speaker phone.  I wondered at first if I should just let her handle it, but in the end, it was good I was on the phone call.  Dad was kind of out of it, my sister was completely focused on getting the stuff she needed from them in order to get Dad into the AL place.  So as for Dad's cancer care, it basically became a conversation between his nurse practitioner and me.  Dad's hemoglobin is still very low.  This was surprising since he received two units of blood two weeks before.  But, it was also a little bit of a relief for me because it explains his weakness, fatigue, and confusion.... Honestly I had been worried that he was in the early stages of liver failure from the metastasis.

Anyway, we held off on more chemo, and we decided to wait one week to see what happens with the hemoglobin.  If it stays low, then he'll do another transfusion.  I fully expect tomorrow that his hemoglobin will be quite low.

Okay, long post about moving Dad into assisted living and my neurosis, so feel free to skip if you're just here for baby updates.  

On Friday my sister and BIL moved Dad into the assisted living place.  Thursday and Friday were struggles for me.  My sister texts me about 8000 times a day regarding Dad.  And while Dad and I were still talking once a day, my sister made it sounds like Dad was calling her all the time, and that he was cheery and happy about his move.  It's completely stupid, but my feelings were kind of hurt.  When I would talk to Dad, our conversations were short, he sounded tired, down, and not like himself.  When I would ask him about the move, he'd tell me he was scared and anxious.  What I should have realized is that a) my dad is really sick right now and when he doesn't feel well, he talks a lot less and shares a lot less and basically is like a cat and wants to curl up and be left alone; and b) that my sister sees things how she wants to see them.  But I didn't.  I'm a giant pregnant woman and I'm emotional so I took it personally.

Sissy texted me a gajillion times on Friday regarding the move and made it sounds like Dad was doing GREAT and was SO HAPPY to be in his new place.  When he called me, he mostly wanted to know where his handicap hang tag is (my sister has it), and he sounded out of it and tired.  We got off the phone, and an hour later, I had a bunch of texts from my sister with the blow by blow of what Dad had eaten for dinner and how he had sat with some man named Sal.  I was jealous again.  How come Sissy is getting these nice, detailed reports, and I'm getting the grouch who wants his handicap hang tag?  I tried calling Dad and it was clear he had turned off his cell phone.  I felt like crying.  "She's projecting," Jeeves said.  "She's projecting how she feels about the place onto your dad."  But part of me was so sure that he was just mad at me for some reason.  Or now he had Sissy so he didn't need me for anything and our daily phone conversations were just a task for him.

Saturday Jeeves and I went out to see Dad and we planned to go by the house to get him more stuff he would need.  I should add that according to Sissy, this new place was going to make sure Dad ate his meals, they were going to make him wear one of those fall buttons, they wouldn't let him hide in his room.  I didn't care so much about the last thing, but I really wanted to make sure he was eating. 

So, we get to the place, get into Dad's room, and.... wow.  He was in his bathrobe and underwear, not wearing his teeth.  He wasn't a total disaster, but look, a couple of months ago it would have been totally beyond Dad's comprehension that he would allow his son-in-law to see him like that.  It was 11:30 in the morning.  "Did you have breakfast today?" I asked.  "No, didn't feel like it.  Just coffee."  We encouraged Dad to get dressed and slap his teeth in, and we got him downstairs for lunch.  He got a bit better after he ate.  But in general, he was worse than when I saw him the previous weekend - he looked exhausted, was easily tired from very short walks (with his walker), had difficulty moving about, etc.  And he was pretty easily confused.  I would ask him a question and he would either not answer me at all or would trail off and forget what we were talking about (kind of like when he was severely dehydrated back in March).

As for the place itself - it's nice, his room is decent, it's got a handicap-accessible bathroom, with a built-in seat in it, which is great for Dad.  There are no stairs, nothing for him to trip over.  The staff was, by and large, incredibly nice and friendly and helpful.  The downside?  Jeeves and I found it pretty depressing.  There were a few able-bodied elderly people there, but most of the people were in wheelchairs, unable to get anywhere by themselves, sitting in a common area after lunch waiting to be taken back to their rooms because they couldn't do it themselves.  A number of them seemed to be suffering from some dementia or Alzheimer's.  It was kind of a sad place, at least in the dining room.  My sister had kept telling me this place was like a "cruise on land" and it was frickin' Shangri-la, and she wished she could move in.  All I could think was "I'm going to make sure I have some sort of plan in place for myself when I'm old so I don't wind up here."  Honestly, it reminded me of a nursing home a lot more than I thought it would.

After lunch, Dad couldn't find his wallet.  Jeeves and I tore the room apart, but couldn't find it either, and so I reached out to my sister.  She thought he might have left it at his house.  But she didn't see what the big deal was - "What does he need his wallet for?"  In fact, I got the notion that she was glad he didn't have it - just one more way of keeping Dad in the place.  Oh, and when I asked her what the deal was with the fact that Dad hadn't had breakfast today (weren't they supposed to "make" him go eat - her words!) she was like, "No, he said he didn't want to eat, and they won't make him."  Uh, okay.  Look, it's fine.  But she was definitely selling me an inaccurate bill of goods last week.

We swung by Dad's house, and I was irked to find how Sissy and BIL had left the house - dishes in the sink, lights left on, refrigerator full of food.  We packed up the things Dad needed that hadn't been brought already, I dealt with making some phone calls for him, and I turned the house upside down looking for that fucking wallet.  I became more and more panicked about it.  First - Dad keeps his social security card, his Medicare card, his photo ID, blah blah blah, in his wallet and getting that shit replaced would suck.  Second - I knew that if we didn't find the wallet, Dad would be convinced someone at the facility had stolen it and that would completely impact how he felt about the place. 

Back at the facility, we brought in Dad's stuff and started setting it up.  Dad was just waking up from his nap.  We started rechecking everything in the room for Dad's wallet, and I was just starting to give up hope, when I checked his pajama bottoms.... and found his wallet.  Why did my dad put his wallet in his pajama bottoms?  Who knows.  Probably he was feeling distrustful.  It doesn't matter, we found it, and Dad, Jeeves and I were all very happy.  Dad admitted that the missing wallet had made him start to feel unsafe in the place.  And what did Sissy have to say when I told her we found it and where it was?  She wanted me to take it away from him.  I'm not kidding.  Remember how I said back in December that my sister tends to infantalize my father and it bugs me?  Yeah.... 

At 5pm, we walked Dad down to dinner (at the end of the hall, Dad had to sit down while waiting for the elevator - that's how quickly he tires), and headed home.  I burst into tears in the car.  He's worse than he was a week ago, and it's hard to watch.  I'm glad he's in this facility because it's much, much safer for him to be sick in this place than sick at home.  But it still makes me incredibly sad.

I told my sister about the visit and she got upset, periodically cursing "Shit!" at things I told her.  She was also upset that he wasn't wearing the Life Alert pendant that she signed him up for (I refrained from telling her "I told you so" - those pendants are great, but only if the person will actually wear them and it's always been clear that Dad will not wear one).  I tried to reassure her - he's not doing well, but he's in the right place, she did the right thing getting him into this place.  

