Monday, December 31, 2018

Pop Goes the Weasel? More Appropriately, Pop Goes My Back!

It is fitting that today is the last day of the year as this is most likely the last blog post I will
ever write.  I am sad to report I am about 3 minutes away from death. So on Friday afternoon
I started with a sore throat, slight cough and cold.  Not awful- but enough to be annoying and put
a damper on my weekend plans. As if the cold wasn't bad enough I start with vomiting Saturday
morning.  Great, so now I have the stomach bug and a cold. Bad, but still not the end of the world.
Oh and as I posted on my Facebook page, if you have the stomach bug ditch the weighted blanket
and go for a regular cotton throw instead.  I was in bed when the urge to purge came over me.
I try to jump up out of bed but my legs are wrapped up in about 20 pounds of fabric.
Not an easy feat when you are already weak from dehydration, it was like an off Broadway version
of Cirque du Soleil gone horribly wrong.   I'm trying to leap off the bed, the weight of the
blanket has my ankle contorted into some ass backward check mark tied to the bed causing me
to fall flat on my face with vomit rising up my throat by the second. Good times. Just when I
think this GI nightmare is over, since there is nothing left in my belly,  in addition to the
"throwing" I start "going". So here I am now Sunday morning alternating between throwing and
going, even better times! But let's be honest at this point when i "go" the stink is then triggering
my "throw" response. It is like a cruel, cruel sadist version of the chicken and egg theory.
What came first?  Was I still throwing with going added in? Was the throwing phase supposed
to be over and it naturally transitioned into going and if I my super human sense of smell didn't
exist would it have just been going and no throwing? It is just an enigmatic moment in time that
will most likely never be solved.

This being me, long time readers can guess that my travails didn't end there.  Oh no my friends,
it gets much worse. Much, much worse...You see, I am sitting in a chair in my living room but I am
not sitting like a normal 46 year old.  Nope, I have a few throw pillows propped up behind me like
a grandmother. Why am I sitting in the dark like a Nana? Oh, that's an easy one to answer; as
if they cold/GI bug weren't enough misery for one person the cosmos thought it fit to strike
e down with another ailment.  So about 22 hours ago I had just finished another round of
bathroom roulette, you know spin the wheel and see what end it comes out of. Oh, never played
that game? It is a fun one, I am thinking of going online and purchasing some Giardia bacteria
and making a ginger ale/sherbet punch with it, I think it would make an excellent party game.  
Anyway, I am out of the bathroom and heading back to my quarantined spot on the couch. I am
about 2 steps away from my comfy cloister when I am hit with a coughing fit. I am coughing away
as I am clearing my airway I feel AND hear this god awful pop in my lower back. It feels like
what I would imagine being struck by lightning to feel like.  I get this sharp, shooting, tingling
sensation through my whole body. It sounds like there are bees swarming in my head, I instantly
feel nauseous and I can't move. I am stuck in this contorted position, yet my whole body feels
numb. I swear to God as the lightening bolt coursed through my body I hear Freddie Mercury
belting out "thunderbolt and lightning, very, very frightening me..."  I think I may have technically
died from the pain for a few seconds. "Bismillah! We will not let you go, let me go, we will not
let you go" On a side note, did any of you see Bohemian Rhapsody? Once you get past the over
the top mouth they made for Rami Malek it was amazing! I loved Queen when I was younger and
I remember sitting watching Live Aid hoping the rumors were true that Queen was reuniting.  
Just like every time I watch the movie Selena, even though I already know the ending I was
hoping it would turn out differently. Rest in Peace Freddie. But as always, I digress. So after
my little cardiac interlude the pain sets in and I am shocked back into life. So there I was stuck
in the middle of the room. Then I sense something rising up from my toes, past my knees, over
my thighs, belly and into my throat and then the most guttural sound comes out of my mouth.  
I can't even describe it. It is almost zombie-like, apocalyptic if you will. It takes a few moments
but then my kids come to see what that sound was. Was it one of the animals? Was our house
coming off its foundation? Was there an undead coming in through the chimney? The realization
that it is their mother, the one that gave them life, birthed them was in trouble. Did they come
over and help me? No. They gave me such a look of disgust and called into the basement for
Chuck.  So it takes a minute for him to come up. Now he didn't take his time because he is an
ass. Our kids cry wolf so often he probably thought the major emergency they were summoning
him for involved removing a juice box straw from its plastic wrapper or something of similar
urgency; not his wife twitching in the middle of the room from some electrical malfunction within
her skeletal system. He helps get me back on the couch where I catch my breath. Emily comes
over to check in to see that I am OK.  Once she has proof of life she then starts in with, I have
to say a pretty spot on imitation of me the moment whatever it was inside my spinal column popped.
She said, "mom you were making a weird noise and bent over and I didn't know if you were
pooping, farting or having a baby".

I hang out on the couch for the rest of the afternoon/evening and try everything in my power
not to move.  The pain was unbelievable! Now, if you remember back a few paragraphs you will
remember I had just left the bathroom after a bout of the drizzly trots.  I was terrified another
round was coming my way. Thankfully after a morning of the McSquirts the shoot was pretty
empty but as a precaution I kept my ass cheeks clenched as tight as Fort Knox, afraid a rogue
fart might cause a breach of epic proportions, kind of like if the Hoover Dam got a crack it would
flood the Grand Canyon, yeah, like that kind of epic proportions.  The sounds that were rumbling
through my intestinal tract would have made the perfect sound track to a horror movie. Had I
been in the right state of mind I could have recorded them, sent them to Universal and profited
off of my misery for once. Oh well, opportunity wasted.

