Going Out with a Bang

It seems with each pregnancy it gets more and more interesting.  Amber was smooth sailing, except for the scoldings I would get from my doctor for my weight gain.  Sam had doctors in other cities worried that I was going to drop at any moment, because you know that women in severe stress just stop dropping babies without any warning.  My stress was caused by a little hurricane called Katrina that decided it was time to wipe New Orleans off the face of the earth.  She didn’t succeed.  With both pregnancies I went on to have rather uneventful births.  Matter of fact, I think Sam’s was downright boring and too clinical.  Amber had a hint of excitement, but nothing that would make one of those delivery shows on Discovery Health.  This one seems to know it will be my final journey down the making babies trail and has decided to give me enough tame curve balls to keep me on my toes. 

Not only do I have more than enough doctors to ensure that I reach my deductible before any baby comes forth, it is like Christmas each time I go in for an ultrasound.  There is always something new and interesting going on in there that makes you go hmmmm…and something for the special doctor to “keep on eye on”.  We started seeing the ultraspecial doctor to talk about testing, because you know I am old and have to be monitor.  You know tests and more tests are ordered to make sure that my womb hasn’t crapped out on me and can still do it’s job like a young, vital womb.  Talk about ageism.  Apparently, when you turn down those special tests, that are suppose to tell you exactly what you want to know but are notoriously wrong, they want to “keep an eye on you”.  That will be the running theme for this pregnancy and everytime the Dr. says it I envision her with a huge eye following me where ever I go. 

So you go in for once a month ultrasounds and get more pictures than your other 2 kids combined, forever throwing out that old theory that once the third one comes along there are less pictures.  Each month brings with it a new little problem that is tied in a bow and ready for you and your doctor to unwrap.  There was the kidney backed up, then both kidneys backed up, then there was the placenta, that little rascal playing peek a boo with my cervix and then, the latest, my placenta has formed a little tent over the baby.  I believe my heavily Asian accent doctor informed me that my placenta has 2 lobes.  I asked and I think she clarified, yes 2 lobes.  Well, ain’t my placenta creative and special.  I guess there is room for creativity as long as you are getting the job done.  So why did I need to know this about my placenta, well I have to tell my OB/GYN so she can make sure to get it all out. 

Oh yeah, I have to tell her.  So not only is this last pregnancy giving me every possible little medical mystery to run with, but I have work to do.  I am paying the big bucks to meet my deductible, but I have to make sure my OB/GYN gets everything all cleaned out.  I kid, I kid.  I am sure my doctors will communicate through their notes, but I will be the good little patient and make sure to tell my OB to make sure she sweeps my entire uterus clean and lock up when she is done.  Actually, I think this has all taught me to be grateful that I am relativity healthy and my baby making, while a little on the odd side, is in okay condition. 

It was suggested to me that maybe these doctors are trying to squeeze me for every last penny and I admit I have thought it myself.  I think it is more them trying to cover their ass.  Let me tell you, I have more than once used my patient rights to decline testing.  I mean I do have a brain and while I didn’t go to medical school, and doctors might shake their heads behind my backs, ultimately I am responsible for my medical care and take full responsibility for my decisions.  I mean all that matters is that the high deductible gets met for the year and we are in the clear for the hospital bill.  (/sarcasm)

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What Everyone Wants to Know

We had the BIG ultrasound on Monday.  After 45 sweaty minutes we got to see the room where all our questions would be answered, well sort of.  We first saw a woman that maybe was a doctor or supreme ruler of all that is ultrasound; I am not sure she was all business and went right to work.  She measured the baby and then walked out so that the Doctor (I know for sure she was the doctor because her name had doctor in it) could come in and tell us the answers to all our questions, well sort of.  I guess it is kind of hard to have all the answers when your patients don’t really have any questions.  So the doctor measured the baby and told us that at this point she could tell us without a doubt that it is 30% for sure that our baby is perfectly healthy.  The other 70%?  Well, that is the mystery.  She couldn’t tell us until the baby is larger.  Then an appointment was made for 4 weeks later and I am sure the bill is in the mail.