So, I guess the moral of the story is that I realized that my sister was indeed projecting her feelings about the place onto Dad (and she still is - yesterday there was a whole debacle about how she wanted me to press him to join the walking club).  She kept talking about how great this place was going to be for Dad, how it was going to totally turn things around for him, how he should have moved in there a year ago, and I realize now that Sissy doesn't understand that Dad's problems are stemming from a systemic disease, and that she thinks this place is going to magically turn my dad into a different person.

I'm hoping against hope that we can get the anemia under control so that Dad's last few months can be a little more comfortable.  I guess we'll see what happens tomorrow.

If you made it to the end of this post, you seriously deserve an ice cream cone.  Positive vibes, prayers, whatever your thing is - if you could send them to my dad, and also to me in the hopes that I have this baby soon, I would really appreciate it.

39 weeks, still pregnant

Well, it's been quite a week.  I'm 39 weeks pregnant tomorrow.  Yep, Manuji is still inside.

Update from last Friday's OB appointment.  This appointment was with the unflappable Dr. R, who we saw several times at the beginning of my pregnancy when my regular OB, Dr. C, was unavailable.  I really like Dr. R because she's chill and seems like low intervention.  Anyway, not much to report.  I had another growth scan and Manuji is allegedly measuring about 7lbs 8oz.  But I think these growth scans are really just guesses.  My fluid levels are good.  My cervix remains shut tight.  And that's about it.  I go back this Friday, where unfortunately I have to meet a new doctor.  I'm tired of new doctors.  Still having mostly painless Braxton Hicks contractions.  Every once in awhile I will have a painful one, but that's about it.

In my pregnancy group, more and more of the women have had their babies and the posts are about breastfeeding and what not now.  Three of the women who have given birth were due after me.  Only one was scheduled (due to severe pre-eclampsia).  The other two had their water break and then labor started.  I am starting to have this sinking feeling that I'm going to go well past my due date and ultimately have to be induced, which I really don't want, but what can you do?  I'm more and more uncomfortable and tired and it's starting to feel like this baby is never going to come.

Jeeves and I (well, mostly Jeeves) have made great strides in preparations - Baby's room is basically done (just waiting for some pictures and picture frames), we went to IKEA and finally got lamps and a rug for the room, stroller has been put together, car seat is in the car and we have an appointment to have it checked to see if we did it right.  My hospital bag is packed.  We bought snacks to take to the hospital.  We quiz each other on the steps for infant CPR.  So now we just wait.   

The biggest updates involve Dad.  Whenever my posts are mostly about Dad, I have less readers, but this blog is a good form of therapy for me, so it's fine if you want to check out now. 

I realize that I have complained a lot this year about how little my sister has done with regards to my dad's care.  But I feel like I need to give a little background on that.  When Dad was diagnosed 5 years ago, I lived at home with him so I could save money and pay off debt.  I was dating Jeeves, but we weren't engaged and he was living in Connecticut.  I had a demanding job, but the point is, I had the time and the will and I lived with Dad - all stuff that made it logical for me to be his primary caregiver.  Meanwhile, when Dad was diagnosed, my sister was four and half months pregnant with her third child and her second child had just been diagnosed as being on the autism spectrum.  For many years during Dad's treatment, he was doing very well and tolerated the chemo and needed minimal help from us.  I would go with him to doctor's appointments and keep track of his health history, but he didn't need help at home.

Meanwhile, my sister had a rough couple of years with her kids - coming to terms with the severity of my nephew's autism, dealing with her youngest, who definitely went through the terrible 2s and 3s.  My brother-in-law (whom Dad and I are not a big fan of) hired an au pair from China (my BIL is originally from China and this girl was actually someone that his family knew from back home) who was very young and had limited experience and spoke little English.  She wound up making my sister's life harder - it was like having a 13 year old girl in your house, except she was supposed to be working for you.  After a year, they terminated her contract and she went to work for someone else.  Then, two years ago, on Father's Day, Dad and I went to Sissy's house for a barbecue and we found my sister in a nearly catatonic state.  The next day she was involuntarily admitted to a hospital.  She got better, but after awhile she stopped going to therapy and stopped taking her medication (with my idiot BIL's full knowledge).  A year ago, she wound up back in the hospital, this time voluntarily.  They finally have her on a medication that helps and that she likes, and she's stuck with her therapy.  And they finally seem to have gotten her diagnosis right - Bipolar Disorder II.  She's doing much better now.  

I just give you this background so you can see that Sissy being much help to Dad was just not likely to happen.  In addition, Dad, although he loves and is close with my sister, did not particularly want her help.  He didn't see the point in her helping with his medical care since she knew very little about it.  And because Dad dislikes and distrusts BIL, he is reticent to confide certain things in Sissy.  This is not to say that I was not seriously pissed off when she was no help back in March (at a point in time when her kids are all in some sort of school, and she is healthy).  But part of the problem has been that she has not been able to help for the last few years and I have not asked her to help, nor has Dad.  But she's trying really hard now.  And Dad is accepting her help.

So, the quick update on Dad's situation.  Last week after learning about the fall he took where the paramedics were called, both Sissy and I started talking to Dad about assisted living and I sent Sissy a couple of places that are near his home.  On day one, he was resistant and said he wanted to hire his cleaning lady to run errands for him.  But I got him to agree to let Sissy take him to visit the assisted living places.  Day two, Dad and I started talking money, and he basically said he didn't want to spend any money on any of this stuff because he wants to make sure he's leaving it all to me and Sissy.  I convinced him that this would be the best gift he could give Sissy and me, and that he needed to stop being cheap about spending money on himself and he needed to think of this as spending money on me and Sissy (which he not cheap about at all).  Day four, Sissy and BIL took Dad to see the nicer of the assisted living places and Dad, miraculously, really liked it, although he became very distrustful when my stupid, stupid BIL was so vigorously selling it.

On day five, Saturday, Jeeves and I came out to see Dad.  We spent most of the day talking with him about assisted living and he basically admitted that he was ready to go in right now.  He's terrified of falling again, and is basically trapped in the house.  He's weak and fatigued.  He can't live alone anymore, he needs help.  And he's finally, mentally, gotten there.  Day six, Sissy talked to the people at the facility and they set up the nurse assessment, which was today.  Sissy attended.  It went well, and it looks like they could take him as soon as this Friday.  Sissy has to coordinate a bunch of stuff involving Dad's prescriptions and a tuberculosis test.  I know it's a bit stressful for her, but she's managing.

So this is great news.  Dad will be in a safe environment and he will eat more, and get physical therapy.  I really think this could make what time he has left a lot more pleasant for him.  And it will obviously be a load off for Sissy and me.