Since I had the stomach bug I was loading up on soup water, or as most people call it broth and
Popsicles so I had a lot of pee that needed to come out.  I waited until I couldn't hold it anymore.
I knew it would be like a when you are out drinking and you "break the seal" then you are
committed to the bathroom in 15 minute intervals for the remainder of the evening.  So I make it
onto the throne, albeit delicately. Well, as is well documented I have T-REX arms, shout out to
Susan for the amazing T-Rex necklace!! So T-Rex arms and the inability to move more than 2
centimeters in any direction had made the traditional female reach around, front to back wipe
virtually impossible.  So if you are of the betting ilk I am odds on favorite for a UTI when all is
said and done. You could make a killing on the over/under of that one, if you do financially gain
from my misery can you at least spring for the co-pay on my antibiotics? Hey, with the insider
tip it is only fair. So now that wiping my ass is out I have had to resort to drastic measures.  
Putting the theory of gravity to the test I have taken to wading up enormous balls of toilet paper
, I figure with the sheer volume Charmin placed gingerly in the general area something is bound
to be absorbed. I used to think Europeans were so pretentious with their bidets. I mean,
seriously they can't wipe their own asses? Oh how the mighty have fallen. I wonder if Amazon
sells bidets?  Let me answer that for you; Prime can have a southern shower here by tomorrow.
Yeah, I checked, I'm not too proud to admit it. This is the first time I have cursed the fact
that neither Chuck or I inherited the hoarding gene. Had we not been minimalists I would have
no fewer than 3 peri bottles on hand, those are the plastic squirt bottles you get at the hospital
to keep your lady bits clean after you deliver a baby; AKA the poor man's bidet.

I did make my way from the couch to the recliner chair.  Once I am up I can shuffle around the
house-straight lines are best, stairs and any type of bending are my enemy right now.  I have
managed to kneel down and get essentials like my slippers. It is a process though. I have to keep
my back super straight and do a one knee dip/kneel kind of like a Catholic does when kneeling in
reverence in front of the altar.  So with each dip I can't help myself, dip to get a slipper and in
my head I automatically say, "Body of Christ", kneel/dip to get a sock, "peace be with you"...you
get the idea. I am on the chair and Chuck comes home with pizzas. As much as the smell of
cheese and sauce is calling my name I am chair bound.  I need them to bring the food to me.
Now, you might think this is somewhat glamorous like subjects bringing their queen grapes but
in all reality it is more like Honey Boo Boo bringing Mama June some 'Sketti'.

Getting out of bed this morning was a difficult task.  It took 16 minutes from the time I started
until I cleared the side of the bed.  I know because I timed it. At times I looked like the Grinch
slinking along the sides of the bed using my feet to push me along, other times I looked like
Tom Cruise in Mission Impossible trying to navigate under the laser wires.  It was not a pretty
sight. 16 minutes and in the end I was a sweaty, painful mess.

My kids have been trying to take advantage of my situation and lobby for things they want.
 "Mom, since you aren't puking anymore can we have the cousins over for New Year's Eve?"
"Mom, can I have my friend over, you don't need to get up from the chair"...they are trying to
wear me down.  The older 2 have been campaigning hard for the past 24 hours to get another dog.
They have pulled out all the stops; typed up letter, made a whole marketing package including
flyers and a stop motion video.  Way to kick me when I'm down. I mean I can't even effectively
wipe my own ass and you are barraging me with pictures of pugs? Not fair!! Tears are flowing,
doors are slamming but as of right now I have held my ground.

It is not only the kids that have been taking advantage.  My cat Gracie has been less than
supportive this weekend. She will be 17 on Thursday.  We are on borrowed time with her.
She is not well. Lately when I am watching TV she comes and lays on me.  The way it usually
goes down is she comes and stands on my boobs, kind of like they are a shelf. Now with all my
faculties present I can gently nudge her down and she will tuck in and lay down on my belly.
Now with my faculties out the window she stands on me and there is nothing I can do about it.
I can't gently nudge her down. I have made a conscious decision that her last days will be filled
with nothing but love.  I could roughly knock her off but that would go against my ideal of her
only feeling love from me in her final time. So now as I watch TV I can hear Chip and Jo-Jo
talking about the Silos but all I can see is Gracie about 5 centimeters away from my face.  If
I am lucky she stands with her tail end close to my eyes so I can maneuver my face so I can look
at the screen under her tail, but then again that may not be so lucky after all. Gracie is a long
hair cat and in her old age her grooming habits have not been as fastidious so there may be a
dingle berry or 2 hanging from her ass.


Where did my life go so sideways that I am literally faced with a shitty cat ass in front of me
on New Year's Eve?  I hope this isn't a metaphor for 2019? But then again, if this is how it is
going to play out maybe this won't be my last blog post after all!  Happy New Year Everyone!!

Friday, December 21, 2018

Is it just me? Oh, it is? OK then, yeah...


So the other night I was enjoying my nightly bowl of buttered popcorn, some people have a glass of wine or a beer, me, I have my popcorn to help me unwind.  For the record I was eating popcorn alone, at night, in the dark way before Olivia Pope was.  So there I am with a mouth full of my buttery goodness when I realized I am watching a murder mystery.  I swear to all that is Holy I have seen Every. Single. Episode of Dateline ever produced.  Including all the ones with Stone Phillips, yeah I'm a super fan.  The fact that I am watching a murder mystery show is nothing new.  But here I was enjoying my evening snack while watching some families worst nightmare play out for my entertainment.  Now I know they sign waivers and have to consent to their story being told but I felt like such a turd eating popcorn.  Popcorn is a fun snack, it shouldn't be consumed while learning someones loved one was chopped into bits and thrown into an old mine shaft.  It felt so disrespectful.  So now the joy I felt eating my popcorn was destroyed.  I changed the channel and watched House Hunters and when my popcorn bowl was empty I went back to the episode of 48 Hours I was watching which I had DVR'd in the interim.  Then I felt like an asshole for DVR-ing it.  The person is dead and I don't even have the compassion or consideration to watch the show in real time.  Am I dead inside?  Do I have a black soul?  My popcorn couldn't wait-my snack was too important to put aside and honor this poor person's life?  Then I realized for F*ck's Sake Erin, do you have to overthink everything?  Can't you watch a murder mystery and just enjoy it.  I mean Keith Morrison makes a decent living off of these people's misfortune, the least I could do was support his employment and keep his ratings up.

