Wednesday, September 30, 2009

The Sickness; It Is Still With Us

I got it ten days ago; I'm still tired and coughing up crud.

Christian got it seven days ago; she was better by the next day.

Chubs got a fever (his was actually a cold) five days ago; he's still cranky. He's coughing and sneezing a lot, too.

Hubs and Cullen got it Sunday. Cullen was better by Monday; Hubs is still walking around acting like he's the sickest human ever to walk the planet. Nobody has ever felt this bad.

But then, he's a man.

Thursday, September 24, 2009

The House Where All The Sickness Lives

Today is my fourth straight day with fever. Or, as Cullen calls it, feeber. "My feeber hurts, Momma. My feeber hurts. I sick, too."

Sunday night I was brushing out a Hannah Montana wig (yep. she has one. my stepmother bought it for her last weekend.) when my chest starting hurting and filling with gunk. I felt like I was having an allergic reaction, and thought I was allergic to the synthetic wig. My throat was starting to get scratchy,too.

Early the next morning, I couldn't get warm, no matter how many layers I put on or how many blankets I covered up with. So I checked, and of course had fever. By this time my throat was on fire, and I was coughing. A lot.

That afternoon I went to the doctor. I had to get better immediately, since Hubs was going to be out of town for the next three days (of course! and happy to be gone, I'm sure) and I would be on my own with our three delinquents.

I tried talking her out of it, being the whiney-baby sissy-face that I am, but the nurse insisted on shoving a q-tip up my nose to check for flu. Wow. Was that ever fun.

It came back negative.

They gave me a shot (which the doc said, and I quote, "I'm not going to lie to you. It's gonna hurt.") and a prescription for a z-pack.

I haven't left my bed all week, except to get hot tea and food. Wait. I have showered, too. Just in case you were wondering.

My mil has been here, taking care of all of us. She's done her best to chase the kids out of my room each time they've wandered in.

Miraculously, the boys haven't gotten sick.

Christian, on the other hand, woke up with 102.6 fever and a nasty cough super early this morning. Her test came back negative, too, but her pediatrician is treating her for flu. If it walks like a duck and sounds like a duck...

He says those oh-so-pleasant nasal swabs give a false negative about 30% of the time.

I guess all the breast-feeding is really working this time. Chubs has gotten all my immunities.

But he didn't get a bite of mil's hamburger earlier today when she had the nerve to eat in front of him and not offer him some. Or, you know, the whole thing.

He looked like he was about to whoop her for it, though.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Do you remember the show Dinosaurs? From the 90's?

There was an episode in which one of them got sick and we got a look into their biochemistry. We saw germs having a party inside their body, dancing, singing, drinking fancy cocktails with umbrellas.

Well, the dinosaur doctor prescribed some glowing blue liquid. The dinosaur drank it, and immediately we were transported inside their body to see the germs eradicated.

Only, they weren't eradicated.

The party was full of dancing germs, holding martini glasses full of the glowing blue liquid. Suddenly, the germs stopped. Surely they were going to die, right?

Wrong.

The germs divided, and instantly became two germs drinking cocktails of the glowing blue liquid.

Which is exactly what I believe has gone on inside my body this week.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

"The Procedure" Results Are In

As you can probably imagine, I have been so unbelievably down lately. All I've been able to think about is no more babies, ever. And that maybe I wouldn't even be around to see my own babies grow up. I have definitely been depressed, that's for sure. The last few weeks I've been scared, and angry every now and then, at the thought of my own plans being crushed. Each time I'd start to think, "What if..." I'd have to cast down vain imaginations and bring my thoughts into captivity. Then confess healing. And then try to deal with Cullen's shenanigans.

Last night I went to the grocery store alone, and on the way home, all I wanted to do was sing praise and worship songs at the top of my lungs; the deep songs that really move you. I had to force myself to keep my hands on the wheel instead of lifted, and to keep my eyes open on the road. I drove slowly to prolong my time in the car, and I felt like I was at some kind of turning point. I can't say I had peace, but I knew that whatever God's plan was, I'd be able to accept. I just kept thanking Him for the blessings He's given to me, and the beautiful, sweet babies He's given me. We're not going to be the next Duggar's, but we want another baby or two... someday.

I have a gadget on my sidebar that rotates a different Scripture each day. The other night I was up late and noticed it:

Isaiah 46:4Even to your old age and gray hairs I am he, I am he who will sustain you. I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you.

I was so shocked at seeing it. I prayed for healing and went to bed. Yesterday, it was still on my blog. So I checked it several times, just to re-read that verse. The only thing I can guess is that I saw it for the first time after midnight, and so it was still there all day yesterday.

My doctor's nurse called today with the pathology reports from last week's surgery...

THEY GOT IT ALL AND THERE WILL BE NO HYSTERECTOMY FOR ME!!!!!!

HALLELUJAH!!!

Of course we are so relieved, overjoyed, and thankful that God has chosen to heal me. Actually, that's just the tip of what we're feeling today. I called Hubs to tell him, and it was all I could do to keep from weeping. I've done enough of that lately, so I just laughed hysterically.