It's also been emotionally tough for me.  Never mind dealing with the realization that Dad's time is extremely limited, my terror over being an orphan, how he's not even gone yet and I miss him already.  I've come to realize that so much of my identity has been wrapped up in being Dad's caregiver, and I haven't been able to do that for a couple of months now.  Sissy is taking over that role, and it's really, really hard for me to let her.  On Saturday when I was out there, I noted the things that Sissy did not do over the last few days - she did not check Dad's prescriptions and get them refilled, she did not make sure he had enough Ensure, she did not realize that Dad is not eating dinner anymore because he's too fatigued to do anything other than microwave food for himself (everything she had bought him at the store required cooking), she did not change his sheets, or run and empty the dishwasher, or check to see that his bills are being paid.  I should note that these are all things my dad has done for himself when he is feeling well, but since he is sick right now, these things stop happening.  And at first I was annoyed that she had not done it.... and then I was weirdly pleased.  Don't judge me - no one judges me more harshly than myself on this.  But I was weirdly pleased because it meant I was still a necessary part of the equation.  I hadn't been totally replaced.

For the last five years, I have been the good daughter who takes care of Dad.  And now I'm the swollen, pregnant daughter who can't do anything for her dad other than call him.  I know that this is okay, I do.  I know it's okay for my sister to do this job for the short amount of time it takes to get him into assisted living.  But it's also really hard for me, even though all that should matter is that Dad is being taken care of.

Anyway, that's the story.  I'll wrap this up with what I've been saying to basically everyone lately.  How old are your parents?  Are they currently in decent health?  Start talking to them now.  Ask them what their long term plans are.  Do they live in a house with a lot of stairs or a house where the only full bathroom is up a flight of stairs?  I wish Dad and I had had that conversation earlier.  It honestly did not occur to me that he would get so frail so quickly.  I always assumed that at some point he would have to stop chemo and that he would have to do hospice care, but the actual logistics of this did not occur to me.  Or to him, I think.  So do yourself a favor and talk about it now.  Or buy your parents a copy of Can't We Talk About Something More Pleasant? 

38 weeks, more Dad stuff, and the saving grace of a good book

38 weeks today.  Manuji is still inside.  I get painless Braxton Hicks contractions every day from time to time and a couple of times I've had a painful one that stole my breath.  But that's about it.  

Things have been rough.  Dad had the blood transfusion last Wednesday and it went fine.  He said he actually felt a little better.  But he was still pretty fatigued on Thursday.  On Friday at 6:30am, I got a text from my sister (she was supposed to go visit Dad that day) and he had called and told her not to come because he had been up most of the night in terrible pain.  She said she was thinking she should still go - what did I think?  You should go, I told her.  I called Dad and he told me he had woken up in the middle of the night in horrible pain - he said the pain was worse than when he had his bowel obstruction (which, as far as I could tell, was the worst pain he had ever had up to that point).  But Dad has a prescription for oxycodone, so he took that and the pain was still there, but a lot less.  

I'm going to skip over a lot of stuff that happened that morning.  The short route is that Dad's nurse practitioner did not think it was a delayed reaction to the transfusion - she thought it might be the cancer nodes pressing on nerves.  She did not think Dad should come into the doctor because his doctor would probably have him admitted to the hospital for a bunch of tests and she didn't think that was a) necessary or b) a good idea.  She advised him to keep taking the oxycodone.  Dad and I wound up having an argument over the phone while I was sitting in my OB's waiting room.  I am not going to repeat it because it just upsets me.  But again, the short story is that I was asking him questions and what not and got yelled at for being a "nag" and in my opinion, Dad was being supremely rude to me, so I told him I would talk to him later and got off the phone.  Shockingly, my blood pressure was only 100/60 after this conversation!  Couldn't believe it.

Sissy went up to Dad's that day and spent time with him.  She felt he was okay not going to the hospital, and she ran some errands for him, got him food, took out the garbage, etc.  I was really glad she went.   Dad and I talked later and he apologized for being mean.

Most of the weekend he was on oxycodone and if you've ever had a conversation with someone on painkillers, well, it's not the most fun.  By Sunday he went off them and found that the pain was basically gone.  So that was a relief for both of us.  On the other hand, he talked to his brother on Sunday, and apparently came clean about what's been going on.  Dad and his brother (who lives in Canada and is not able to travel down here because he cares for his very ill wife) are extremely close.  So telling his brother that he thinks he's run out of options for treatment and that he's nearing the end was very depressing and difficult.  Dad and I both cried about the situation over the phone.

One of my hopes for Dad was that he would have some time between end of treatment and disease progression where he felt well and could do stuff that he wanted to do before dying.  I am scared of disease progression happening without any respite and him basically being in a drugged stupor from now until death.  I am scared of him refusing to stop chemo and just getting sicker and sicker from the drugs that are no longer helping him.

One of the benefits from the weekend, though, was that Sissy asked me if I thought she should go with Dad to his doctor's appointment next Tuesday.  YES, I said.  That is a good idea.  So she is taking Dad to the doctor next week.  She will also call me from the office and put me on speaker phone so I can hear what happens.  

Today, Sissy went to visit Dad and texted me, "Did you know that Dad fell outside the cleaners and hurt himself?  The paramedics were called."  Uhhh, no, I did not.  Apparently it happened a couple of days ago?  I'm not totally clear on when it happened.  The paramedics bandaged up his arm and he's okay, I guess, but jeez.  Sissy reported that he's still very fatigued and depressed.  We have both noted that he is easily confused (especially about dates and days of the week).  The depression is to be expected.  We're both trying to talk Dad into going into assisted living, like, immediately.  Who knows if he'll agree.  Seems unlikely, but maybe.  I basically thought I was having a panic attack over this whole situation.  The timing of it all could not be shittier.

Another sad part to this story is that in the few minutes a day where I start to feel happy about having a baby soon, I wind up feeling guilty for feeling anything other than sad and scared about Dad.  Jeeves told me that I can't let this overshadow my happiness about Manuji - that after everything we went through to get here, he deserves to be celebrated.  He's right, of course.  But it's still kind of hard to give myself that permission.

And how's Manuji?  Well, at the OB appointment last week, the ultrasound tech declared fluid levels perfect and noted that he was lower than the week before.  Dr. C was able to feel his head (during the most aggressive and unpleasant pelvic exam I've probably ever had), but noted that my cervix is still closed tight.  And that was about it.  Back in this Friday.

Late third trimester report - hand/finger pain, swelling, and weakness continues; some back pain, especially near the end of the day; pelvic pain; fatigue; lots of peeing; frequently hot.  Shortness of breath seems a little better (except when freaking out about Dad).  I've been taking a bath every night in Epsom salts with eucalyptus spearmint scent.  That's pretty much the best part of the day - when I sit in the bath and feel temporarily weightless.  Wish I had a pool!  

I guess a lot of this post is about control.  I've been feeling scared about the baby because I have no control on when he's coming or if he's going to come without help.  I'm scared of induction and a c-section like my sister had with her first.  I'm trying to let that go - whatever is going to happen is going to happen.  And Dad - that's all about control too.  For both of us - we have no control anymore over his cancer and how or when he's going to die, and he's desperately clinging to his independence which he just can't do anymore, and I'm dealing with the fact that I can't control his situation.  