Then I got to thinking; am the only one that does these weird little inner monologue rants?  Are there other things I do on a regular basis that might not be practiced by society as a whole?  Are my random thoughts odd or do others have them too?  Here are a few of the ones that immediately come to mind;

It has been well established I love all of the murder mystery shows; Dateline, 48 Hours, See No Evil, The First 48 and anything on the ID channel.  To be honest I think it makes Chuck a little nervous that I may just be able to pull off the perfect murder, but I digress...so all of these shows make me suspicious of everyone.  When I am out in public I always wonder if the person next to me is a murderer.  With the sheer volume of these shows it stands to reason that I have, at some point in my life been in close proximity to a serial killer.  I am always giving strangers the once over, sizing them up to see if they have it in them to snuff someone out.  I bet dollars  to donuts I have profiled more people than the FBI.

Along that same vein every time I see a nondescript box truck I wonder if it is being driven by a human trafficker.  I make sure I give them the side eye, letting them know I'm on to them.  The other night I was leaving work and there was a small white box truck parked right next to my minivan.  There was no one in sight.  Now they very well could have been on the up and up maybe they were making a delivery to the dentist office right next to us, or they could have been a driver for Amazon but before I got in my van I looked over my shoulder and back again, knocked on the side of the truck and asked if anyone was in there.  Total silence.  I felt confident there were not scores of teenage girls packed in there waiting to be sold on the black market.  I know I sound crazy but there isn't going to be a trailer full of humans suffocating on my watch.

Another weird habit I have is turning the news on the second I get up.  I have this odd obsession of finding a typo in the scrolling headlines on the bottom of the TV screen.  Now if you have been reading my blog for any length of time you know that I am far from being a grammatical scholar.  If I don't know the proper punctuation for the situation I just end the sentence with 3 dots and call it a day...but to me there is nothing funnier at 5:36 a.m. than seeing them scroll "a body was found in the Pubic Gardens" across the screen when it clearly is supposed to be "Public Gardens".  Then I set an internal timer to see how long it takes them to correct it.

When I am in the grocery store line I watch what the people in front of my are putting on the belt then I try to guess what recipe they are making.  Are they using the fish or hamburger meat with the Old El Paso Taco Kit they are buying?  Do they really like kale or are they buying it because they think it is the right thing to do?  What is their thought process when buying organic fruits and veggies but have an equal amount of Hostess products in their cart?  I put entirely too much thought into other people's grocery purchases but I guarantee you the next time you are in line you will start trying to figure out what they are making with their ingredients.  You're welcome!

Here's another one; every time I see the commercial with the old lady in the walk-in tub with the door on it I always think she looks way too excited to be sitting in the tub.  Maybe she is just happy to see another day but I can't help but think she is freezing in the tub as the water drains out.  It must take a few minutes and in theory she is sitting there naked as the water level decreases.  I am constantly amazed she isn't shivering from hypothermia.  I have this incredible urge to buy one just so when one of my family members is happily sitting in the tub I can open the door and run.  Yeah, I'm an ass.

I also spend an exorbitant amount of time wondering if my dog Mary Alice knows my name.  She loves me so much.  I am her favorite and feet to the fire she may be my favorite family member too.  But does she know my name?  When I come home does her little dog brain say, "oh Erin is home", or "oh mom is home" or is it more like, "that white blob that pats me a lot and feeds me is back".  Science tells me it is the latter but in my heart of hearts I like to think she does know my name.

Would Forensic Files be as intriguing if they had a different narrator?  Yeah, that is another thing I perseverate on.  While watching it I always try to imagine the narrator is Sarah Palin-I mean it would be scary for a different reason but I don't think it would be as creepy.  Or maybe they have Ozzy Osbourne stand in for an episode.  Again, it wouldn't have the same feel to it.  How about Sponge Bob?  Not so much.

Lastly there is one other weird thing that happens to me, who we kidding the list is endless but I have to end the post somewhere.  Anyway I will be flipping the channels and stop on an idiotic show and kind of watch it ironically.  Then without fail 3 weeks later I inevitably find myself up at 3 a.m., 6 DVR'd episodes in,  toothpicks in my eyes trying to keep them open to find out if Mia is really a bat shit crazy stalker or just misunderstood.  Is Mohammed really marrying Danielle for love or a green card?  Somehow it becomes of the utmost urgency to see how it all ends.  Before you go and Google it Mia is from the latest episode of Married at First Sight and the jury is still out on her mental health status and Mohammed from 90 Day Fiance did marry Danielle for a green card but you know what?  She totally deserved it-there were so many red flags that were pointed out to her but she went through with it anyway.  So yeah, she should have known better.

You would think I have a ton of free time the way I go on about these things.  Honestly I have had insomnia for years and these are the ridiculous things I think of a 3:43 a.m.  Man, I need to get some stronger sleep meds!







Sunday, December 9, 2018

Hey Mustache, what's up?

Only a few of you will get the reference in the title.  If you are one of the select few then you are my people!  So I just had a birthday the other day.  I have a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that I am now closer to 50 than I am to 40.  Or as Chuck so gleefully pointed out I am now closer to 70 than 20.  I get the urge to forcefully vomit when I say the actual age so let me just say this past Tuesday was the the 25th anniversary of my 21st birthday.  I'll give you a minute to do the math.  46.  I'm 46.  That is gross.  I still can't believe I am 46, it seems like just yesterday Chuck took me away for my 40th.  If you are new to my blog and need a refresher scroll back through my blog to December 4, 2012 and read about the 40 year old mom.  It was a great weekend and and ended up with the BEST souvenir EVER from that weekend; Emily!