I have to go back every three months for the next two years for checkups, but I'm expecting great news at each visit.

Thank you all for praying for me.

I have no idea why God allowed me to go through this, only to be completely healed, or why He allowed Chubs to be hurt at birth and face a devastating and permanent condition, only to be completely healed, or why He allowed Cullen to face Down's Syndrome in utero, only to be born completely healthy.

I have no idea. Why has He chosen me and my family to face tribulation and fear time and time and time again, and bring us through it whole and strong? Why has he called others home to Him instead of healing their disease?

I have no idea.

Maybe so that we might learn to trust Him? Maybe to grow our faith? Maybe to strengthen our family bond? Maybe so that others might see and believe?

It doesn't matter to me why this is what He has chosen for me. He was with me in the Valley of Death's Shadow, and now I'm lying down in green pastures.

I'm just so thankful to be here.

Friday, September 11, 2009

Have You Forgotten?



I was three months pregnant with Christian and Hubs was in Washington (state).

I was having a lot of early pregnancy pain, and me being the whiny-baby-sissy-face that I am, went into work late that morning. I had spent the night at my brother and sil's house, not wanting to be alone with Hubs gone.

It was my habit to watch Good Morning America, since I had just quit my job anchoring the morning news at the local ABC affiliate, and GMA always followed my local news.

I remember eating breakfast in their dining room, and watching the smoke from the first plane rising from the tower. I called out to my brother and sil to tell them something had happened at the World Trade Center, but it was all speculation at that point. Then the next plane flew across the sky. I watched, still not really believing what I was seeing, until both towers fell.

It was so eerie to me that day, that people were still going to the grocery store and the mall, still running errands, still going to work, still going to school. It felt like life should have stopped that day, so that we could be with those trapped in a living hell, if only in spirit. It felt like we should have spent that day on our knees, interceding for survivors and families of those lost.

I know God wasn't surprised on 9/11. I know He didn't have to go to "Plan B."

I don't know why some were spared while others perished. I doubt any of us will ever know or understand while on this side of eternity.

I do know that He has a plan for us, and that plan is to prosper us and not to harm us; plans to give us a hope and a future, according to Jeremiah 29:11.

I'm sure every American remembers where they were and what they were doing that day. Just like my parents remember where they were when Elvis, JFK and John Lennon died.

I think it's something that will stick with us for the rest of our lives.

And I think it should.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

The Meltdown Came Shortly After

Alternatively Titled: Angelic-Looking Two-Year Old For Sale on E-Bay My Day; A Recap

I was happily dreaming about what chocolate dessert I wanted to order (seriously. I could see them all, and I wanted them all) from some restaurant I've never been to, when I heard a noise that wasn't restauranty.


It's a word. Trust me.


Anyway, I slowly came awake, only to realize both boys were crying. Grumpily I looked at my bedside clock: 9:45 (I know!). I jumped out of bed and ran maniacally around the house gathering breakfast for Cullen and me, and all my nursing paraphernalia for Chubs.


I went into their room and picked up a snotty, blubbering Cullen. Immediately I felt that his diaper had failed overnight. His clothes, bedding and ganket were soaked. I stripped him down and ran warm water for a bath. Washing him took less than a minute, so I tried to get him out, but he had become fascinated by some new tub toys and wanted to stay in.
I let him, and went to get Gigantor. After I changed his diaper we settled in together for breakfast. Soon after, my SIL called to let me know she didn't feel like working today was home with a sick boy and we got to talking. During a pause in the conversation, I noticed strange sounds coming from the bathroom. It almost sounded like empty bottles being squirted into the tub, but that could not be, since the bottles of shampoo and conditioner were full.

Apparently, he decided he needed bubbles. In his mind, the best way to achieve that is to empty a bottle of shampoo and a bottle of conditioner into your bath. Great.

I got him out, dried him off, and got him dressed. Then I went to pick up Fatty McButterpants, who was quite offended that he had been put down, and was not shy about letting me know.

After I calmed him down, I realized the house was too quiet, so I went to check on Cullen. He was in Christian's room, gleefully spreading the money from her piggy bank around the floor. Ugh. I told him to put every coin back. We went through this exact scenario about a month ago, so I thought it was a job he could handle.

I headed for the ringing phone, and left him to his task. After I hung up, I went back to see his progress. There was quite a bit, actually. See, he had found a bag full of crap magnetic letters, numbers, animals and vehicles, and decided to throw them around her bed like he was throwing beads at Mardi Gras.

Deep breaths. Serenity now.

Once again, I instructed him to clean up. And once again, I headed off to take care of the myriad other things I had to do, i.e. change Rascall Fatts.

Upon next check-up, I discovered that he had moved on to bigger and better things: her closet. He had pulled books from the shelves, pulled down all the games and cards, and spread them over the remaining visible carpet in her room. The carpet that I had spent Monday morning vacuuming and steam cleaning, but I digress. By this time, I gave up trying to get him to clean it up. It just wasn't worth it.

He wanted to watch Caillou, so I put it on for him.