I know I used to write about the books I was reading a lot.  I haven't been reading much since the move.  It's been hard for me to get caught up in a book.  Over the last 4 days or so, though, the one thing that's really helped take my mind off of what's been going on (besides ice cream and pastries) is a book.  My friend Tati lent me Night Film by Marissa Pessl.  I can't put it down.  It's not even YA!  Or SciFi/Fantasy!  I'm not done with it yet, I will give a fuller review when I'm done.  But what a sweet pleasure, to lose oneself during troubled times in a book.  I'm grateful for that.

There's been other good stuff - infant CPR, I got fitted for nursing bras, and Jeeves has had a serious case of the nesting (he even installed the car seat!).  But for now, I will leave you, and hope I have better news to report next time.

Yep, there's still a baby in there

Friday was my OB appointment and my first ultrasound scan since I was 21 weeks.  This is going to sound weird, but periodically, I would wonder if there was really still a baby in there, even though I felt him moving around.  Maybe it had turned into a cat?  I made a joke about this to Jeeves awhile ago and he said, "Look, I'm going to be honest.  If you gave birth to Abbott, I wouldn't be disappointed."  Yeah, we both still really miss Abbott.  
Anyway, even though my OB's office is pretty good about taking you in quickly for your regular appointments, that is not the case for ultrasounds.  We waited about 40 minutes before we finally got called back, and we were both really nervous.  It wasn't even really about whether it was a cat or a baby in there.  I've mentioned before that I'm in a small private pregnancy group on Facebook with a bunch of other infertiles that I met on a forum when I was doing IF treatment.  Almost all of them are pregnant through IVF.  In the group (approximately 30 women, but only about 20 or so regularly post and comment), there were several sets of twins - three of them have been delivered now (2 due to preterm labor, and 1 due to pre-eclampsia).  One of the singletons was also just born following induction due to pre-eclampsia.  And another woman in the group also has pre-e and she's delivering tonight due to skyrocketing blood pressure.  So, pre-e is definitely on my brain and Jeeves and I get tense every time they take my blood pressure (which has been totally normal from the start).   But aside from the pre-e, I've heard plenty of stories about how there's low fluid at an ultrasound scan, etc., and they send you off to the hospital.  So, yeah, nervous.

In the end, there was nothing to worry about, although I have to take their word for it that it's still a baby in there - things are crowded and you can't really see anything.  Manuji is head down.  My fluid level was fine, and he was measuring well in terms of growth (estimate was 6lbs 2oz).  Then we saw the OB.  I'm in a group practice, so right now I've been cycling through the other doctors to make sure I meet everyone who could be on call the day of delivery.  Friday's doctor, Dr. D, was great - we both liked her a lot.  I felt a little bad for her because we had just had our hospital tour and we had a lot of questions.  But she handled it very well and didn't rush us.  I also had my first vag exam since forever!  She couldn't feel my cervix at all, but said that's normal for the stage I'm at.  Let's hope at some point in the not too distant future Manuji drops down.

So now I'm going in every week, and I'll get an ultrasound each time to check fluid levels and movement.  Hopefully every scan will go as well as this one did.  

On to the shitty news, because this can't just be a nice little post about our OB appointment.  I've noted lately that Dad is very fatigued (probably due to the chemo-induced anemia) and that he seems to have some mental confusion.  It's not like when he was dehydrated where I would ask him a question and he would trail off mid-sentence and struggle to understand simple concepts.  Our conversations are perfectly normal, but he has been mixing up days (it'll be a Thursday, but he'll be so convinced it's Friday that he gets in the car and drives to a doctor's appointment he has on Friday).  There have been a couple of other things too.  My sister freaked out about yesterday and I spent a good chunk of time texting with her about it.  

Anyway, Dad went to his chemo appointment today.  I had wanted to go with him, but physically I just couldn't do it.  To put it in perspective, I went for a one mile walk (roundtrip) with Jeeves on Saturday and I had to lie down for an hour afterwards.  A drive to Jersey followed by the running around I would do out there for Dad would probably wreck me.  So, I talked to Dad a little while ago and his chemo was cancelled - his hemoglobin has dropped even lower.  Tomorrow he's getting a blood transfusion.  I'm glad that his doctor is dealing with the problem appropriately, but I wish I were there.  I know logically I can't, but I still feel shitty about it.  I wish my sister would go with him, but I know that a) Dad wouldn't see the point in that because she's basically clueless on the medical stuff; and b) she wouldn't offer to go anyway.  I texted her to tell her what was going on, and her super compassionate response was that she thinks Dad should stop doing chemo altogether, but that she "guesses" he has to come to that decision on his own.  Ugh.  Yes, it's so annoying how people get to make their own decisions about their medical care.  Look, I feel that the chemo has been making Dad quite sick for the last 8 months or so, and I realize that he may have reached a point where he just can't tolerate any chemo anymore.  But I also know that he keeps at it because he's not ready to call it quits yet and he wants to be around his family for as long as he can - that's why he keeps doing this.  And I love that about him.  When my sister says stuff like this, whether she means to or not, it sounds like, "Ugh, Dad's cancer is an inconvenience to me and I wish he would just give up already so we can sell his house."  When Dad told Sissy about Dr. T's prognosis back in March, my sister gave him some schpiel about how he shouldn't worry about us, that we'd be fine.  "I think he was really glad I said that," she told me, proudly.  "Sissy, it's not really that he worries about leaving us.  It's that he doesn't want to leave us.  He doesn't want to die and he's scared and sad about it."  I don't know if she got it.

We lost our mom suddenly and while that was awful, in some ways it was a blessing because our mom was our mom up until she died.  With Dad, he's been sick and he's needed help and it's been stressful and a source of worry and in some ways he's very different from who my dad was a couple of years ago.  There's more a parent/child reversal when you're dealing with sick, elderly parents.  It's been tough.  I wish Sissy were more willing to help.  I wish she would at least call him up and say, "Hey, I'll take you for that blood transfusion tomorrow."  

Baby CPR this week!  And hopefully I'll waddle my way to the nursing bra store so they can help me figure out what size I'm supposed to buy.  37 weeks today.  Unbelievable.  One year ago this week we started our two week ultrasound roller coaster hell where we found out the bean was not viable.  And now we're here.  37 weeks.  

Hot Dog Fingers

I wanted to post earlier this week, but time got away from me.  Last week I started experiencing a new pregnancy symptom.  It's a super fun one.  I've noticed lately that my fingers have been swelling and I can't wear any of my rings anymore.  That was fine, I know that swelling, especially in the warmer weather, is normal at this stage of pregnancy.  My fingers were starting to look like sausages - it's a good thing we don't have a dog, it would probably try to eat them.

But what I did not anticipate is that this prolonged swelling causes pain in the joints of my fingers.  So, bottles became tough to open, and in the middle of the night, when I haven't moved my hands for awhile and I get up to pee, just removing toilet paper from the roll is painful.  It's not my favorite.  Some days are worse than others.  