Anyway, here I am 6 years later somewhat wiser but mostly older.  I feel like I am very quickly turning into an old lady.  It is as if my body is starting to fail me.  So a few years ago Chuck bought me a lighted, magnifying mirror.  It has been great for helping me see when I am putting on my eye make-up.  My friggin eyes are the first to go.  I swear everyday my eyesight gets worse.  My t-rex arms are now virtually useless when it comes to helping me move things the proper distance away.  The other day I was at work when I realized I forgot my glasses at home.  We have this great maintenance guy at work who is incredibly helpful.  He needed me to go over some of his paperwork.  I sh*t you not he had to hold it for me and had to back up little by little until he was just far enough away for me to actually read the words.  I think we may need to put one of those moving sidewalks like they have at the airport on the school's Amazon Wish List, oh, or better yet I could install one of those target movers they have at gun ranges.  I could attach the "target" aka the document I am trying to read and I can push a button to have it move back to read it, push the button again and the page will come zooming back to me to take off and file away.  Genius!  I think I am going to contact Shark Tank about that before one of you steals my idea!

So back to the title..."Hey mustache, what's up" is a quote from Impractical Jokers, for those of you who didn't Google it to see what the reference was.  But this my friends is no joke.  My magnifying mirror is so powerful I can see things I would rather not.  When I turn the light on it is as if I have a pair of those Blue Blocker/ Amber vision glasses from the early 90's.  Or for those of you who really enjoyed the 90's when I look in the mirror my face becomes as crisp and clear as if I were a club kid looking in a mirror after taking Ecstasy. Now, all you women of a particular age that do not have one of these magic mirrors are most likely blissfully unaware of all the facial hair you have.  I am doing you all a solid when I tell you DO NOT under any circumstance purchase said mirror E.V.E.R!  You're welcome!  You see if I look in a regular mirror I look pretty good.  But in my magic mirror I look like the old hag married to Billy Crystal's character Miracle Max, from The Princess Bride.  My face is covered with this short blond hair, you know the kind elderly ladies get.  Yeah, apparently my face has lost the youthful glow it once had and skipped right into the geriatric stage.  Oh and I recently noticed that I have a mustache!   Now, to the naked eye no one would ever notice it-and I have not done anything to it for fear of it growing back thicker,  Freddy Mercury style.  You would only notice it if you had very up close contact with me.  Currently the only one who fits that bill is Chuck and as I frequently remind him he made a vow 12 years ago in front of all our family and friends that he will love me in sickness and in health.  Now, if it came down to it I could get this hairy situation in under the "health" piece of that vow on a technicality- perimenopause is the most likely the culprit and that is related to my health.

I am not an overly vain person.  Yeah, I do like to brush my hair and put a little shadow and mascara on when I go out in the world.  I heard a quote once that went something like, 'when you go out to see the world, the world sees you too'.  Now, I do have days that I could make it to the top of the "People of Walmart" page but for the most part overall I try to maintain a 'People of Target' look.  I'm not totally classless for f*ck's sake.  Oh, and as a side note apropos of nothing, Scottsdale, AZ was named the vainest city of 2016, the last year from which statistics are available.  Now, my blog may not be the most educational but I am good for throwing in at least one nugget of useless trivia per post.  Again, you are welcome.

So in addition to the mustache I have also become a bearded lady. I remember the first time I saw a chin hair.  I was putting make up on I saw what I thought was a piece of lint on my chin.  I went to brush it away and it just popped back up into place.  I tried again and again it popped back up like one of those  flippin blow up smiling clowns that keeps coming back for more every time you knock it down. Holy sh*t!  I am growing a beard! What the actual F*ck? OMG, I am super extra.  Ugh.

Again, this not an Abraham Lincoln beard, it is just some blond, or God help me maybe grey wisps along my chin.  I am all about female empowerment.  I fist pump to P!nk's What About Us, I Roar along with Katy Perry, Rachel Platten's "Fight Song" was my anthem in 2015.  I love the Greatest Showman's message as much as the rest.  I belt out "This is Me" whenever I get the chance, but I refuse to be the next Lettie Lutz!  She was the Bearded Lady from P.T. Barnum's original Traveling Circus.  I recently read an article that many women are opting to go au natural and let their mustaches/beards be.  The new trend is to just go with what is meant to be.  Umm, nope, niet, nein, nahi, non and any other way I can say Hell NO!  I am going to pluck those suckers until the cows come home.  So if you hear me singing;

         "I am brave, I am bruised.
           I am who I'm meant to be, this is me.
           Look out 'cause here I come!
           And I'm marching on to the beat I drum.
          I'm not scared to be seen
          I make no apologies, this is me"

Please know those words are about as hollow as if I sing Madonna's "Like a Virgin".  I am fighting that until the day I die and then some; Amy Lee you are on whisker duty!  If you see me lying in my casket and I have a stray one you stop the procession and pluck that Mother F*cker.  If you don't I swear to all that is Holy I will come back and haunt you!

Another aging process I am fighting is that super thin crepe paper skin.  I have always had old lady wrinkly hands.  For the past 30 years my hands have been craggy looking.  The fact that my hands look like a farmer's wife's hands is one I have just accepted.  I am so thankful my face has stood the test of time.  I have my mom to thank for that.  Back when I was a freshman in High School my mom took me to a make-up counter at the mall.  The Clinique lady told me to moisturize my face everyday so I don't get wrinkles.  I have slathered my face night and day since and it has worked like a dream.  I am pretty confident in saying my face doesn't look 46, I would conservatively say my face looks 10 years younger.  Sadly I can't say the same for the skin that resides under my neck and down to the top of my bra line.  That is starting to get crepey.  I have started moisturizing that but I think it is an exercise in futility-I think that is going to be like chasing a boulder down the side of a mountain.  Oh well, fortunately it is only a swath of skin about 6 inches wide.  Thank Christ I had that breast reduction/lift 16 years ago.  If not my boobs would be dragging on the floor like a Neanderthal's knuckles.  I am just going to have to head to Icing or the Paper Store and stock up on  some of those hip old lady scarves/shawls to cover that sh*t up!