My theory on all this testing on a woman who has had no history of medical or pregnancy problems is CYA (cover your ass).  We had told our regular OB that no matter what this pregnancy would be carried to term, unless the baby has other plans.  We were patted on the heads and told that an appointment would be made so that an extra special doctor, code for going to suck your bank account dry, can tell us about all the tests to tell us everything, well sort of, about our baby and we could make a decision at that time.  I will say that I am pleasantly surprised that none of the doctors that I have encountered have ever seem to pass judgement or made me feel as if my decision was the dumbest thing to ever cross a person lips, to which I am thankful for.  However, I do need to sit through the many “talks” of how my age affects the baby.  There are percentages, could happens, be prepare, and a whole bunch of this might be something but we can’t really tell. 

I am torn.  Since we have a high-deductible insurance plan most of these tests will be coming directly out of our pockets, so I feel as if these tests are unnecessary and I should just turn them down.  However, I was brought up in a society that puts doctors on a pedestal.  As I have gotten older, I have learned to question and research to make my own decisions, but there is still that pull to just go along with whatever they say and not worry about it.  It would be the easier thing to do, but very expensive, too.  Which is why I feel it is very important to surround myself with doctors that are willing to listen and help me make an informed decision.  Sometimes those doctors are hard to find, but I have been lucky to generally find ones that I am comfortable with.  I don’t blame the doctors for taking these precautions, matter of fact, I understand.  Basically, this ultrasound told us what we already knew, things are moving along as they should be.  We will go back for the second test, because SoHubby has some concerns about certain things, that can be seen on the ultrasound, and I am nothing but willing to put those concerns to rest, even if he still conducts business only to pop his head up to make inappropriate comments while doing these VERY IMPORTANT tests.  Maybe someone should warn the baby what he/she is getting into. 

So without further adieu, here are the pictures that told us everything we needed to know and will answer the question that is on everyone’s mind, what exactly is it that you are having:

Drumroll, please:

We are having a…

A blob?

Or, it could be a:

In the words of Sam, a scary monster?

Or, it could be a:

A baby.

Sorry folks, it is too soon to tell, which is probably the real reason I will go back for the second ultrasound.  Hey, each out of pocket expense will go towards our deductible and we will have that insurance company paying 80% in no time.   Mama is ready to start buying gender specific stuff.  The big worry these doctors should have is my wrath if they tell me the wrong sex and I have some major returning to do.     

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Bare Minerals: The Totally and Completely Unpaid Review

I am far from a cosmetics expert.  Basically, I used whatever I can find on the shelves at Target.  I never bought into the expensive make-up, because the cheap stuff gave me what I needed or so I thought.  Slowly, I had branched out to some department store products.  Ablush here, a lipstick there and, generally,   I was happy with my purchases. The products  lasted a long time, which could be because I don’t use much.  The stuff that I used the most of, I figured I should spend the less on.  Doesn’t really make sense, but live and learn. 

My daily routine is very simple:  Clean and Clear face lotion with SPF 15, liquid cover-up, a powdered foundation, mascara and some blush.  It was quick and easy, which is all I ask.  However, I have oily skin and it would show a couple of hours after application.  In the summer it is worst, especially if using a liquid foundation.  That stuff basically just slides off my face once the temperature and humidity reach the upper digits.  I had seen Bare Minerals infomercial many times and shrugged it off like most of those paid advertisements.  But in my frustration to look fresher longer, and curiosity regarding the new Sephora store that just opened in our mall,  I decided I would just go look at the product.  Well, we know what happens when certain people just “look” around.

I entered with a cookie covered Sam and a mission to look great without much effort.  I wanderedaround the Bare Minerals section for a few minutes and then grabbed a salesgirl to explain my situation.  I basically wanted something that was easy and would stay looking like when it was first applied all day.  She had my answer and the way to my credit card.  She assessed my color and showed me the greatness of Bare Minerals.  So I was in, but I didn’t know how far in I was until I was at the check-out.  If I was going to get the foundation powder then I needed the mineral veil to keep everything fresh and the oil at bay, which then meant I needed the proper tools to apply all this stuff properly.  My answer was the started kit.  It came with 2 foundation colors, a mineral veil, 3 brushes and a bronzer.  I am always leery of kits, because I tend to not use all of the products and it seems like a waste, but if I was going to get foundation, mineral veil and 1 brush I was going to spend way more than $60, anyway, so might as well get more for less.  I was sold and paid, with some doubt, for my starter kit.

