Skipped

This is the first time I ever skipped a period.  It is new territory for me.  It isn't a big deal.  Except that it is.  Hearing the words from my doctor made it ok though.  She simply said, "sometimes you skip one." They took blood anyway to make sure nothing else is going on and I'll get those results back next week.  I appreciate her words because it made me stop looking so hard at symptoms, at the toilet paper, at myself in the mirror.  I backed off.  Sometimes you skip one.

I'll probably still pee on a stick on Monday.  Day 14.  That number sticks in my head.  I feel like I can be official at that point.  Although 3 sticks and blood work coming back negative should be pretty official.  Sometimes you skip one.

12 days.

Doctor

I'm going to wait until I'm 14 days late to take a test and call the doctor turned very quickly into 10 days and I can't take it anymore, "give me the test!"
Took another test this morning. Still nothing, but nerves got the better of me and I wondered if something else was wrong. Doctor got me in this afternoon. I still love her as much as I did when I first met her. She looks at me with warmth and compassion and even though I left with as much information as I came in with, I did leave with a little more clarity in my thinking and a crack in the cloud that is my brain lately.

10 days late...or just simply skipped.

I took a test and then I washed a pot

I guess it is obvious it was negative. There are plenty of reasons I decided to take it, plenty of reasons I probably didn't need to. Plenty of reasons I'll probably take another one in the morning. My pot is clean. Scrubbed sparkling. Cleaner than it has been since it was brand new.

9 days late

Windy and cold

Today was windy and cold. My brain tried to remember the list of things I needed to do and then I got overwhelmed and didn't do any of them. I got a bit done when C got home, but I really just found myself looking forward to N's nap time and picturing myself wrapped in a blanket watching a show I've been waiting to watch.
 I got crampy on the drive home tonight and felt like my skin was crawling. I wanted to throw my heavy pocketbook and the tote bag that I held in my lap out the window. I told C I was feeling crampy and that the cramps plus everything else in my brain was sending me over the edge. He said it was going to be OK. If I am or if I'm not. It will be ok.

8 days late.

Still shaking my head

Hopefulness. Why do you creep into my life, my daily thoughts, my prayers without any consideration for my mental state? You don't care that I'm afraid of the disappointment.  You don't care that I went into Target and agonized over pregnancy tests vs. tampons. That I considered skipping Zumba tonight just in case...

7 days late.

And why wouldn't it be late?

It doesn't go away.  I thought it would.  I thought after N was born, and I was lucky enough to be a mom that I was done getting my hopes up for a late period.  I'm not done getting my hopes up.  Standing in the kitchen today with C while N runs circles around us, I could only smirk, shake my head and say "some things never change."  Lots of things do change…just not this.

6 days late.  

To Stop Waiting

To stop saying, "when all my finances are in order, then I will start saving."
To stop thinking, "when all my old stuff is organized then I will hang the new pictures on the wall."
To just get up and go out and stop feeling unacceptable to go out because my hair is a mess and I'm wearing the same shirt I wore to bed.

To just dive in.  Headfirst.

To back off unnecessary spending, but still have hobbies that make me happy.
To take an hour and condense that box of high school and college memories, but only an hour, so I don't get lost in the memories and lose three hours.  And to be ok that I'm not finished.  That I can go back and do more and not finish again.  If you don't start, if you don't do something, then absolutely nothing will change.

I just painted my three kitchen chairs.  I still need to wax them, but the painting is done.  I can't tell you how long I've been staring at those chairs.  Willing myself the energy to finish.

Where was I losing the time?  What was sucking my energy?  TV.  Computer.  Some negative websites and bummer podcasts.

He asked me if something was bothering me.  I told him I thought I was just feeling my age.  But we talked and there is more to it.  There is always more to it.  He suggested I back off TV and the computer.  It is a good suggestion.  Although right now I am online typing this and watching a video.  But, writing makes me feel good and the show is one I've always loved.  I'll be done soon.  Feeling refreshed that I could get this out, could watch an episode of my favorite old show and got the painting done.  Accomplished something.  Taking note of what I accomplished and feeling good about the day.

Starting to blog about health

My infertility/parenting blog has slowed (not stopped), but slowed as my focus has shifted to figuring out how I got 50 pounds overweight and what I'm doing about it:

http://strengthinmovement.blogspot.com

Almost a month

Amazingly, it has been almost a month since I was rushed to the hospital.  A month since my gallbladder was removed.  And almost a month since the words "renal mass" sent me to a dark place in my mind to wait until further testing.  That dark place was frightening.  It was a place where I wondered who would speak at my funeral.  I wondered if I should start going through my old sentimental things so no one else would have the task after I was gone.  I almost threw up with the thought that I could potentially leave my husband without a wife and my son without a mother.  It was dark.  I was recovering from surgery, I was stuck in my house, still in pain, so very much stuck in my head with the saddest of thoughts, with the most worrisome of dreams.