My taste in television has shifted as well.  Instead of current shows like the Bachelor or Empire, I find myself gravitating to things like Forensic Files, Family Feud, Chronicle and 60 Minutes.  As I realize with each passing day that my life is more than half over I feel this sense of urgency.  I feel like I have to teach my girls as many life lessons as I can squeeze in each day.  I feel like I have to be conscious of making as many memories with them as I can.  I know I should frame it as if I should enjoy each day and I do, but I can't help but feel this impending sense of doom.  Now don't get me wrong, I am not a Debbie Downer curled up in some End of Times bunker, I just feel like I have to squeeze as much in as I can.  Now, before you all get nervous about my mental state I do have a wonderful therapist and some pretty good meds to help me enjoy the here and now.  When all is said and done, even at my age I am not too senile to appreciate the fact I have a pretty great life; I have 3 healthy children who are the most amazing kids around, I have a husband I am so in love with, who by the way is  pretty lucky to have me too, a family I can count on when I need them, I have a comfortable home, great friends and a job where I feel valued.  So as long as I have a sturdy pair of tweezers and a bottle of Nair, I'm good!  So as Murr says, "Bitch, I'm Fabulous!"













Wednesday, October 31, 2018

G-7, P-3...BINGO!!

My NICU/Medical friends will get that reference but thankfully most of you will not.  I have been meaning to write this blog post since May of 2011 but I never got around to it.  I almost ran out of time again this year too.  You see October is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month and the “G” stands for Gravida or how many times a woman has been pregnant, and the P stands for Parity (para) or how many live births a woman has.  So if you are connecting the dots I have been pregnant 7 times and have 3 children.  It is the last day of October and 7 years in I finally have the strength to write this post.

I am not writing this post for sympathy.  I don’t want anybody to comment about being sorry for my losses.  If you are tempted to, don’t.  Please, just don’t.

I am writing about this because in a world where people overshare everything- for some reason miscarriage is one of the few things that is still taboo.  For something so prevalent; some statistics put it as high as 1 in 4 pregnancies end in miscarriage, it is only discussed in hushed tones if at all.  I want to change that.  I was one of those that kept it very quiet too.  In the very beginning it was just too painful to talk about; I felt like I must have done something wrong or there is something wrong with me.  I was racked with guilt.  If miscarriage was more widely discussed I would have realized I was not alone, that so many people I know have gone through it too.

In 2011 I had a really good life.  Things were working out the way I had wanted.  I had 2 beautiful children, overall decent pregnancies-a few bumps in the road but nothing to foreshadow what was coming my way.  I got pregnant with both of my girls the first month of trying.  So when we decided to have a third child I figured it would be the same.  Not so much.  I ended up pregnant somewhat unexpectedly.  But I was so excited.  That excitement didn’t last long.  I ended up having a miscarriage at about 6 weeks.  It was so early I hadn’t even had my first prenatal visit.  I didn’t really know what to expect.  Honestly I had never really given much thought to what a miscarriage was or what it does to one both physically and emotionally.  I honestly thought it was just like a regular period.   I called Chuk at work and told him  what was happening.  We got off the phone and I got ready for work.  Chuck stopped to do grocery shopping on the way home from work.  We touched base, he put the groceries away and I went off to work.  Now I don’t want people to get the wrong idea-Chuck wasn’t being an ass and I wasn’t being cold.  We didn’t know what to do, feel or think.   I have never been so misinformed in my life.  It is not just like a regular period.  Yeah, physically it may be, but emotionally I struggled.  Mostly in silence because I didn’t know what I wanted to say or what I wanted to hear.

I tried to stand up, brush myself off and get one with my life. I figured the miscarriage was a one and done and I just had to forget about it.  Right, like that was going to happen.  I spoke to my OB’s office and they really didn’t say much about what to do or not do. They weren’t overly concerned so I felt like I was supposed to be just as nonchalant.  Now thinking back I am like WTF?  I should have asked more questions, I should have gotten more information and support from them.  A few months later I still wasn’t feeling great and thought it was a combination of being emotionally exhausted from suppressing my feelings, not sleeping well due to ruminating thoughts about “what if…”  Turns out I was pregnant again.  I took a test but thought it was just left over hormones.  I called the OB to ask them what I was supposed to do about leftover hormones, not sure if that is even a thing or not, but that is what I thought was going on.  They told me no because I had a negative pregnancy test after my miscarriage.  They were confident this was a seperate pregnancy and set me up for an ultrasound.  They reassured me on the phone that I had already had 2 successful pregnancies, the miscarriage was just a fluke, relax.  I went in the following week for my ultrasound.  I could see the  baby clearly on the screen.  I was starting to breath a sigh of relief.  This was real, with the last pregnancy I never had an ultrasound so it seemed abstract and not so real, if that makes sense?  The tech excused herself, I didn’t think much of it, I have cardiac issues so I am high risk anyway-they always leave and get the doctor to come in and finish the ultrasound-so that was not out of the ordinary.  The doc comes in, does a few swipes of the scan.  Asks why I am in for such an early ultrasound, I told her I had a recent miscarriage and they wanted a scan done before my appointment.  She puts the wand down, turns the light on and says, “it has happened again, there is no heartbeat’ and basically left the room.  I sat there stunned.  Went across the hall to see my OB-by now I was pretty upset.  She says something along the lines they are going to call this and the previous miscarriage as one event because they happened so close together.  She said this was just a blip and she doesn’t see why I won’t go on to have another successful pregnancy.  Then she commented that I seemed really upset.  What the actual F*ck?!  Yes, I am upset.  I just had a second miscarriage in a few months time.  One that I was promised by you, would not have happened.  Yes, I am upset!  For this second miscarriage I needed to medication to speed along the natural process.  In essence I had to induce labor at home.  I was given no pain medication for this.  Truth be told the contractions I had at home were the same strength of the ones I had in the hospital with Sara for which I received an epidural for pain relief.  I never called my doctor because in some weird twisted way I felt like I deserved this.  That it was my fault somehow this kept happening and this pain was the punishment I deserved.  It is weird the places your brain can go to.  A few days later I had to go back to the hospital for an ultrasound to ensure the procedure was complete.  Now, I am usually seen in the Maternal/Fetal High Risk practice.  In that waiting room no one looks at anyone else, no one speaks.  All of us have precarious pregnancies so we all just mind our business because we don’t really know if that mom has just or is about to receive devastating news.  All eyes forward and no acknowledgement of others is the standard protocol.  For this follow up ultrasound I felt like I was given the “B” team level of service.  Waiting room was standing room only, tons of crying babies and total lack of privacy.  I go in for the ultrasound and am told there may still be “some product of conception left behind”.  Huh?  I ask what that means and to clarify he says “some product of conception was left behind”.  Yup, now it is as clear as mud.  It takes a minute to settle in...I ask, “you mean there is still part of my baby inside?”.  “Yes, there is still some product in there”.  I let loose.  I am yelling, it was a baby, not some product like a bag of rice on a grocery shelf.  That was my child, they were loved.  How dare you refer to a child as a ‘product’.  Somehow I find my way out of there.  I was shaking and had a full blown panic attack on the elevator.  I am clawing at the door for it to open, I needed air.  Fortunately for me, unfortunately for them there was someone from transport on the elevator and they were able to safely get me outside.  Though it was years ago I still remember it like yesterday.