The kit, also, comes with an instructional DVD and a quick reference guide.  Since I didn’t have time to watch the video and figured the salesgirl told me everything I needed to know, I put the kit on my bathroom counter and waited til morning. ( The little tidbit of “cooking” the powder in the lid was a bit disconcerting, but I wasn’t ask to main line it so all was good.)  This morning I set out, cautiously, on a mission to make this stuff work.  The salesgirl told me that I could use the fairly light foundation as cover-up, which was a plus since she diagnosed me as a fair.  Everything was easy to apply and after a little reading of the quick guide I knew a little bit more of what to apply when and how.  Since my skin is very oily I used the mineral veil first, then I tried the fairly fair foundation as cover-up and discovered that I need something a little more for the bags under my eyes.  However, it is 12:35 pm and not a shine to be found.  I am interested to see how this works when the temperature and humidity rises.  Needless to say I am happy and if this stuff last close to a year, like the salesgirl promised, then I will be more than happy.

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The day I didn’t die, but really wanted to.

AWWWWW, Sundays!  A day for relaxing, enjoying and doing whatever you heart desires.  Or maybe we can all take a trip to the emergency room.  That’s fun, too, right?  Maybe if your idea of fun is tearing all your skin off and dance in a fountain of alcohol.

I have been having stomach troubles for about a month.  They were never too bad, just a little nausea (EVERYDAY), just a little pain in the center that would radiate down my left arm (EVERYDAY), and maybe a little bad mood (EVERYDAY).  For awhile I thought this was a wicked case of PMS, but when my friend left and I was still left with the problems, I wondered if maybe one of my insides would explode.  EH, it was never too bad.  I was still able to do my normal activities with maybe a little more ‘tude than many surrounding me could have done without.  Then came the weekend.  I didn’t want to move and when I did I wanted to throw myself off the nearest building.  The pain had gained reinforcements and was ganging up on me.  Funny, by 1pm Saturday, I was able to move without wishing for death and managed to get dressed and go to a birthday party.  I dare not eat any of that crawfish, because I knew my stomach would either send it back or hold me captive in the bathroom.

Sunday came with the same intense pain as Saturday, so I had a little conversation with myself:

“Self, maybe we should go see someone?”
“Don’t be a wuss!  Suck it up and just go about your business.”
“But what if one of my insides explode and I am bleeding to death?”
“Geesh!  Drama much!  Look you promised those kids Kung Fu Panda and dammit, be a grown up, and fulfill your promises.”
“Man, you are one cold hearted bitch!”
“I do whats I gots to do.”

I got up and started getting ready and then I realized I was walking hunched over.  I was in so much pain, I couldn’t stand up straight without screaming in agony.  I informed the husband to find an urgent care center open and get ready.  I didn’t want to go to the ER.  The ER is a place that I distaste with all my being.  I hate the wait, I hate the smell, I hate the bloody people, I hate the rude check in person and most of all I hate having my children crawling all over the floor.  Don’t worry they were boiled before their little heads touched their pillows, last night.  I must give praise to the marketing department of one of our smaller hospitals.  They called their ER an urgent care center.  We drove around the parking lot looking for a separate building, but oh no, it was the ER we were suppose to be at.  Curses!!  They get me, again.  Seeing as I was in pain and had just wished for a stapler to shut my daughter’s mouth which had been running non-stop since we left the house, I decided I had no choice.

Here is where the fun starts:

After a not so long wait, I am called in.  I am asked questions that I will be asked several times in the next 8 hours.  Oh yeah, baby.  EIGHT FREAKING HELLISH FUCKING HOURS!!!  Can these medical type people get together and have some meeting to stop asking me the same FREAKING questions every 5 FREAKING minutes. I am shuttled into a small room with an annoying hum, later I would learn that the hum would become my friend.  You would think that if you describe to someone intense pain they would slow down to wait for you to catch up.  Oh no, those ER nurses are hardcore and I would find out just how hard during my time there. 