Tuesday I got up very early and was in a ZipCar by 7:30 a.m. to drive from Brooklyn to Jersey so I could take Dad to chemo.  It's kind of a big week where Dad is concerned - 5 years ago yesterday (May 21) he was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer.  To put it in perspective, the 5 year survival rate for people whose colon cancer has spread to distant sites is currently 12%.  This means that all those people who got diagnosed with the same type and stage of cancer as Dad back in May 2009 - 88% of those people are dead.  My dad is in this very small minority of people who are still here 5 years later, even if they aren't cured.  As shitty as the situation with Dad has been, especially for the last 6 months or so, I can't get over the fact that we got 5 years.  It is so far beyond what we thought we would get, and I am grateful.  So grateful that he was here for the birth of my youngest nephew, here for my wedding, and that, barring a catastrophe, he will meet my son.  

Anyway, I went out to Jersey because I've been worried about him, and we went to chemo.  Chemo was fine in the end, and it looks like he's developing anemia, which explains his fatigue (his weight is holding steady and he's not dehydrated).  It's not severe enough to do anything about the anemia at this point, so we'll just wait and see.  I left mid-afternoon so I could get back to the City for our hospital tour.  The driving was tense and I ached by the time I got home.  Then I spent about an hour on the subway (where I do not always get a seat - yeah, New Yorkers are a really lovely bunch - me and my painful hot dog fingers had to cling to the subway pole since no one would give me a seat on the 6 train) and then walking to get to the hospital.  The tour was good, very informative, and made all this "holy shit, we're really having a baby" thing even more real.  

THEN we got on a train to Westchester to go pick up Jeeves' parents' second car, which we are borrowing.  We got home around 10:30 p.m.  Such a long day.  And I got all pleased with how much I was able to do even though I'm 36 weeks pregnant.  Like, oh ho, look at me and how productive I am and I didn't collapse!  Ha.  The next day I was so fucking banged up from the day before that I basically couldn't get out of bed.  I felt awful.  My fingers went from hot dogs to bratwurst links.  

So, I guess the moral of the story is that I cannot, in fact, do all that stuff and have a normal day the next day.  Even today, two days later, I'm still not back to myself.  Or my normal pregnancy self, which is definitely different from normal non-pregnant me.

In other news, our crib and the dresser came for the baby's room, and I've been having fun putting his stuff away.  I am, at once, so excited to meet him I can hardly stand it, and terrified that he will come early and we won't be ready at all (because we still have a lot of shit on the "To Do" list).  I am also terrified that he will come very late or not at all and I will have to be induced.  So, a lot of terror up in here, basically.

Tomorrow is a big day - we have our last biweekly OB appointment before we move on to weekly appointments, and it's our first ultrasound since I was 21 weeks.  I'm very anxious about it because I'm scared they will see something bad (like low amniotic fluid) and send me off to the hospital or something.  So, wish me luck that tomorrow goes smoothly.  I will update.  And in the meantime, have a fantastic three day weekend.  

Lesson learned

For my birthday, Jeeves got me a gift certificate for a prenatal massage.  He did a lot of research into it and picked a place that specializes in that sort of thing because he knew what I really wanted out of a prenatal massage was the opportunity to lie face down.  Some places just have you lie on your side, so he found a place that has all the special pillows and what not so I could lie on my tum.  I was really excited about this massage.  Since it's just down the street from my OB's office, I decided to schedule it for post-OB appointment.  A small voice in the back of my head asked if that was such a good idea.  A few women in my pregnancy group have gone for "routine" OB appointments only to be sent to triage because of skyrocketing blood pressure or something in their urine.  I ignored this little (wise) voice.  I should note that the massage place has a very strict policy that you must cancel 24 hours ahead of time or you will be charged the full amount.

Anyhoo, the day before my appointment, it was raining pretty hard here in NYC and I put on my rain boots to go to work.  I noticed a pretty sharp pain in my right inner ankle/calf.  It was enough that I took off the boots because it hurt to wear them, but I noted that I didn't have any pain unless I applied pressure to the area.  There was no bruise, but I'm up about 3 times a night now and it's possible I could have sleepily banged my leg and not remembered it.  Anyway, I mentioned it to Jeeves and he thought we should mention it to the OB, just to be safe.

So, anyway, we met a new OB (I am in a group practice and I'm at the point now where I have meet all the doctors who could potentially deliver Manuji).  She was fine, everything seemed normal (fundal height, Manuji's heartrate, my blood pressure), and then I mentioned the ankle pain.  She was immediately concerned and started examining the leg.  It was actually hurting less that day than it had the day before.  But she was still concerned that it could be a deep vein thrombosis (loud sigh) and felt I should go get a Doppler ultrasound study of the leg.  Today.  Oh joy.  She stepped out of the exam room so she could see about getting me in for the Doppler, and I just looked at Jeeves.  "Sorry, baby.  I shouldn't have told you to say anything."  Honestly, though, he was right - it's the sort of thing you should mention to your doctor.  I was just pissed because a) I feel like most of my doctors in NYC tend to err on the side of over-testing (Cover Your Ass (CYA) Medicine, as Jeeves calls it); and b) I fucking knew I should not have scheduled my massage for the same day as my OB appointment.

I know some people would have just cancelled the massage and given up the gift certificate.  But I'm kind of an asshole and I just fucking refused.  I kept thinking back to the bean and that shitty day where my RE's office made me run all over the city for high res scans to make 100% sure I wasn't having an ectopic pregnancy when we all knew I wasn't having an ectopic pregnancy.  I knew I did not have a deep vein thrombosis.  So, I told my OB I would go for a scan, but I could not go before a certain time, as I had another appointment.  

And of course, here's where Jeeves is the best husband ever.  He sent me off for my prenatal massage while he dealt with the doctor and the hospital about getting my stupid Doppler study scheduled.  Apparently at one point the OB told him if I couldn't get in for an appointment today then I needed to go to the ER.  Ummm, hell no, I'm not sitting in an ER for 7 hours where I will be the absolute lowest priority.

So I went for the massage, which was pretty damn great, and when it was done, there was a text from Jeeves exhorting me to hustle on up to midtown for a Doppler study.  Subway and lots of running later, I got to the place, panting and clutching my belly because walking fast gives me cramps.  A half hour later, I got a 15 minute ultrasound done of my leg, which was, as expected, completely fine.  Do you want to know what the ticket price of this test is?  $2750.  We have insurance, so we'll be paying 10% of whatever the negotiated fee is, but geez.  

So, that was the excitement in my day, and now I have learned my lesson that I should stop making plans for after OB appointments.  

How did everyone do with Mother's Day?  Most years, no one says anything to me about it.  Last year was an especially tough Mother's Day for me - I really missed my mom, all the Facebook messages people were posting made me sad sad sad, and I was in the two week wait of what I was sure was another failed IUI (turned out I was pregnant with the bean, but I didn't know it on that day).  On that day last year, Liana texted me to tell me she loved me and she knew it was a hard day for me.  I promptly started crying on the Metro North train back from my in-laws' house.  Being pregnant on Mother's Day is nice and all, but it doesn't make me miss my mom any less.  Luckily we were at a wedding all day Sunday for Rajeev's uncle.  Listen, I'm generally not a huge fan of weddings on holidays, but if Mother's Day (or Father's Day for that matter) is tough for you, I highly recommend getting yourself invited to a wedding on that day.  It's a great distraction.  Sure, there are still people wishing some of the people at the wedding a happy Mother's Day, but the primary focus is on the couple getting married (and in this case, it's an older couple, so there was no talk of them having children).