For the next few weeks I walked around in a haze.  I wasn’t a good mom, I wasn’t a good wife, I wasn’t a good human.  I was a shell.  How was it the world was still turning--didn’t people understand my life was falling apart?. Just trying to make sense of why and what was happening to me.  I decided to talk to a therapist.  I had one in place for parenting advice so I reached out.  I was there not 5 minutes, Chuck came with me and this asshat of a therapist tells me and I quote, “have a good snotty cry, and get over it”.  I have never wanted to exert physical violence on someone so badly as I did that man.  How f-ing dare he!  Needless to say I never set foot in his office again.  Like one good cry will get me over losing 2 babies you fucktard.  At this point a few people knew what I was going through and I wish I could say that turd was the only one that said idiotic things.  Unlike him, I think most people were coming from a good place and their words were not intentionally meant to hurt but some of the comments stung;  “at least you have the other 2”, Yes, yes I have 2 other children that I am eternally grateful for and I know how incredibly lucky I am but I wanted these ones too.  “It wasn’t meant to be”, Oh, OK, so my kids were meant to die?  “That is how things were supposed to go”-Great, thanks.  Point taken, I won’t be sad anymore.  “You can always try for another one”, Yes, yes I can, but that doesn’t make me any less sad about the 2 babies that died inside of me.  But thank you for minimizing what I am going through, very helpful.  This was one of my favorites, “at least it happened before you got to know them, or before they had personalities”.  Umm, OK, yes, I would never compare a miscarriage to someone who carried a child full term and lost them later in pregnancy, at birth, in infancy or ever really.  It is apples and oranges.  I can’t even begin to imagine what their pain is and I hope I never have to.  But ask any women that has ever been pregnant and they will tell you they fall in love with their child the second they learn they are pregnant, if not before!  I loved my children when they were just a future fantasy.  I loved my children before I was married. I loved the concept of being a mother.  So don’t make me feel like I shouldn’t be sad.  They were children to me, in my daydreams they did have personalities.  I had hopes and dreams for them.  They were real.  They existed. They were loved.

That is the thing with miscarriage, it is a silent grief.  No one talks about it.  It is a disenfranchised grief.  Not many people knew I was pregnant so not many people knew I was grieving.  How do you bring that up in casual conversation without it being super awkward and having the other person become extremely uncomfortable?  How could I be sad when I had 2 other beautiful children?   Here I was being greedy-I didn’t have the right to be upset.  Other people would kill to have just one child.  Who the hell was I to be upset?

My OB sent me to see a Reproductive Endocrinologist (a fertility specialist).  After many invasive tests it turns out I had secondary infertility with no real cause.  So if I wanted to have a successful pregnancy they suggested IVF would be the best route to go.  I went through all the screenings and appointments.  Again, I felt like a total fraud sitting in the IVF clinic waiting room.  Not that anyone in there knew I already had 2 kids, I knew.  I felt like I shouldn’t be in there.  Those seats/appointments should be reserved for people who hadn’t had a child yet.  For those ladies that were really struggling.  Not for some poor lady who just wanted one more kid.  I mean when is enough enough?  All this testing took months.  During that time I had 2 more miscarriages bringing the total to 4.  Like I said before, your mind can play tricks on you, it can bring you to places you never would normally go.  It makes you think totally off the wall thoughts are completely rationale.  One thought I had over and over at night while trying to sleep was the notion I was a  serial killer.  I mean, after the 2 miscarriages I went on to get pregnant 2 more times, so 4 babies had died.  Does that number now make me a serial killer?  I knew the pregnancies could ultimately lead to the baby dying so was I any better than Charles Manson or Ted Bundy?  I know looking back now that sounds ludacris but at the time it was a real issue I struggled with.  Another thing I struggled with was work.  I worked in a NICU at the time.  It was so hard going through this and seeing babies all day every day at work.  Granted they were sick babies.  Very, very sick babies in many cases.  I didn’t care.  I was jealous.  I was jealous that those moms had their children and I didn’t.  I know that must sound horrible, especially to any mom that has had a child in the NICU or sick child but if nothing else, I have always been honest in my blog and those were my brutally honest feelings at the time.  I think in the end one of the positives that came out of all of this was how it really made me appreciate what many NICU moms go through before their children are born.  The invasive tests, the heartbreak, the longing…

I was on the verge of quitting.  I had actually packed my bag up and was going to just walk out and never look back.  It was just too hard to be there.  I stopped in a pod to do one last thing and one of the nurses asked if I was ok.  I said yeah.  She pressed me and said then why do you look like you are about  to cry?  I made some lame excuse.  But a few minutes later I went back in and thanked her for caring enough to ask twice.  I told her what I was going through, mind you, we were coworkers but not particularly close at all.  She listened to me, really listened to me and she told me of her similar struggles and how it was torture some days coming to work.  It was the first time I felt connected-that someone else knew how I felt.  It made me feel comforted to know that if she were able to come out the other side, so could I.  But it also made me feel so sad because it made me realize how lonely this is for women.  How we have to suffer in silence.  Had she not reached out to me that day I am not sure how things would have turned out for me.  I was not heading down a good path.

