The Amazing Jiffy-Pop Pregnancy

Yes, it is true. I have spawned again. I'm all of 6 weeks along today, and we were able to see a fluttering heartbeat this morning. Nothing makes you feel better than that. Especially when three days earlier an OB resident who comes to the ER where you are being treated for flank pain, decides to tell you that they could not see a yolk sac, and with HCG numbers as high as mine, you would be able to see that. So the pregnancy isn't viable and would I like to do a D&C to get this over with?

Really. No shit. Now, this is pregnancy number 14 for me. Yes, number 14. I know that at this early stage, one day can make a difference between seeing and not seeing. I also know that an ultrasound done by a regular old ultrasound tech is not the best of the best of the best.

Thankfully, I spent the next three days in pain, so I had other things to worry about. Namely the "solid-appearing" "psuedotumor" seen within the renal cortex in what remains of my left kidney. It has grown since my CT in September. My urologist ordered another ultrasound scheduled for this coming Monday. But since I now have little Blobby on board, nothing can be done with this except monitoring and pain control, until the baby gets here.

And this baby is huge. Within a span of about three days, my belly exploded like a Jiffy Pop container. At 5 weeks' gestation, I was completely in maternity clothes. It's going to be a LONG 8 months.

And because of my 11 hours spent in the hospital on Monday, and sleeping the next day, all day (except when I went to vote) I missed work and now I'm being called to the evil overlord's office to discuss my attendance.


As the great philosopher, Roseanne Roseannadanna once said

It's always something. If it's not one thing, it's another.

And so I go forth, as normal.

The Mc Cain rally was a lot of fun. I gotta say, Ahnold has some big feet, Dang!

And there were like 300 "Joe the Plumbers" there, so we got to sit in a special section, wear our "Joe" stickers and be close to, but not touching, the man. Oh well, I saved the voice mail.

My heart hurts over Mac's defeat. However, I am an American, and unlike some soon to be First Lady, have always been proud of that fact. And have understood just how lucky I am to have been born here, as opposed to, say, Sweden, the land of my forefathers. The tax rate there is upwards of 50%. And life in prison really means all of 12 years. So what is the incentive to work hard to achieve a modicum of success. Why bother following laws and doing this the right and honest way when you know that even if you murder someone, you'll be out in 12 years?

Nah, I'm glad I'm an American. And part of that is respecting the Office of the President. Even if I totally disagree with the socialist ideals that the President-elect admires, I must respect him because of the office he holds. It is my duty as an American. As I've told others today, I just pray that at the end of the next four years we live in the UNITED States, not the SOCIALIST States, of America.

A Conspiracy of Pauls

So, I was thinking about this today, and have come to the conclusion that what is happening to my body is not so much a sad turn of events, or perhaps even some would say a tragedy in the making, but rather, a vast medical wing conspiracy.

It came to me this morning in the glorious cleansing ritual that the commoners refer to as a "shower". It is a Conspiracy of Pauls.

Exhibit A: My urologist is Dr. Paul K. He has been to Omaha, he owns a hunk of Warren Buffet's empire, please go to Dairy Queen today and support him.

Exhibit B: My General Practitioner is Dr. Paul G. He has never been to Omaha. He is Italian (I think) and there are lots of good Italian restaurants in Omaha. Watch the Sopranos tonight, think of Dr. G.

Exhibit 3: My favorite actor is Paul Sorvino. He is Italian, he sings Opera, probably likes ice cream, and I don't care if he has been to Omaha or not. Go watch "Goodfellas" tomorrow.

Can you see it?!?!?! It is all here in dark green and dots! Paul K. discovers the pain, Paul G. writes me prescriptions to treat the pain, and Paul S. plays the legitimate businessman who supplies the pharmacy with the drugs that "fell off a truck" to fill my prescription!

Oh....My......GAWD!!!!!

It is now that I will advise you of the fact that I inherited the Blanche DuBois gene from my mother's side of the family. Fortunately it is tempered with the Hakuna Matata* gene from my father's side of the family, so the majority of my hysterical rantings and dramatic license are literary.

