Fickle

Remember how, two weeks ago, I was so distraught at the thought of losing my baby? How I thought sending her to kindergarten was the end of my life?

I am totally over it.

She is home again with a cold. Her third absence in three weeks. Prior to this she has been sick five times in her entire life.

I need her to go back to school and get out of my house. Again.

Mami needs a nap.

BTS, Baby!

Monday night we had our first Back to School Fanniny HaNeevening ala NieNie. I have been inspired for the past few years by her emphasis on the special night, but did it LaYen style. (Not as fancy. Or breakable.) I asked Jooj what she wanted for her special dinner and she replied "Lobster. Because I've never had Lobster." Later on in the week I asked her again, and she said "Lobster. And Crab and Lobster." Finally, when I asked her for her final decision she went with spaghetti and meatballs. Thank heavens. Because I do NOT want to know what Rio Grande Lobster would taste like. I am guessing beans and desperation. Or Horchata.

I set the table with paper stars and Silly Bandz, and she got a new princess crown (that I did not make) to wear for the dinner. She was really thrilled. We talked about our family theme for the year and then made goals for her. After considerable prayer, we decided on

Phillippians 4:13

I can do all things through Christ which strengtheneth me.

We talked a lot about how we can do hard things because of Jesus and His Atonement. Then we wrote our goals on the back of the stars, and our scripture on the front. I got a double picture frame and put the quote in the bottom picture, and her first day of school picture will go on top. Then she had a fashion show with her new school uniforms. And then threw a fit or seven when it was bedtime.

The next morning she was up at the crack of dawn--literally. Six AM here is barely light. We weren't sure how long it would take her to get ready, so we got her up half an hour earlier than we needed to. Which meant we had more time for fits!

Please to notice that my kid has $50 shoes. She has been begging for Skechers for two years. It is one of her sight words. We are screwed.

She was really great about getting ready, and got angrier and angrier that we weren't leaving immediately. When we finally started walking to school she was bouncing with joy and anxiety. And telling me to not cry. And then telling me I had better cry.

We walked her to her class, she shooed us out the door, and there we stood. W pulled me home where I went to bed for two hours. Then he took me to lunch and consoled me. I felt like I had lost my baby forever.

Silly Mami! She came home with a fever and missed the next day. And Friday was sent home early for Pink Eye. She will never leave the house for real. Thanks, Kindergarten!

It's a Hell of a Day at Sea, Sir.

March has not been kind to La Yen.

Not kind at all.

Let me start at the beginning.

So, I gots me the gestational diabetes. 90% of it is hereditary, and about 10% is because I am chunky. 100% of me feels incredibly guilty for having it. Things that do not help the guilt:

Nurse saying "We had two mothers deliver stillborn babies because they didn't try to take care of their gestational diabetes last year. Hopefully we won't have any this year..." and then looking at me meaningfully.

Nurse saying "You want your baby's lungs to develop, don't you?"

Doctor saying "You will probably have this afterward, you know. You just need to eat healthier. Be a good example for your daughter." (I would like to point out that I was eating incredibly healthy. And that I requested a super early screening because I knew my family's history put me at risk. I don't sit around eating Cheetos and drinking beer.)

Anyway, through monitoring my blood sugar, we have established that the ONLY way to get it to a passable level is for me to almost completely eschew carbs. So I was eating a lot of cheese, meat, and salad (without carrots, dressing, tomatoes, or anything good in it.)

I was pooping hammers, people.

And I had this tremendous gas pain in the middle of the night. I have never felt anything like it. It traveled down my arms, into my chest, everywhere. GasX did nothing, and Tums were useless. The pain got so bad that I would vomit. And I would ask for a priesthood blessing, and within an hour or two be able to go to sleep. This happened a few times, and I attributed it to a combination of being pregnant and radically changing my diet.