We investigated the IVF route.  Fortunately our insurance would cover it.   They would want to implant multiple embryos due to my age, and those do have the possibility of splitting.   I really wanted another child desperately but I was older.  I am short.  I have cardiac issues.  Could my body handle a pregnancy of multiples?  I didn’t know what the right answer was.  When it was time for me to start the fertility meds there was a shortage of them in our state.  So I took that as a sign I shouldn’t do it.  Then, the night before I would need to start the meds I got a call from the pharmacy, someone canceled their prescription and they had now had the meds available for me.  UGH!  Was this the sign I was supposed to be getting?  Was I supposed to do IVF after all?  Chuck and I had a heart to heart and decided against it.  What would happen if I had multiples?  Would I be able to carry them to term?  What if something happened to them?  To me?  Would that be fair to Sara and Anna?  So as difficult as it was I called the pharmacy and told them to offer the meds to the next person in line.

We decided to try on our own until the end of the year.  If it happened great, if not we were done.  It would be time to give up and be happy in the incredible life we already had.  I ended up finding out early in the New Year I was pregnant again.  G-7.  We had an ultrasound and things seemed ok.  On Valentine’s Day we had another and this one was past the point of all my previous miscarriages.  That didn’t make me breath any easier.  I was just waiting for the other shoe to drop.  I started showing super early.  I wore all dark clothes.  I wore bright red lipstick and kind of goth-like makeup to draw attention off of my belly.  I felt like a huge fraud.  Like I wasn’t really pregnant.  I didn’t announce until about halfway through my pregnancy.  Even then I didn't talk about it much.  I tried hard not to focus on it or put too much emotional energy into it.  I knew I was just going to ultimately be disappointed.  Kind of like people convince themselves they are pregnant when they are not, it was like the opposite of that.  I was really pregnant but had myself convinced I was not.  Again, your mind can be a tricky thing.  I was on the phone with my OB almost everyday.  I felt a twinge, phone call.  I had a pain, phone call.  I had an itch, phone call.  By all accounts this was a routine pregnancy.  But to me it was anything but.  I begged my OB to put me on progesterone.  She finally relented,  though documenting in my chart it was not medically necessary but since it wouldn’t hurt anything she did it for my peace of mind.  I was supposed to use it for 12 weeks.  I used it for at least 15 (they came in bulk packs).  I was going to do everything in my power to make this baby stick.

I remember being wheeled into the OR for a c-section at 38 weeks after going into labor and still not truly believing I was really pregnant.  I still felt like so many things could go wrong.  Even after she was born and we were in the hospital I just knew something bad was going to happen.  That somehow I wasn’t supposed to have another child and the Universe was going to come down, swoop in and squish my happiness with a big old F-U.

I am so grateful to say that didn’t happen.  My rainbow baby, 4 times over, just turned 5 in September.  I love her with all my heart and I can’t imagine a life without her in it.  I do still struggle with the “what ifs”, “who would they be?”, “who would they being dressed up as for Halloween tonight?” , “Would I have had my boy?”.  Yesterday I saw a post in a Mother’s Group on FB.  This mom was struggling with the what if’s yesterday.  I am so glad she posted that.  The amount of supportive responses she got was so overwhelming.  I wish I had had the strength to talk about it 7 years ago when I was in the thick of it.  It sucks and one good, snotty cry is not going to make it OK.  Ever.  Now if I hear someone I know has a miscarriage I immediately connect with them and let them know they are not alone.  They are 1 in 4 so chances are many people around them know this pain-they just don’t talk about it, and I listen.  I really listen to them.

So here we are on October 31st.  The last day of another Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Month and I got this post in under the skin of my teeth-I had all intentions of letting another October go by without writing about my experiences but something about that post spoke to me.  I felt compelled to write it.  Believe it or not, that experience is what led me to create my blog in the first place.  The one good thing that asshat therapist did tell me was I needed a creative outlet for my emotions.  I am not creative but I love to write.  I was so sad and I was so tired of everyone posting all over social media how amazing their lives were.  I decided to create a place for me to write about what my life was really like, warts and all.  I think I have stayed true to myself with my blog, never making things seem better or worse than how they are--just how they really are.  I have prided myself on always being honest and I have felt like I have been keeping a huge secret.  Seeing that mama’s post yesterday made me feel like it was time to come clean.  To come out of the shadows and share my story so others won’t ever feel as alone as I did!











Saturday, October 27, 2018

We're Moving On Up!

Not sure if it is the east side and it definitely is not a dee-lux apartment in the sky but we finally bit the bullet and moved! I can’t believe I am even typing those words. It still seems so surreal. Oh, for the record we actually moved one year ago today...I am just getting around to writing about it now.

Here is the back story; about 9 years ago we bought my husband’s grandmother’s home. At the time it was perfect for us however, we outgrew it very quickly. We outgrew it about a year after we moved in. Our plan was to renovate it and move to something bigger. Life happened and kind of got in the way. When we moved in Sara was only 2 and we had 2 small cats so there was plenty of room. We have since added 2 more kids and a big, lazy dog. We were busting at the seams. The girls were all in one room. We made it work; we had a bunk bed for Sara and Anna and there was a trundle on the bottom for Emily. When one of my kiddos told her teacher their baby sister was sleeping in a box I knew we either needed to move ASAP or face the real possibility of DCF coming looking for a toddler in a box.