Dr. K has already talked to a local laparoscopic surgeon at the Kidney Stone Center at Riverside hospital here in Columbus. He has agreed to take my case, and my information is being sent to him, I see him Tuesday.

We leave and take Buddy to school. We are late, and he managed to stop for one picture,






and then I got one more.





He pretty much left me in the dust.

We picked Buddy up at noon, came home. I made him his "first day of school" lunch, PB&J cut in triangles and arranged like NASCAR flags around the bottom of plate, red grapes in the middle and quartered strawberries across the top of the plate. I served this with a glass of "yellow juice" which is, ironically, Orange Juice.

He looks at the plate, and the side of yogurt served with it. "oh Nice!" He thanks me and proceeds to eat a package of Zesta Saltine crackers.


Buddy, don't you want to eat the lunch I made for you?

By now I'm bent over the counter, holding it for support, I literally cannot stand because of the pain.

"nope, it's too pretty"

Never again will I serve aesthetically pleasing food.

I convince him to come upstairs and play with his trains so I can lay down. After about 90 minutes, he is in the bed with me, and we are watching a very entertaining episode of Spongebob Squarepants, when I finally feel the meds winning out over the pain.

We go see Dr. G. I tell him of my Paul Conspiracy Theory. He looks suspiciously at me, and now I know I'm being watched.

He prescribes a Duragesic Patch for me. I put it on when we got home. I began to feel a gradual numbing of the pain a few hours later. It flared up again, but I was able to beat it back with Percocet and rest.

Narcotics do not make me sleepy. I don't get a "high" from them, so I don't understand why people abuse them. I guess if you aren't in pain, you get all euphoric with them, but not me. The Duragesic patch so far is great, except keeping it on. I'll have to find a better place on Sunday when I put the new one on.

Then I tried to go to bed. Normally, this is an exercise in futility. But I felt myself drifting off to a peaceful sleep....and I freaked out. Oh No! I feel floaty and light, I must be having a fentanyl overdose....ack! must consult internet immediately!

Anyway, I got about two hours of sleep in, when I was awakened by a smell. I got dressed and followed my nose to the source.

The bassets looked guilty in their crates. I was sure one of them had an accident.

I let them go potty and investigated the crates. It seems that Mr. Brutus had some really bad gas. So bad that when they came back inside, he immediately ran to bunk with Henry. It must suck to have one of the strongest senses of smell in the animal kingdom.

So I'll leave you with this. Hounds are the most burying type of dog I've ever seen. Give them a rawhide bone, they have to go bury it....to let it ferment or age or something, and then go dig it up a few hours or day later and enjoy it. This must be a useless "throwback" instinct, as they tend "bury" their bones in blankets, clothes baskets, couch cushions, etc.

Monday, Super G cleaned the litter boxes for me.

He found very little cat poo, (all dogs love catbox crunchies) but he did find a rawhide bone.

It is so very weird to live HERE.

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* Hakuna Matata is a phrase from the Disney Movie, "The Lion King" which translates to "no worries"

Everlasting Gobcrack

Saturday, August 25, 2007 Dinosaurs invaded the Schottenstein Center in Columbus, Ohio. For the 8th time by 3pm.

We took the kids to "Walking with the Dinosaurs". I had to sell a kidney to scrape up the change to get our nosebleed seats, but that is the kind of mom I am. Turns out I sold the wrong kidney, but we'll get to that later.

My three year old son, Buddy, doesn't understand death, mortality or the consequences of being squished or eaten by large reptiles. My six year old daughter, Bug, has a very keen understanding of these concepts.

We arrive at the Schott, get amazingly good parking after driving into the wrong lot and interrupting what WAS a nice football scrimmage. I won't say who was driving, but it wasn't me. (I'm sure Paul Sorvino would have found the right parking lot the first time :-) )

Anyway, we get inside, show our printed tickets and are informed our nosebleeds are being upgraded. YAY!!!! We go up some escalators and find ourselves in club level seats, woo hoo! we're below the tree line! We put our oxygen masks away and settled in to enjoy our good fortune. I sat between Bug and Buddy, my husband, SuperG, sat on the other side of Buddy.