Last Monday I ate a SUPER satisfying breakfast of cheese and then went grocery shopping for some disgusting sugar-free snacks. About an hour into my errands I started sweating and shaking, and the pain came back hard-core. I had never had the pain during the day--it always woke me up in the middle of the night, just when Junior had stopped kicking and I was finally asleep. I made it home, through the door, and started vomiting in earnest. I texted W at work and told him to come home because Something Was Wrong. We thought maybe I was needing insulin, or something.

He hurried back, called a babysitter, and took me to the ER, where they immediately ran the Chest Pain Workup. By about hour four, with no relief, it had been established that I was not having a heart attack, but the blood work hadn't come back. And you know how they love the blood work. By about 6 pm that night they sent me for an ultrasound--where they didn't even let me look at Junior HOW RUDE!--and found some gall stones. The doctor told me I would probably just need to drink a lot of Mylanta. I was not thrilled with this, mostly because I figured it would be filled with carbs that would Kill the Baby and His Lungs. He called for a surgical consult, and they pressed on my belly and immediately admitted me.

At this point, eleven PM, I had not eaten anything since breakfast. Remember the cheese?

They gave me a shot of painkiller. I told them I had an empty stomach and would not do well with any meds that way. They told me if I felt nauseated they would give me some meds for that. Within twelve seconds I was booting. The intern told me it was the quickest he had ever seen anyone yak. I told him I had six months of practice. Then he shot me full of something AWESOME. I don't know what it was, but if they gave it to me every day I would be incredibly pleasant and joyful.

Up in the room, bare-assed and super cheery, I got an IV because I was not allowed to have any food or water, in case I needed surgery. I was also given a Moon River. I remember it fondly, thanks to the above-mentioned shot. I sent W home, told him to give the sitter $100 and he called my amazing sister who got on a plane.

The next morning, after they pricked my finger and told me that my blood sugar was normal (HEY! Fasting for 24 hours makes it normal!) and that I could neither eat nor drink. I ignored that and had a sip of water every few hours. Because I am sneaky that way. The surgeon came up, told me that the antibiotics had done nothing, and that I was immediately going to surgery for the removal of my gall bladder.

Apparently there is a very small window during which they will remove things from a pregnant woman. I was right in that window. So that was good, I guess.

(FYI surgeons, I know you need to cover all bases, but the last thing you want to tell a pregnant woman before you put her under is a reminder that the baby might die because of the surgery. Also, before you put the mask on her nose, make sure the oxygen is turned on so she doesn't have a freak-out on the tiny, tiny table.)

I texted W, he came while I was in surgery, I woke up and said "OWEEEEE" and found out that they had intubated me and flushed gall stones down my throat or something, and had four incisions, and a goopy bulb attached to my side. And I could eat Jello.

That Jello was the greatest thing I have ever eaten in my life.

Of course, it threw my carbs off the charts.

The surgeon came in, told me "You had the gall bladder of a fifty year old!" and said it was remarkable that I hadn't noticed it before.

A few days later they released me, but not before I was able to walk every hour and refill my own pebble ice.

FYI: You can go to Sonic and buy a bag of pebble ice, should you now have an addiction from the hospital.

That was my first two weeks of March.

It better go out like a freaking Lamb.

And THAT is why I didn't do anything snarky for Cjane's Birthday This Year.

For Fig: The Black Arm

No, it really is much worse when I tell W about it. Also when I try to get meals from the Relief Society.
Jooj also wanted to show you her arm. She found the markers.

I'm Mrs. Hitler! I'm Mrs. Hitler!

And So It Begins

W (who is still in Kuwait) went to the gym this morning while I had a ton of medical drama involving no actual medicine taking place near me. He did not bring his phone. Which resulted in me leaving thirty-two-hundred-fifteen texts for him to CALL ME.

When he did call me, he told me he had left his phone back in the barracks.

To which I responded:

"Right. Because it is not like you have a wife with a brain tumor or anything."
Zing! You like? I just threw it right out there.

Can you imagine how awesome I will be once I finally get a real diagnosis? Break out the shrouds and the wailing, people, it will be ON!

PS: I gave eleven vials of blood to the lab. Want to see my black arm?