Because I am visibly pregnant, a lot of people wished me a happy Mother's Day.  This made me feel weird, and like it was a jinx, even though I am not a superstitious person.  In my heart, am I Manuji's mother?  Of course.  But it just makes me nervous.  Lots of things can go wrong between now and when he's born.  Let's not get ahead of ourselves, people.

Perhaps the nicest thing, though, was that several of my friends texted me to let me know they were thinking of me, knowing it can be a hard day.  I was really touched.  And when I got home, there was a card from Liana.  It meant so much to me that she thought of me - as I mentioned in this post, she has MS and has been going through a really bad time.  But she still remembered me.  The card:

   

It reads "May the gift of her memory turn your Mother's Day into a time of appreciation and love."  Inside, Liana had written a really lovely message about my mom and how she knew that because of my mom, I would be a great mom.  Yes, I cried.

I know for some of you, it was an especially shitty Mother's Day.  I know having a child doesn't necessarily cure the rough feelings many of us have for Mother's Day, but I hope next year, the day will be gentler for you.  And if you made it through relatively unscathed like I did, I'm grateful for that too.  And if you're a mom, I hope you had a beautiful day.

35 weeks pregnant today.  People continue to tell me how small I look.  I continue to not appreciate that comment.  Baby's room is still a mess, but crib and dresser come this week, so it's gonna have to get fixed up by Friday.  I can't believe how time is flying by.

Stuff about Dad, my baby shower, and missing my mom

It's been a little while since I've written.  Honestly, nothing really happened last week.  This week and the weekend were more eventful, so I'll just give a recap of the following: my dad, my baby shower, and pregnancy/spazzing out a little.

Dad

Yesterday I went out to see Dad - rented a Zip Car because public transportation is really tough for me right now (I can manage the subway, but subway + bus is hard).  I hadn't seen Dad in just over two weeks and I figured I'd take him to chemo and see how he was doing.  I picked a good one to go to.  A few days ago, Dad started experiencing pain in his upper right abdomen (roughly where the liver is), and that's sort of worrisome because Dad has a lot of metastasis in his liver.  The pain wasn't terrible, but it's uncomfortable.  He also sounded and admitted to me that he's been quite tired and fatigued.  I'll skip to the chase - his nurse practitioner was able to palpate the spot where the pain is originating and based on his scan from March and what she felt, she's pretty sure it is a node on the liver that is pressing on a nerve.  Which sucks, cause obviously it means stuff is growing.  But she said he's only had a little chemo since the scan in March, so hopefully with a few more treatments, it will shrink.  Hopefully she's right, though who knows.  In the mean time, she prescribed Dad some pain meds and a sleep aid (since he wakes up a lot at night, we're hoping a deeper sleep might help a little with the fatigue).  As for the fatigue, it's probably from the chemo.  He's been doing chemo for 5 years - it gets harder to bounce back the longer you've been on it.

On top of that crap, they had some problems with Dad's power port (the implanted device that allows them to infuse his chemo without putting in an IV every time), but they were able to fix it.  The house wasn't a disaster when I was there, but he didn't have much food in the fridge and he's lost some weight.  I got him some food and went to the pharmacy to pick up his meds.  You know what would be sweet right now?  A home health aide.  Oh, that's right.  He got rid of the home health aide.  Eye roll.  Basically I feel like things are reverting to how they were a few months ago.  So that was a nice feeling.  Obviously I'm being sarcastic.  My sister is being a little weird these days, I think she's having some family issues of her own, so although she's been visiting Dad, I sort of doubt she'll step up as much as I'd like her to.

I have 6 more weeks to go in this pregnancy and a little part of me is scared Dad won't make it to meet Manuji.  He probably will, but what if he doesn't?  Yesterday after I showed him pictures of a friend's baby he said "That baby is very beautiful, but it's not as beautiful as our baby is going to be."  He was talking about Manuji.  I was really touched, it's the first time he's really taken any sort of ownership of his new grandkid.

I was talking to my sister-in-law about what's been going on with Dad.  Her father died years ago from a chronic blood disease.  She said that when he was really sick, he'd still insist on driving himself everywhere even though just a minor accident could have been completely disastrous for him.  As she put it, when you are very sick and/or dying, you have no control.  And so you need to feel like you have control over something, and what you can control are things like driving or who is in your house/taking care of you, etc.  When she put it that way, I understood a little more about why my dad has been so resistant to having an aide.  Though I still wish he would have one.

Baby Shower

This past weekend was my baby shower!  It was hands down the best baby shower I have ever been to, and I say this as someone who has thrown a number of showers myself.  I understand if you think your baby shower was the best.  But you're wrong.  Mine was!  I cannot believe the amount of time, effort, and money Wendy put into it.  I'd like to say I'll someday repay her for her generosity by throwing her a great bridal shower or baby shower, but she doesn't plan to ever have children and who knows about marriage.  So I think instead I will have to throw her a kickass surprise 40th birthday party in a few years.

It was so great to see my friends, and everyone was so kind and loving.  The food was great, the cake was amazing, and it was just all around really fun.  The only sad part was that I really didn't get to talk to anyone as much as I would have liked to, but I think that's always the case at parties where you're the guest of honor.

And I got to meet Kate's daughter Ella!  She is adorable.  Kate's mom was invited to the shower as well, and spent most of the time holding and taking care of Ella.  My sister turned to me and said "I'm jealous of Kate because she has her mom to help her out."  I nodded - I know how she feels.

Pregnancy thoughts and stuff

I am 34 weeks and 1 day pregnant.  Six more weeks till I'm due, kind of like the ground hog.  I've been feeling okay.  My digestive system has finally, finally adjusted to the iron supplement (hey, only took 6 weeks!) so that's pretty cool.  I still have acid reflux but it's pretty well controlled with the Pepcid.  I still hate staircases.  I feel like a furnace.  This is a weird experience for me because I'm usually cold unless it's over 70 degrees outside.  I actually have Raynaud's phenomenon - I've had it since I was a teenager.  Dad has it too.  Anyway, I haven't had a single instance of losing feeling in my fingers since I've been pregnant, and now that it's warmer out, my hands are constantly hot, sweaty, veiny, and a little swollen.  I usually walk around the apartment in a tank top and capri yoga pants, and even then I complain about how hot it is [Note: It is not actually hot, I am just feeling hot].  I'm pretty sure I made Ella cry the other day because I was so freaking hot that I made her uncomfortable while holding her.

I really can't complain.  Yes, I'm uncomfortable and roly-poly and and my back hurts and I don't sleep great and I can't do a lot of stuff like go for a nice walk without panting and having cramps.  But it's not bad right now, really.  Ask me again in another 4 weeks and I will probably be singing a different tune.