I knew that I would not be allowed to enjoy the show. I knew it when I went to the bathroom with Bug prior to rapelling down to our seats, and she screamed and cried because the dramatic "Dinosaur" music was playing in the bathroom.

A good parent would soothe their child and explain that this is just a cool show to entertain you and to teach you, in a fun way, about paleontology and science and cool crap like that.

I'm not a good parent.

I explained, as she tightened her strangle hold on my left arm, that in the previous 7 shows, no one had been eaten or squished yet. Being six, she caught right on "Yet? That means that it might still happen, it could be me!" Drawing upon my vast experience in all things pertaining to "Jurassic Park" I assured her that Dinosaurs don't see like you and me, they can see movement. So if she just didn't move, they wouldn't see her and she'd be fine.

After about 45 seconds she lets out a huge breath. "I can't do it!" I said "yes you can, just don't move" With huge tears in her eyes, she wails out "my belly moves when I breathe, the dinosaur will see my belly moved and I'll be eaten" At this point the mom of two boys in front of us can no longer contain her laughter. She assures Bug that if the dinos come up our way, her 3 year old son will kick its butt and save her. The little boy turns around (and he's a normal sized three year old, not the lanky amazon children like mine) and assured Bug she was safe.

She didn't buy it.

Finally the show begins. Yes, all this hysteria happened BEFORE the show started. Do you see where this was going?

Oh Lord. Anyway she cried to go home, she suddenly had to pee. We had to get out, we were going to get eaten. On and on and on. Clearly, they were not real. But perhaps, since she is pretty much blind in one eye, she missed the tree trunk sized auto-magic bar that moved the big ones around the floor, or the legs of the guys running around in the small ones. Or that when they "fought" there was no blood, and it was more of a motorized robot ballet than an actual battle.

Oh well, just before intermission, when she's alternately fascinated or wailing about our mortal peril, I finally said "they aren't real" This entire time she really thought that I would bring her to a place where giant hungry lizards would eat all the people sitting in the seats. I would rather die quietly in my sleep, not inside the mouth of a sharp toothed reptile.

Anyway, after the big reveal, she calmed down, but not so much. When the T-Rex came out and did his obligatory roar into the crowed, she and I both jumped. But then it ended and I only lost 3 fingers due to the lack of circulation. When we go to Sesame Street Live, she can sit by her father, so he can have the blood supply cut off of HIS arm for two hours.

And what about Buddy, you ask? How did my three year old fare in all that? "oh cool!" and sat transfixed and excited the whole time.

We left the center and walked to our close and excellent parking space, as we were getting in the car, the tornado sirens went off. We looked around, calm, slight breeze, sunny skies. Eh, no big deal. But we are from Nebraska, we know tornadoes. The native Ohioans were running and screaming about in terror, as if the T-Rex came to life and was running amok in the parking lot.

We went to dinner. People were taking shelter under overpasses or in ditches. It wasn't even raining. No wall clouds, a few thunderheads, but really, it was a fast moving thunderstorm. amateurs.

We went to TGI Fridays. Fairly decent food, it was empty (see the aforementioned tornado sirens) I had French onion soup and some chicken quesadillas. This would soon come back to haunt me.

Half way through the meal, I felt a horrifying pain in my left flank. Oh no, Mr. Kidney stone was displeased in some way.

It went away for a bit. Then returned, then went away. On and on. But I still ate my meal because other than some Everlasting Gobstoppers and a few pinches of cotton candy, I had not eaten all day.

We paid for our meal and left. Upon reaching the hulking minivan of death, the pain in my side came back with a vengeance. I'm sure this is what Harry Potter felt like when Voldemort was pissed off and his scar started to burn. The pain did not subside. It got worse and worse, I began to break out in a cold sweat, then terror hit.....I just paid for this food, I am not going to give it back!

We stopped at St. Anns hospital, as it was the closest one. I got back into a room fairly quickly. I left my stuff with SuperG and the kids, went to pee in a cup. It was the color of cherry Kool-Aid. Ominous sign number 798. And then it happened. Guacamole, sour cream, grilled onions, chicken, cheese and tortillas......all came back in that order.