After the poking, prodding and demands for blood, I am given a GI cocktail.  Okay, first you can’t call something a cocktail, if it doesn’t bring you joy or make you forget whatever crap you are going through.  This thing was something mixed in some mad scientist’s lab who probably still lived with his mother, never got laid, and hated life, in general.  It was suppose to numb my mouth, throat, the food gateway and the pain would go away.  It worked for about 5 minutes.  This pain was so strong that it laughed in the face of their little “cocktail” and screamed, “Is that all you got?”  So they would show me all they got and my body and I would have our asses kicked.

This only lead to other enjoyable treatments, like a finger up my butt.  When the doctor told me what she wanted to do, I think my eyeball shot out of my head into her’s.  HUH? WHAT? YOU WANT TO PUT WHAT, WHERE? I knew I should have bolted, but I was still afraid one of my insides would burst.  So after that pleasant meeting of butt and someone finger, NOT, I was told everything looks okay.  Now, what?  Is that it?  Can I go and live my life to never mention this heinous crime against my butt, again?  Oh, no, they had more in store for me.

“Well, you see,” the doctor said, ” I want to rule out a few more things.”  HUH? WHAT? RULE OUT WHAT?  YOU JUST HAD YOUR FINGER UP MY BUTT, SHOULDN’T THAT HAVE TOLD YOU EVERYTHING?  Oh, no.  That just told them that I am a good patient and will do what they say.  The psychos.  Nurse Ratched enters and jams a IV in my arm.  “You bruise, easily, eh?” she asked.  I agreed, because could Lord don’t piss this bitch off.  In my head, I was screaming, “No, only when people jam sharp objects into my arm!”  Then I wait.

OH! MY! GOD! The waiting was horrible.  There is no TV, there is no music, there was nothing sharp on which to impale myself.  I had my phone and they weren’t taking that away from me, no matter how many signs they had up.  Lucky for me I had fallen behind on my Parents reading and had 2 issues in the car.  Quiz me on anything in the May or June issue.  Go ahead, I bet I know the answer. 

Next I go for my ultrasound.  Now, these don’t sound so bad, do they?  I mean the last ultrasound I had I was squinting to try to find the baby the doctor was pointing out.  Later, we would laugh at the video and proclaim I was giving birth to an alien.  Don’t worry, Sam, those pictures didn’t do you justice, AT ALL.  This ultrasound wasn’t as nice.  It was mostly me holding my breath and the tech measuring my innards whiling pressing down really hard.  Here is a little tip to all those Med students:  when I patient tells you they have an intense pain in their stomach, DON’T FREAKING PUSHED DOWN ON IT. Guess what the ultrasound said.   NOTHING!!!  There was no baby, no exploding innards, no mouse trying to scratch it’s way out, no alien trying to bust through, only a whole lot of NOTHING!!!!  Can I go, now?  Obviously, I am doing this for attention and the pain is all in my head.  Oh no, we have one more procedure for you and it is the best of them all.  CAT SCAN!!!

Nurse Ratched brings in 2 tall drinks.  I think, finally, something for me to put in my stomach, besides the pop tart I had at 6am.  Oh no, she ain’t that nice.  I was told to drink this liquid, the color of piss, and then in an hour drink the other one.  And because she is nice, she mixed them with Crystal Light and she assured me that they weren’t so bad.  I don’t know what circle in hell where she gets her tall, cold ones, but this stuff tasted like lemon-flavored death.  I don’t vomit easily, but I thought for sure this stuff was going to make a repeat showing.  I forced the first glass down and prayed for God to just explode my internal organs and get it over with.  This was pure torture.  Just about the time the taste left my mouth it was time to drink the next one.  I braced myself and tried.  I was on my knees begging for mercy.  Then I said screwed it and threw the rest down the drain.  If they can’t get their pictures, I don’t care.  I wanted out and I wanted out, 4 hours ago.

