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!

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!

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes, turn and face the strange...

One of my kiddos is home sick today.  Nothing serious but enough to keep the both of us home today.  As I am sitting here with the sun shining through the window on this beautiful fall day I can't help but think about how much has changed this past year.

In addition to us moving, Sara starting Middle School and Emily starting preschool I have just finished up the first month of my new job.  For the first time in 18 years I am no longer working as a Child Life Specialist in a hospital setting.  To be honest something I thought would never happen, being a Child Life Specialist wasn't just a job for me, it was a huge part of my identity.  The Child Life field was what I dedicated my adult life to.  I loved it and was good at it.  My new role is the Director of a Pediatric Daycare and Preschool, still working with medically fragile children and their families along with typically developing children.  In a previous life I was a preschool teacher so this is the perfect combination of my skill set.

I always thought my career path would head in a different direction.  I thought I would retire from a hospital.  I am not that touchy-feely, religious or crunchy but I honestly think the universe was trying to tell me it was time for a change.  Giving up the security of my job, the health insurance, the comfort etc. was a bit daunting but the mission of the new project made it so easy get on board with.  The school is named after one of my dear friends and it is an inclusion school for children and families from all walks of life and abilities.  Something Linda was passionate about.  It really is a privilege to have a small part in continuing her legacy.  I truly feel her spirit when I am there everyday.  So though no longer working as a traditional Child Life Specialist I feel this is exactly where I am supposed to be.

I can honestly say that my life is really good right now.  Really good.  It is like everything has fallen into place they way it was always meant to be.  I love working for someone who respects me.  I love being able to help create something new and innovative.  I love how happy Sara is in Middle School.  I love that Anna has so many friends in our new neighborhood.  I love that Emily is making her own set of friends in school.  I love not being so stressed all the time from a toxic work environment.  I love how strong my marriage is.  I love my life right now.  It is a really, really good place to be.

***Trigger warning--Some people may not like the next paragraph--too bad, so sad--my blog, my words, if you want the happy ending I suggest you stop reading here--if you want the truth read at your own risk***

This was not a career change I originally sought out but  one I am so grateful I made.  The past 7 months I have come to realize sometimes things you think you want really aren't always what is best.  While still working at my former job I was asked to step in to a new role.  I did and really gave it my all.  Though I was receiving a lot of positive feedback it quickly became obvious I was just being used as a place holder and completely being taken advantage of by someone I thought I knew.  For future reference; typically when you f*ck someone like that you should at least buy them dinner.  There were others who despite me defending and advocating for,  felt it necessary to screw me over-one while sitting on the board of an organization I helped create.  Hope my coat tails are comfortable sweetie!  For the record; I know who actively supported me, who claim to have supported me but sat back and watched me get screwed while saying nothing and those who stabbed me in the back.  Though I may forgive, my memory is like a steel trap.  Like the saying goes; during trying times you see who your true friends are.  A shitty experience to go through but despite it all I am happier than I have been in years--so for that I am grateful.  Oh, and if you think this paragraph is about you, it probably is.  Muah!