I stagger back to my room, collapse on the bed, and wait. For an hour. Then the smartass Dr comes in "So you're having problems again huh?" Immediately I'm thinking "bitch". She taps on her laptop. "You know stones don't hurt unless they're moving. " Oh really? You're telling me this from what experience? Get your head out of your text book and listen to your patient!

She does not run a CAT scan on me because I've had too many of them in the last two years. (Too much radiation. The super powers are cool, but I'm sure the cancer I'll get from it will suck.) She orders fluids and pain meds. Another hour passes, I have my IV, finally the pain meds. By now I've thrown up, again. SuperG takes the kids home. They give me more drugs, the pain still has not subsided much, but I no longer have to puke and the headache is gone. The ER doc cum Kidney Stone Specialist has spoken with my Urologist's partner who said if we cannot get the pain under control to admit me. Ding!! Magic Words! Uh, yeah, I have no pain at all....buhbye!

Got home around 11pm. Woke up with a phenergan hang over, and the kids let us sleep until 9am! Holy Smokes!

Just another day here at the Home for Wayward Bassets. Four more days with this stupid kidney stone that isn't supposed to hurt me, then hopefully my urologist can break it up and pull it out. If any of you reading this ARE doctors, let me tell you, then CAN hurt even if they aren't passing out of the kidney. Trust me.

And after all of the terror, and fear, and begging to go home, Bug wants to go back and see the Dinosaurs.........

Oh, and as promised in a previous post, an e-mail about the time Buddy decided to become an electrical engineer.

Perhaps it was my well laid out plans that made my son decide to do what he did. I do not know for sure. I'm slowly but surely painting my home, for the better. Last night I finished another wall and went to bed around 1am. I was up at 6:45 to shower and then set up and fill the pool for the day. We had a lovely morning, all three kids in the pool, me pulling weeds and spreading mulch, ( I do think I washed my arms soon enough after finding the poison ivy...) Everyone came in, we got rid of the wet suits, Bug and Buddy ran around nekkid, I put Whitey (the kid I babysit) back in a diaper. They ate lunch au naturel, then went downstairs to play. I vacuumed then ran the carpet shampooer in front of the wall I finished painting, as I will be moving the couch there tomorrow. I had placed the needle nose pliers on the piano, and there were various other things all out of place in the living room as it is torn asunder while I paint and whatnot. I put Whitey down for his nap, then started to work. Buddy came in to talk to me, he was kind of tired, but he left, so I thought his went down to play with Bug. Soon he comes running into the office, with the needle nose pliers in his hand. "Mommy, there are colors in the living room" My first thought was "You colored on my wall??!?!?!!?" We go into the living room. Nothing seems wrong. I asked him again where the colors were. He pointed to the electrical outlet. I looked closer...one of the holes was black. I looked at him, completely dumbfounded, and starting to feel weak and sick. Then I said "did you put those in there?" He said "yes, and there were colors and fireworks in the living room." O.....M....G.... I sat down on the floor and he crawled onto my lap and started to cry, this completely forlorn and sad cry. "I want fireworks outside, not in the living room". I was scared to death. Bug came upstairs and we hugged his little naked self, she got me the phone and I called my pediatrician...for medical advice WTF???? clearly I was not thinking. I got him dressed and we talked more about what hurt on him, where, how he felt, how he was scared. He was rather listless and I laid down with him. His right hand, arm and shoulder hurt. His teeth hurt. He fell asleep laying with me and the nurse called back. I blurted everything out to her and she talked to the Dr and said to take him in and get him checked out. So I woke up Whitey, got Bug dressed, loaded everyone up and went to Children's Buddy didn't even wake up until we got there. He was a little tacychardic (sp?) and still out of sorts. Has a few loose teeth, but no burns or entrance or exit wounds. Since he was naked it was a good thing (even though he was standing on a wet carpet) chances are the snap on his pants would have burned him. They weren't sure, but thought that the rubber handles on the pliers might have helped keep his injuries to a minimum. The tip of the pliers melted. Holy freakin' cow. MELTED! We are going to see the pediatrician tomorrow. Tonight he complained of a headache and his teeth still hurt but his arm was better. What a day.