The only thing I can say about the CAT scan is that I thought I was in some weird Star Trek episode where I was an alien withholding information and they were going to retract it anyway they could.  Basically, you ride the ride, hold your breathe (making sure it is in English, because me no speaka the Spanish) and the CAT scan tells the doctor all she needs to know.  And do you know what the doctor found out?  Well, I have diarrhea.  She asked it kinda accusatory, like I was with holding this one piece of important information that would have solved everything hours ago.  Except….the freaking lemon-flavored death water is what gave me the freaking diarrhea.  I had been shuffling my bare ass to anyone and everyone in the ER room to the toilet every 5 minutes since I drank the last one.  But wait, there is more.  I am about to start my period.  Oh hallelujah, thank god, I just spent my kids’ tuition to find out that little gem.  At this point, I am thinking this doctor doesn’t know anything and I was just here to fill up her day.  Finally, I am told I could leave.  I heard that and was dressed in about 5 seconds.  I was tripped up because of the UV still in my arm.  Nurse Ratched would come in to remove it just as gently as she had put it in.  I am sure, everyone likes have a bent needle in their arm for about 30 seconds while she gets some gauze to cover my gaping wound. 

As I left, I wonder what the hell happened?  I went in for a tummy ache and was violated beyond any knowledge I had.  Then it hit me.  HOLY SHIT,  the bill we are going to get.  Well, guess what folks we met our deductible for the year.  Let me stop and do my little screw you insurance company dance.  We have no idea what is wrong with me and surprisingly my pain is much, much less than it has been in the last 3 weeks.  I guess all that stuff shocked my body and reminded it to fly the straight and narrow from now on. 

I think I am going back to my “If I ain’t dead policy or need something removed (mostly this is in regards to babies)” policy keep me as far away from a hospital as humanly possible.  Laying on the ground dying in a pool of my own vomit  and blood sounds  more enjoyable than what I experienced, yesterday. 

 

I would like to address my sweet friend who told me and the people who happen to be on Twitter, yesterday, that this was my way of getting a day off.  You know the spa day I had been asking for?  Well, I will ask her the same question I pose to Nurse Racthed, what CRAZY ASS SPA IN HELL DO YOU GO TO?  And please, don’t ever, ever give me that number for as long as we both live.

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Parenting Means Having to Worry About the Little Things, Too.

I have been reading a couple of bloggers who are having concerns about their children’s development. I only know what appears on my computer screen, however, it has caused some worry for me. Not in my child’s development, but will I be forced to put up with a specialist visit? I fear that my mere mention that my son is not doing something that a doctor thinks he should be doing will warrant a visit from someone with a clipboard and a trunk load of questions.

It confuses me with all these ideas on child development. I don’t know how they came up when milestones happen and it seems that it is more flexible for babies than toddlers. Then the experts always add that warning at the end of every development statement, “Every child is different.” If every child is different, why is there worry if the child is not walking at 18 months or talking at 2 years old or holding a pencil at 3 years old or doing algebra in first grade. First we are told not to worry, then we are told to set up an appointment to have our child studied like a rat in a lab.

I know what the milestones are and I know when they are suppose to happen, but I don’t flip when it doesn’t happen on the exact day my child turns 6.5 months old. Amber was pretty much on mark with milestones. Babycenter would send me lovely little emails telling me where my child should be on this day in this month at this time. They never bothered me, because Amber was on the mark. I was content.

Once Amber was walking, talking and performing like a circus monkey, people would exclaim, “She is so smart”. I attribute this to 2 things, my child looked a lot younger than her age and Amber is a people pleaser. I make my kids small, so people think they are younger than they are which then gives the allusion that they are tiny geniuses ready to take over the world. Amber was ready and willing to perform any little cute act we asked of her. She was able to tell me what Dr. Phil, the dog, MawMaw, and the snake says. Of course, we fed her all these lines and after about a million times repeating them, Amber could remember them anytime, anywhere. Amber was happy to see the pleased faces of her audience and still does. Amber loves to be the center of attention. So do I think my daughter is a genius? NO. I think she is a little girl that likes to perform for any audience that comes her way. Just ask the million plus people she told about her day at Target on Monday. If you were in the elevator with us, you were her captured audience.

Sam is a totally different story. I say that he has the FuckUitude. He can do things you ask of him, but it is totally up to his mood whether he does them or not. He does things on his timetable and no one will tell him differently. Sam didn’t walk until he was 14 months old and then it was kinda of just getting up and doing it. No fanfare and if you asked him to do it, he would simply give you a look of “Are you talkin to me?” and crawl away. Just to drive the point home that you couldn’t force him to do anything.