Doctors saw the mass while dealing with my gallbladder.  It was a concern to them, but the testing had to wait until after I was out of the hospital.  That should have brought me comfort, the idea that the test can wait, but instead it fueled my worry and extended my stress.  It was a CT scan done on a Monday.  By Tuesday morning I had broken out in a full body itchy rash.  Thursday were the results.  I spent those days itchy and worried.  Spontaneously breaking into tears.  C was worried too, but it came out with him telling me not to cry in front of N.  My brother (who in 35 years we have never said shut up to each other or called each other names) told me to shut up and called me stupid.  It was out of FEAR.  He apologized.  He said it was because I was making him think about something he never wanted to think about.  I get that.  I didn't want to think about it either.  But it was all I could think about.  I made super awkward jokes and would say things like, "Look at this gorgeous day, I can't go yet."  I went from zero to a million in those few days and even when the news came back OK, it was hard to feel relief right away.

The news came back OK.  There is something there, but it isn't something that needs to be dealt with immediately.  It was just something they want to check again in 6 months.  My itchy rash subsided within a few days after the results.  Mom thinks it came on from stress.  I wouldn't be surprised.  There are still pains and pangs, but my thoughts are less dramatic and more secure, remembering that I had surgery a month ago.  One of my organs was removed.  There is an adjustment.  My energy still sucks.  My body reminds me that while the same food is going in, things are a bit different in there.  I'm getting there though.  One month makes a big difference.  I am slowing able to start working out again, back to lifting my 2 year old, and making better decisions about what I am eating.  My thoughts are less dramatic and more mundane.  Whats for dinner?  Back to the reality of a home desk stacked with papers.  Calls to the insurance company.  Its ok.  Mundane is nice.  But a shake up to the status quo is also not so bad.  Changing your thoughts, remembering what is really important.  Confirming that a snoring husband in a cozy bed is still a million times better than a lonely hospital room, a beeping IV machine and having to call for help to pee.

As an infertile, one month also has a different meaning.  Another cycle.  Another period that moves me closer to whatever our next step is.  There is a next step.  It is not soon.

2013 has been a year with plenty of opportunity to go with the flow.  Going with the flow is an art form.  I'm getting lots of practice.

Gallbladder. Gone.

It's been exactly one week since I got home from the hospital.  The weather is almost exactly the same.  A perfect blue sky and gorgeous breeze.  I sat in a rocking chair on the front porch and took the deep breaths the nurse told me to take to stimulate healing and drank my hospital sized water.  Today I sit at my computer.  Window open to let in that same perfect breeze and water now in my normal drinking glass.

A lot has changed in a week.  A LOT has changed in two weeks.

Last Wednesday, my day could not have been more normal, even boring to start.  I had an electrician over in the morning for a small job.  Ate a regular lunch with my son at the table before putting him down for a nap.  We played the typical game of "I'm not tired"  "Yes, you are" for 20 minutes before he finally fell asleep and once he was asleep I had a fleeting thought of I want to get started on the living room I've been wanting to paint.  I had even bought the paint the day before.

But, instead of painting I laid down.  I was uncomfortable, almost like I was getting my period, or even getting a bladder infection.  I felt yucky and tired.  And I napped.

I woke up when N woke up.  But, it wasn't good.  I was sweaty and in massive pain.  There was no position that was tolerable.  I could barely stand up straight.  I whispered to N that Mommy was sick, that we needed to call Dadddy.  That Daddy needed to be home immediately.  N is 2.  He couldn't help me, and thankfully played as normal.  I found my phone.  C was on his way.  I told him we needed to go to the ER.  He was still 20 minutes away.  20 minutes felt like an absolute eternity.  I managed to get N to come downstairs.  He played while I wrenched in pain and tried not to cry out.  I didn't want to scare him.  But, I was scared.

When C got home he packed up N and anything else we needed and then packed me up too.  I could barely walk to the car.  I sat crumpled in a ball in the seat, not talking, still trying not to cry out in pain.  When we got to the ER, I walked in the door and immediately said I am going to throw up.  They got me a wheelchair and a bucket.  I threw up in the bucket and will forever remember the  face of the 8 year old with his father watching me hurl.  N said, "Mama?"  C rubbed my head.  They got  me a bed right away.

Painkiller, shots, blood draws, scans to be determined it was my gall bladder and it needed to come out.

After 4 days in the hospital and one gallbladder removal I am home.  Back where I belong.

I'm debating whether to write more.  They saw a "bump" on my kidney while they were scanning.  I'm going back to the doctor for more scanning.  It could be nothing.  It could be something small or it could be a really big deal.  I'm trying to stay calm, but it is frighteningly easy for your mind to run away especially when recovery gives me a lot of time to think.  The doctor doesn't seem to be in a rush about it which makes me want to take that as a sign that it isn't a big deal.  I'm trying to go into next week with a positive attitude and not worry "until there is something to worry about."