By some miracle of fate Chuck got on board with my idea to move. It may or may not have had something to do with my declaration that I was moving and the rest of them were welcome to join me, or not, their choice. I think the thought of having to get the house market ready paled in compassion to the thought of having to raise the kids without me. So we called a real estate agent and she said she could come the next day. Now I have wanted to move for years but Holy Sh*t, tomorrow? That was fast! I like to think I keep my house pretty clean but not real estate agent clean! It was the last day of summer vacation and I had plans with the kids, telling them I had to stay home and clean was going to go over like a fart in church. So in between the bouncy pillows and ice cream I was cleaning like a mad woman. I swear that is how I tore my rotator cuff. When we renovated our kitchen we wanted it to be all bright and clean so we went with white cabinets. That whole afternoon I was channeling my inner Julia Roberts every time I would say, "Big mistake, Big. Huge." while scrubbing those damn white cabinets. In my day to day I never noticed how absolutely disgusting they were. I was up around the clock until our appointment with the agent the next day. In all honestly I think I lost 25 pounds of water weight through the sweat that was pouring off of me.

That afternoon she comes to our house and we thought she would give us a list of about 80 things we needed to fix before putting it on the market. In our mind we had a good 6 months worth of work ahead of us. To give a little perspective, our house was not in the best shape; it had good bones as they say but the roof was literally held together with Flex Seal (you know the As Seen on TV stuff). I mean in our defense we did have it in various colors to match the different shades of the roof shingles. We weren't total derelicts for Christ's sake. There may have also been some self leveling concrete filling in some questionable cracks but then again, there may not have been...wink, wink. And while getting the girls closet in order the door may have fallen off the hinges and there may have been super glue involved in fixing it. But that one we should get a pass for since I broke my finger when the door came off the hinges and fell on top of me. Gallons of paint were sacrificed over the years painting over the same water stains in the bedrooms--so you can kind of see why we had months of work cut out for us.


In less than an hour we were signing papers agreeing to put it on the market THAT WEEKEND!! W.T.F. did we just get ourselves into? She would be coming back in a few days to take pictures of the house. So now came the real work; I had to keep the house clean, like really, really clean from now until we sell the house! Ugh, I had a 9, 7 and 4 year old at the time and cleaning is like friggin Kryptonite to them. I think I did more yelling in that 2 weeks than I had in my previous 44 years C.O.M.B.I.N.E.D. I swear I was like a fire breathing dragon. If the kids so much as left a piece of lint behind fire would come out of my mouth and steam was spewing out of my nose and ears.


The house did go on the market just a few days after our initial meeting and had an open house right away with multiple showings. The pictures she took were amazing! Now I'm not saying trick photography was used but when I saw it online I wanted to buy it! I was at work for one of the showings and Chuck was responsible for getting the kids out of the house before it. He calls me and tells me that one of them clogged the toilet and another dumped a bucket of toys out. My first thought is why the hell are you still there, they will be there in less than 20 minutes???!!!


Somehow our real estate agent pulls off the unthinkable and not only sells our house in a week, she gets above asking!! I honestly thought we would have to pay someone to take the house off our hands! After looking at a few houses we find one we really like in the neighborhood we really wanted to be in. We never thought we could make it work but not only does our real estate agent get us the house she gets our first offer accepted, under asking price in 20 minutes!! Most people think of Anne Sullivan when they hear the term "Miracle Worker" but nope, not me, I think of Keri. She was a pit bull. She was determined to sell our house and get us the home of our dreams and she did! From the day she came to meet us until the day we closed was 56 days!! It was a super fast process but it felt like forever when we were going through it!


Moving day came, we were closing on both houses and had everything timed out to the minute and of course our movers show up an hour late. One of them was about 90 pounds soaking wet but man did they move! I couldn't really enjoy the moment because of course I woke up with a migraine and spent the better part of the morning puking and of as luck would have it all the towels and even paper towels were packed away so all I had was the last of the toilet paper roll. But we pulled it off- moved out and in all in the same afternoon!


The neighborhood is a really nice neighborhood. Everyone takes care of their yards, no one has sofas on their front porches, people wave to each other and chat at the bus stop. We move in and bring the white trash factor hard. We were in the house all of 10 minutes when Emily strolls outside in a black t-shirt and diaper. No pants. Come on! For F's sake, we need to at least try to blend in for a few days before we show our true colors.


We needed a ton of furniture for the new house. So we get a brand new dining room table, nothing too fancy...IKEA, told you we were bringing the W.T. effect to the hood, but it was new and nice. It was up not more than 24 hours before the friggin dog jumps up on it. We start yelling, she panics and tries to scramble to get off of it all while digging her nails in to the table top. So now we are forced to always have place-mats out. Now we are not fancy folk by any means but now we always have the appearance of an impending dinner party dah-ling.


Today marks a year since the big move and our life has changed in so many ways. Our old house was on a really busy street with no kids close by. This neighborhood is bursting with kids and more often than not they can all be found at my house. I can never pull in the garage when I get home from work, there are always a crap ton of bikes and scooters clogging our driveway and you know what? I wouldn't have it any other way! The kids have taken over our basement turning it into a school, they have a classroom set up and have taken over my office, which I set up to write the book I have been threatening to write for a few years, and turned it into the school adjustment counselors office. I love that the girls are still playing and not sitting always clinging to technology to keep them busy and I love that the neighborhood kids are in to it too! We have a perfect sledding hill on the side of the house that doubles as an epic slip and slide hill, our poor neighbors did not sign on for the circus that is our house but they are going to have to deal because we are here to stay! In the past 365 days these neighbors have become so much more than that. They have become surrogate parents to my kids and friends; an early morning SOS text the other day and one of them came over to help me out in an emergency no questions asked. I needed someone to grab one of the girls after school for me and it was done without a second thought. If the girls are out playing and they get hurt one of them will swoop in and check they are ok and they know I would do the same for them. As cliche as that sounds there is no price you can put on that.


Oh, if anyone is looking for a real estate agent I know a good one!