We had our breastfeeding and parenting class this weekend, and it went well (except for the annoying younger couple who kept giggling during the breastfeeding video - ugh, get over it!).  And then when we came home that evening, I freaked out a little about the apartment, but mostly Manuji's room.  Our crib and dresser (generously bought for us by my in-laws) are coming next week, and the room still needs a lot of work and unpacking.  I may have cried a little about it, and about whether I'm going to be any good at breastfeeding, and a number of other things.  I say this just so people will know - just because you're infertile and you had to work like hell to get pregnant and having a baby is your heart's biggest desire does not mean you're only allowed to feel 100% awesome and happy when you are pregnant.  You're allowed to feel apprehensive and nervous, and you probably will feel that way at some point.  Anyway, the feeling passed.  I still can't look in his room too much because it makes me anxious.   We have a lot of work to do, and I'm not entirely sure when/how it will get done.  

Since we moved, we've mostly been subsisting on take-out, and I've gotten really, really tired of it.  I've also been feeling like a bad mom-to-be about it.  Here I was, harping last week about how parents should try to take care of themselves by exercising and eating healthy and I eat way more pizza and Chinese take out than is good for me.  Part of the problem has been that I don't have a lot of energy, so cooking something generally means I won't feel up to doing any work around the apartment afterwards.  But mostly I've just been lazy about cooking.  It's silly because there are a lot of really easy, healthy things I could make that won't wipe me out.  So this week I resolved to do a better job, and I have been.  I've also started having a green smoothie every day so that I at least get more veggies into Manuji (and me, for that matter).  The smoothie recipe I've been making is delicious!  It's from the NY Times, and I don't bother with the Chia seeds, and I threw in a little fresh coconut because I had some in the fridge.  Anyway, give it a try (it's also vegan, if that matters to you).  The Times had a whole set of smoothies with greens in them, so tomorrow I'm going to try this recipe which has blueberries and kefir in it.  

I've been missing Mom a lot.  I know that's not surprising given what's been going on with my dad and that I'm hopefully going to have a baby in a few weeks.  But it hits me at random moments and I start tearing up in the middle of the grocery store.  When I was little, I didn't know my mom's mom and dad at all - they had both died long before I was born.  And Dad's mom had also died before I was born.  But my grandpa (Dad's dad) lived next door to us.  He died when I was 5.  I have fond memories of him and I was really sad when he died, but mostly I was worried about my dad.  I remember asking him how he felt and if he was really sad about his dad dying.  Mostly, in typical 5 year old fashion, I was worried about myself - I was scared about what life would be like for me if my parents died and I was trying to figure out if Dad was okay because maybe that would mean something about whether I would be okay if my mom and dad died.

I remember Dad told me that yes, he was sad, and yes, he missed his parents.  But that he also had his own family - his wife and me and my sister - and that made it easier to bear and less lonely.  He assured me that someday I would have a family of my own, so I shouldn't worry.  It comforted me.  Having Jeeves and Manuji comforts me now, but I still would rather that my kid (and any possible future kids) could know my mom and dad.  I still wish my mom were here to give me advice.  But I also know it's made a difference in my life to hear my dad's stories about his mother, and how even though I never met her I really feel like I know her because he talked (and still talks) about her all the time.  So I guess that's the best I can do for Manuji, so that in some small way he will know my mom.

The Fertile Coconut

This post might be all over the place because I'm kind of all over the place.  I think I'll start with the sad stuff first (which is not pregnancy related) and then go into my Indian baby shower.

Over the weekend, I was out at my in-laws' place and Saturday was so busy I wound up not getting to check in with Dad, but my sister talks to him most days too, so I knew she'd let me know if there was an issue.  On Sunday I found out that Dad has been having some trouble with urination (as in, feels like he has to go, not much happens).  It was very bad Friday night into Saturday morning, to the point where he thought about going to the ER, but then it resolved and he felt better.  Today when I talked to him, he sounded pretty down.  He's going for chemo tomorrow, and he'll talk to the doctor about what happened and about getting it checked out.  We're both concerned that it's his pelvic tumor, perhaps applying pressure to his bladder or urethra.  It's hard, knowing that you're dying, and I know that it makes Dad sad, especially when he thinks about his family.  Yesterday I felt terribly sad thinking about the reality of losing Dad in the near future.  I kept thinking "I'll be all alone, I won't have a family anymore."  I know this isn't true - that I have my husband and (hopefully in 7 weeks) my son, loving friends, and despite how different we are, my sister.  And I realize it's kind of whiny to be talking about "what about meeeee????" when someone else is dealing with the reality of his or her death, but I think it's probably normal when it's your parents.  I just wish we had more time.  I wish it weren't happening now.  I guess that would always be the case, but now feels like just the worst.  For so many reasons.

After I got off the phone with Dad, I found out that a good friend of my mom's from where she used to work died yesterday.  He was a really nice man.  I'm sad for him and his family, but I also just feel sad in general because it's one more person who knew and loved my mom who's gone.  I hate that.  My parents had me kind of late - Mom was almost 40 and Dad was nearly 43.  If you're having your kids later, or you know what, just in general - take care of yourself.  Try to eat healthy and get your colonoscopies and exercise and quit smoking.  Try to be around for a long time for your kids.  They want you around.

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

So, it was my Indian baby shower on Saturday.  I kept calling it that because I didn't know the actual name for it, and neither did Jeeves.  I think it's actually referred to as Godh Bharai, though different parts of India have different names for it.  Unfortunately, early last week I came down with a nasty cold (thank you, co-worker, who is always sick and never ever stays home when he's sick and coughs and snots all over the place.... I really appreciate the gift).  I took it really easy at the end of last week so I'd feel okay on Saturday, but Saturday rolled around and I still felt like turds.  My doctor warned me that in pregnancy, colds tend to last longer.  Fun.  Adding to the fun on Saturday - Jeeves had a fender bender (not while I was in the car, and no one got hurt) and our nephew A (age 5) discovered an engorged tick in his head.  Despite all this, the Godh Bharai was really, really fun and everyone had a good time.

My mother-in-law did not give me a hard time at all about what I wanted to wear, probably because she was so busy with other party preparations.  I decided to wear one of my own dresses, but paired it with a very pretty scarf she brought back for me from Calcutta, a necklace she got me, and then I borrowed some bangles from her (very large) collection.  She seemed really happy with the final look.  The next day I tried on the one Indian top I have that she thought would still fit - she was right, it does still fit me.  But it's a lot more casual than what I wore for the baby shower, so I think it worked out for the best (and I promised to wear the Indian top to the rehearsal dinner for Jeeves' uncle's wedding in two weeks).

As for the ceremony itself, it went the way most other ceremonies go and I felt pretty chill about the whole thing even though I don't love being the center of attention.  Here's the basket I had to hold on my lap - a little blurry.  Ammie told me that the coconut in the center represents my fertility and my womb.