For now I'm home.  Right where I belong.

Adjusting

Blog posts seem to come to me at time when I am working things out in my head.  I've always talked to myself, but since I started my blog, my working things out voice comes out as if I am writing a post and talking to you.  It helps.  A lot.  Its comforting imagining that I am helping someone else.  Maybe it also means I need some more IRL friends.  

It seems as though 2013 is bound to get me to go with the flow.  More than anything I've found myself saying "Ok, thats not the way I thought this day, week, event (even hour) would go" and feel myself adjusting.  That adjustment, zigging when I planned to zag, is not something that comes naturally to me (as much as I would like to think it does) and time and time again this year it keeps coming up.  

I feel really aware of the adjustment in my personality.  Maybe my memory just sucks, but I can't remember being so aware of my own thought process.  Maybe that comes from being hyper-aware of what my now 2 year old is doing.  The vigilant hawk keeping watch over a tornado all day.  All day.  All day.  Naptime hasn't been easy.  My beautiful sleeper decided to climb out of his crib a month before his second birthday and EVERYTHING changed.  The crib is now a toddler bed, the toddler took one more step towards free will and now naptime is his time.  It used to be my time.  It is now why I am writing a post at midnight.  MY time changed and I don't really have a say.  

I had plans for this weekend.  I was going to work and I was going to be the old me for a few hours.  Not the me with peanut butter in her hair, still wearing the pjs from last night, who might or might not have eaten a cookie N dropped right off the floor.  But the me who is (was??) young, hip and working in the city.  It fell through.  The job got cancelled and my plans changed.  I had to adjust.  I'm writing a blog post at midnight after doing laundry all day.  Washing and hanging as my dryer is broken until Tuesday.  My towels are crunchy (but clean and dry), the linens are dirty from the company and sit in a pile waiting until the repair can happen, I didn't finish all the projects I pinned for our birthday this past weekend and I had to be ok with it.  

The things I can get done with a 2 year old in a toddler bed are very different than what I could get done with a 1 year old in a crib.  I'm adjusting.

And I'm super aware of it.  

a pile of stuff

Two and 1/2 months is a long time to be away from my blog.  I found myself in the crazy that is November and December missing writing and still never finding the time to do it.  Now that the decorations are put away and all the new toys have found new homes, even some old toys ready to be donated, I wanted to get back here and get some things out.

One of those things is my attempt at organizing paperwork.  If you have any suggestions about keeping paperwork filed and under control, I'll happily take them.  In organizing, I found my huge file of IVF paperwork.  It seems in true scrapbooker form I've kept everything from receipts to shipping labels to drug side effect pamphlets.  And while I am not making an IVF scrapbook any time soon ever, I couldn't seem to throw away the unnecessary paper.

In high school, I took two rounds of A.ccutane (with success) to clear up a LONG period of endless breakouts.  I kept all the boxes of drugs for the length of time I took them and when it was done I took a picture of all the boxes and then threw them away.

Maybe that is what I need to do with the IVF paper.  I think I will always keep the calendar and schedule of the cycle that brought us N, but the rest should go.  Right?  Or is it my medal?  The proof of all that I went through.  So for now the paperwork sits in a green folder in our file cabinet.

Is it me or are your eyes bigger than your time when it comes to craft projects too?  N and I almost share a birthday (one day apart!) and we are planning a joint birthday party.  I can't get off Pin.terest and right now on my desk I am surrounded by a glue gun, two different kinds of tape, a stack of paper, webbing and twine.

I should be in bed.  Hoped to be in bed an hour ago, but now I'm planning for sometime in the next 20 minutes.  I want to start going to bed earlier and get the day going sooner in the mornings, but I'm such a night owl it is hard to adjust.  I want to do it because C goes to bed early for work and I want to get things done in the early hours before N wakes up in the morning.  As it stands now, both my guys are asleep early and I'm walking around on tiptoes trying not to wake anybody up.  Its not a good system anymore.  So, I'm working on it.  Since C's work and N's sleep schedule are not changing anytime soon.

Speaking of N, I think we just dove headfirst into a touch of separation anxiety.  He has always cried for a few minutes every time we put him down for a nap or to bed for the night.  As long as it didn't go past 10 minutes, we would let him get it out and then fall asleep.  It always worked and he woke up happy and rested.  In the last few days, N's cry has become much more desperate.  There is a change in pitch and he even gets agitated as we are starting the evening routine.  It is breaking my heart, but I feel like we are in a position to set ourselves up for some very long nights if we change what we do and run in there.  He still falls asleep within those 10 minutes, but the cry is so much harder.  So thats happening.

He is eating MUCH better though.

Speaking of eating...I've lost 12 pounds since Thanksgiving.  More to go.

Time for bed.