Jooj is making a Snake-Cake

She has been working on this sculpture for three days. Grammy Su gave her fifty play-doughs for Christmas. She has used them all. The snake-cake is named Obi-Cubby, and started out as a puppy named Chippy. Now snake-cake. With funnel.

In other news, we are about five weeks away from reunion. I am ready.

In other news, I go to the neurologist on Thursday. The shaking has toned down significantly since W got blessings on Sunday from some of these dudes , but I am still convulsing throughout the day.

In other news, it was 83 today.

Also, I made a coconut vanilla pound cake today. It was pretty good.

Brain Damage Update

So, none of the test results were positive, which means I have nothing that can be detected through blood. (Hooray for no gonna-syphl-herpel-AIDS!) Since the anti-seizure meds were not stopping the shaking, they told me to stop taking them. Which is good because they were making me highly stupid. And drool. I was totally headed for the short bus.

I am now going to a neurologist whenever one has an appointment, so maybe by 2010.

In the mean time, I cam still shaking, but am getting used to it. I walk like a cross between Ed Grimley and George Jefferson. So pretty cool. I sing "To A Deluxe Apartment in the Sky-high-high" a lot.

But it could be worse. I could be Rocky Dennis.

It all Started After I Ate the Cauliflower. Coincidence?

Strange things are afoot in the EP.

Item one: I started shaking on Thursday evening during a movie. A nice, relaxing movie.

Item two: I have not stopped shaking ever since.

Not like little tremors. Like I am a complete goon who is fully-palsying. In my torso, legs, and hands. And my back. And my feet. And my toes.

So I went to the Doctor today, and they ran me through all sorts of silly tests to determine if I had brain damage.

I do not.

So they took a kajillion vials of blood to run tests. As a side note, it is difficult to hold still while donating blood if your entire body is shaking. But I am a trooper, you know.

Item three: It is snowing. Remember on Saturday, how it was in the eighties? Not any more!

Item four: They gave me some anti-seizure medication. Still shaking.

Item five: It was so bad that all of these old veterans with tubes in their noses kept trying to give me their seats at the hospital. I declined. Because I feel just fine. But man, are my muscles sore from the shaking. Man.

To sum up: Not brain damaged. Shaking. Legs can do reflex hammer test AND shake at the same time. Old people pity me. Snowing in EP.

Here's to hoping Dr. House has an enlightening episode this week...Maybe I have a secret pregnancy in my nervous cord, or my cloits are septic or I need some transfusifications. Or maybe it is my twin.

Boo

Jooj is sick. She is laying on the specially-designed dog couch we bought for WockyBoy. The couch that he has never expressed any interest in resting his old dog self on. So Jooj has claimed it. So there she lies, drunk from cold medicine, with a blanket on her face, sniffing.

I hate colds.

She was supposed to have her first soccer game today, but that will not happen.

She was supposed to go to school tommorrow, but that will probably not happen.

And I was supposed to get a morning off tomorrow, but she will still be here.

(Can you guess which one I am most disturbed about?)

I hate colds.

Gamboo: An exchange.

Me: I am dying. I have a beaver of 200 degrees.
W: It is not that high.
How high is it?
101.
Well, it must have just dropped.
I think I have feline bovine disease.
You don't have feline bovine disease.
I think I have monkey pox from the zoo.
You don't have monkey pox.
It must be meningitis. Or Hepatitis D. Or C. Or B.
What about Hepatitis A?
Don't patronize me! I have galloping Pneumonia!
You don't have galloping Pneumonia.
Galloping Bronchitis?
Nothing is galloping.
You aren't a doctor. You don't know! You will be sorry when I am dead. I have crabgrass!
Would it help if you put the back of your hand on your forehead?
Yes, but I am too weak.
I will help you.
Thank you.
Would it help if you said "Woe is Me?"
Yes, but I am just going to whisper it because of my laryngitis.
woeisme
Is there anything else you need?
Sing me a spiritual.
Really?
Yes. Sing me "Nobody Knows."
(Sings.)
Thank you. Goodnight. I hope I see you in the morning.
Me too, sweetie.