Jeeves asked me what it represented and I told him and we had a good snicker about that and whether the coconut was defective.  It reminded me of a bib Wendy gave me that says "Home Grown" on it.  I remarked to her, "Home Grown.... and with the assistance of the lab technician who washed my husband's sperm, and the doctor who injected it through the catheter into my uterus."  Anyway, Ammie did her part of the ceremony and she cried, because she always cries at these things.  Then the other women present bestowed blessings on me and Manuji.  It was nice.  Then we ate!

The only downside to the evening was that I felt pretty crummy from this cold.  By Sunday, I felt even worse because I just can't sleep in strange beds anymore - I have to sleep in my bed, with my memory foam mattress pad, and my pillow fort.  My in-laws sent me home with a jar of crushed ginger and strict instructions to steep the ginger in hot water and drink three cups a day.  I have to add a lot of honey to it, but it does seem to help loosen my cough.

And now a funny story about my nephew, A, who is very excited about his new cousin.  You may recall that A is the one who came up with the name "Manuji" in the first place (and I should add that he's kind of sad that we're not actually naming the baby Manuji).  He really wanted to see Manuji moving, and when the little fetus finally did move a bunch for A, he shrieked and ran to tell his mother.  Later on, I mentioned that Manuji was head down, A poked my boob and said, "Are these his feet?"  I wish, kid.

Resolve to know more.... about the risks we take

This week is National Infertility Awareness Week (NIAW) and last year during NIAW, I read a lot about infertility (I was in the middle of IUI#3) but I wasn't blogging at that point.  So it felt important to me to blog about it this year.  Resolve, the organization that educates and advocates regarding infertility, set the topic this year as "resolve to know more...."  So here's my stab at it.

I'm a big fan of the sitcom Parks & Recreation.  I'm going to give away a couple of big plot points from this season, so consider yourself warned if you don't want to know.  The protagonist, Leslie (Amy Poehler), is married to Ben.  They make a sweet couple.  Anyway, Leslie is 39 years old and a few weeks ago she found out she's pregnant.  They weren't really trying, but they're very excited.  Whatever, I was fine with that.  I always feel like it might be nice to see a semi-realistic portrayal of infertility on a TV show, but I realize not every show has to address every issue.  And yeah, yeah - Sex & the City covered it, and How I Met Your Mother glossed over it, and Friends took a stab at it too.  But two of those shows addressed the issue over 10 years ago, and the other one (HIMYM) spent one episode on it.

So, Leslie and Ben go for an ultrasound and discover much to their shock that Leslie is pregnant with triplets.  Sigh.  Okay, show, I get it.  This is funny!  Ha ha!  Except I just basically got enraged.  Yes, triplets do happen naturally.  But the vast majority of triplets happen thanks to assisted reproductive technology (ART).  In fact, 77% of triplets or higher order multiples are due to ART (New England Journal of Medicine).  On the show, the characters freak out about the amount of money having three kids at once is going to cost, but not once does anyone mention that Leslie is only 5'2" and carrying triplets comes with a lot of risks - for both her and the babies.  No one mentions that 91% of triplets are born preterm, no one mentions the health issues those kids will probably face at birth, no one mentions that there is a decent likelihood that she won't have three live children at the end of this pregnancy.

I realize it's a sitcom and no one wants to talk about the scary stuff.  So why am I all bent out of shape about this?  Why does it bother me?  Because Parks & Rec's portrayal is just another squandered opportunity to have a conversation about the risks we take to have children, and how in this country, I feel like our risks are heightened because we don't provide coverage or support for infertility.  And I think part of that is just based on general ignorance.  What do we know, as a society, about ART?  We know crazy Octomom and we know John and Kate Plus 8.  [Seriously guys, I realized how little most people know about ART when explaining to my dad and sister, two well-educated people, the difference between IUI and IVF].  And a few sitcoms.  Terrible, and not representative.  

When I was in college, I got to see the late great Ann Richards give a speech about women in politics.  She made what was, for me, the best argument you can make as to why we should all want more women (and for that matter, more people of color and other minorities) at the political table.  She told a story about how, in Texas, for a long time women could not open a bank account or get a credit card without having their husband or father co-sign.  The law didn't get repealed until a woman was elected and pointed out the existence of this old, stupid law to her male colleagues.  The point is that we all bring different experiences to the table and the only way we can learn is if we have a diverse table.  I feel the same way about infertility - most people are going to know bupkis about infertility and how it gets resolved.  The only way they are going to know about it is we keep telling them about it.

So here's what I think non-infertiles should know about the risks we take:

• Many of us risk all our savings (this is true for people pursuing ART and adoption, because no, neither of those things are free or cheap) for a shot at having a child.  And this is one of those things that drive me crazy about "just adopt" - okay, sure, I'll swing by the orphanage or a Walmart and pick up a kid on my way home.  Adoption is not free, even if you decide to go through the state foster care system.  If you decide to do private adoption, it's very expensive.  In many cases, more expensive than paying out-of-pocket for ART.

• We have to endure a lot of tests to try to get to the bottom of our infertility.  Some of those tests are painful.  And they all seem to take forever.  Some states require that insurance pay for those tests, but most states do not.  So if you've been trying for over a year to have a baby and it hasn't worked and your general practitioner or gynecologist suggests you get some tests done?  There's a good chance you'll have to pay for that.

• Once we get to the point where we're in treatment, we are usually taking scary meds that give us shitty side effects.  The ultimate physical toll of those meds is still not entirely known.  

• The majority of twins are born to fertiles, and are not a result of ART.  That being said, the reason a lot of women will decide to put in 2 embryos (or 3 in some cases) is because this shit is expensive and the success rate, even for younger women, is kind of low.  Like, a third of women under the age of 34 will have success on the first try.  LOW.  So if you've just sunk your savings into this, you want to make sure you have the best odds of it working and that might mean more than one embryo being transferred.  Don't get me wrong, I think twins are awesome.  But we all tend to think about how hard twins will be after they are born without thinking about how hard it is to actually carry and deliver healthy twins.  Never mind triplets (you won't frequently hear crazy stories like Octomom because that shit is a total anomaly with a quack doctor who put in so many embryos that he lost his license to practice medicine - it makes me crazy that this is what so many people think all of ART is.).

I realize that we're probably never going to be like most of Europe where a lot of ART is covered.  But it bothers me.  It bothers me that we support women once they get pregnant (and woohoo - my Obamacare mandated insurance-covered breast pump arrived yesterday!), but we don't support them when they can't get pregnant.  And we don't support them when they can get pregnant, but they suffer from recurrent pregnancy loss.  Those women are scary and make us sad and we wish they'd all just go away or just be okay with the fact that they can't have kids.  Or just adopt!  Just adopt already!  Adoption is a great way to resolve infertility, true, but anyone who has known someone who has adopted would know you can never put the word "just" in front of adoption.  

You want to know what would be an even better way to resolve infertility?  For all of us to have choices.  We get to make a lot of choices when we're sick.  But when we're infertile, our choices are limited, not because there aren't a lot of options for us out there.  We're limited because it will depend on our financial situation, what state we live in, the job we work in.  It won't just be based on our diagnosis and our own deeply held beliefs about if and how we want to grow our family.  It will be based on the risks we are willing and able to take.