I will admit, I wonder when will Sam talk. I really don’t think he will be talking before he is 2 years old. I think it will come more at 2.5 years old, but does this mean I will have to endure countless therapy sessions until the therapist deems success when Sam decides to talk. Sam can communicate. Trust me the boy does not let what is on his mind go without being heard, it is just not in speech form. He can point, shake and nod his head, and scream. If you ask him to do any of these things he will mentally roll his eyes and walk into a corner to do his thing.

I don’t blame any parent being concerned over their child’s development. I think it is natural. On the other hand, I do think these strict guidelines force more worry than is warranted. What happens if the child talks when he is 2 years and 5 days old? I understand there are somethings that are caused for concern. If your child is still acting like a lump at the age of 5 years old, you might want to see a specialist. But are we too quick to wonder if there is something wrong with our children? I don’t remember my parents being concerned about this at all.

I realize my kids aren’t perfect and never will be. I understand that development takes time. I think our culture is missing this. We are in such a rush for our kids to get to the next step, we are missing out on what they are doing now. We are missing the subtle goals in search of the bigger glossier goals. I think they all have their place.

Good luck to all parents, because we all need a little luck sometime in our parenting experience.

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Another Look into Our Lives.

Want to see what we saw, today?

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Labwork and parenting advice.

The doctor requested labwork on Sammy because he hasn’t gained weight in a month. I say he moves around too much, but what do I know. Today was the day, especially since I got the “look” from the doctor yesterday when Amber went in for her ear infection. I hung my head when answering, “No, I didn’t get his labwork done, yet.”. My God you only asked for it on Friday. I don’t think he will waste away, but again what do I know.

It is no fun holding your son down for the technicians to take blood. It took me and another lab tech to hold all 15 pounds of Sam down. That boy is strong and when he doesn’t want to do something he fights to the end. He was stuck twice and the worst part they had to move the needle around to get any blood to flow. I don’t know if it hurt, but it sure did look like it hurt. Once it did start to flow, it was very slow and then it stop. The lab tech just said they will have to work with that. I totally agree, unless they ask for my blood. Damn, bloodsuckers.

I was thinking the whole time the tech were apologizing to Sam for the pain the inflicted on him. Doctors really do get off pretty good in these situations. They order the test and have their henchmen do their dirty work. I have a new level of respect for nurses and lab technicians. Don’t blame them when you need a painful procedure. Although, they should always have a gently touch, especially when removing that catheter from a poor woman recovering for a c-section. Oops, sorry cant of track there.

The hardest part was/is getting the urine sample. I was given a little baggie that fits over his penis and in theory the urine will be collected in the bag. I don’t think I am qualified to do this. There is no right way to get this bag on and if there is no one has told me. I never want to touch my sons’ penis that much again. Good Lord, is nothing sacred. I mean will Sam need therapy after this incident. I had to do this for Amber’s 12 mos check up and after 3 failed tries, the doctor said I guess she is okay. I wasn’t sure what they were testing with her or with Sam, but there has got to be an easier way. So I waited 45 minutes for Sam to pee. Nothing to write home about. So we are home and hoping that there will be something to give the lab this afternoon.

*****

Scene: On the elevator with an older couple cooing over Sammy. Who is all smiles at this point.
another mom gets on with a sleeping baby.

Old Man: Oh, he is knocked out. (to other mom’s child)
Old Woman: He is so comfy.
Me (stupidly): I wish my baby would sleep like that. (Why do I have to be involved in this discussion? I take full responsibility for what is coming next.)
Old Man: You should do what my mom did to us when we wouldn’t sleep.
Me (thinking): Here it comes, lock them in the room until they pass out from crying or beat them.
Old Man: Give them a dropper full of whiskey.
Me (nervous laughter): I am afraid that would make him want to party.
Old Woman: Don’t do that he will become an alcoholic.
Old Man: It knocked us right out.
Old Woman: Don’t listen to him. His whole family is alcoholics.
Me (thinking): How fast can I get away from this conversation.
Old Man: She may have a point, we are alcoholics.

I like a man who can rethink his position. Now where do we keep the whiskey?

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Is this thing on?

I am new to all this, so be gentle.

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