I was cleaning the kitchen when, once again, I realized the house was very quiet. I headed to his room, but instead found him on the floor in his bathroom, spraying Windex on everything, and wiping it up with toilet paper. "I cleanin,' Mama!" He proudly told me. His underwear was actually blue, and soaked with the spray. So, I grabbed him up, wiped him down, and called the number on the bottle. The lovely people at S.C. Johson assured me that Windex is 80% water, plus a little alcohol, and as long as he wasn't acting drunk, he'd be okay. I thanked them, hung up, and called Poison Control, since the idiots at S.C. Johnson clearly had no clue what they were talking about. The Poison Control people told me the same thing, and said to give him a sugary snack or drink.

I got a cold root beer out of the fridge and sat him on the couch to watch "A Goofy Movie." He was sooo excited! A whole root beer, in the can, all to himself. He took a sip, and then poured it all over the cushion.

Are you freaking kidding me???

I changed his underwear (for what, the 17th time today?) and sent him to his room.

It was noon.

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

Weird Google Searches

Sometimes it's interesting to find out what people are searching for when they land on here. A lot of people find me through cake searches. And others... well... their searches are just disturbing.

Like the following:

"Penis fell out of swimsuit"

Ummmm... okaaaaaaay... don't really know what to tell you. Maybe see an urologist? But I'd definitely get that checked out.

"Boy butt spankings in tv westerns"

Huh.

Well.

[Head tilt] Huh.

Wow.

I've got nothing.

And then:

"When I'm sad my hands hurt"

Awww. Bless your heart.

Monday, September 7, 2009

Labor Day Meme

I think I did this last year, but since I've added another baby to the mix, I've updated it.

How long were your labors?
Kid #1: 14 hours
Kid #2: 6 hours
Kid #3: 6 hours (ish)

How did you know you were in labor?
Kid #1: water broke
Kid #2: mind-numbing contractions that came out of nowhere and sent me to my knees.
Kid #3, water broke

Since we're on the subject, it always annoys me when on TV or in movies the mom's water breaks, and you don't see or hear anything. With both of mine, it was like Niagara Falls.

Where did you deliver?
All of them were born at a hospital. I hate hospitals, so with #3 I briefly considered home birth, but then came to my senses when I realized the anesthesiologist would not come to my home to give me an epidural. Considering that one weighed 10 pounds at birth, I think I made the right choice.

Drugs?
Oh, Sweet Wonderful Jesus, yes. When I was about four months pregnant with #1, my doctor began a conversation this way: “I don’t know what kind of birth experience you’re planning--"

I then interrupted with: “Drugs. Lots and lots and lots of drugs.”

He chuckled and asked if he should alert the pharmacy now.

I told him it might be a good idea to begin stocking up.

Weight/Length?
Kid #1: 9 pounds, 4 ounces, 21 inches
Kid #2: 8 pounds, 10 ounces, 20 1/2 inches
Kid #3: 10 pounds, .02 ounces, 21 inches

After switching to my new (current) OB, I remember telling him (while pregnant with #2) that I was worried about needing a C-section. He looked at #1's stats and said he didn't think there would be a problem.

C-section?
Not with any of them. Please see the birth weight of number three again. And then send me flowers. Or something from Tiffany's.

Who delivered?
With #1, my water broke at 5:00 am. I showered and put on a little make-up, and we got to the hospital around 6. My doctor had just finished a 24 hour shift. Baby Christian was helped into the world with the on-call doctor. Who later, I’m told, stopped delivering babies because his eyesight deteriorated. I hope it wasn’t something I did. Seriously, that's not good for my morale, people.

In the middle of pregnancy #2, my doctor announced (actually, his nurse announced) that he was no longer delivering babies. Well. I had to find a new one, quickly. We went to several (and asked every mother we knew about her experiences with her doc) before deciding on the most awesome OB ever. He delivered #2 and #3. #3 was helped out with the vacuum. I'll say it again: TEN POUNDS.

Happy Labor Day!

Saturday, September 5, 2009

So Nice to Meet You

*****Sorry, men, but I'm talking about baby-makers again today. Specifically, my baby-maker. You may want to check back in tomorrow. Or, you know, the next time I get around to writing.*****

When I went in for my procedure Thursday, I took my book of cake pictures with me. I don't normally take it with me when I'm going to be showing my who-ha to God-only-knows how many people, but the nurse who checked me in on Tuesday (henceforth referred to as "Nurse #1") was quite friendly. We took some rabbit trails while she was getting my medical history, and somehow ended up on the subject of cakes. She knew the OB whose baby shower cake I'd made, but hadn't seen it, so I wanted to show it to her.

So, back to Thursday. No, wait, let me back up again. A week or so after that baby shower, I got a call from a nurse (henceforth referred to as "Surgery Center Nurse") who attended the shower, asking me if I would be able to make a cake for her. Thing 1 and Thing 2 were being heathens while I was on the phone, and I was nursing Fatty McButterpants, so basically what I heard was: "I'm a nurse... surgery... baby shower... cake?"

I agreed and life goes on. For the last couple of weeks, I've been under the impression that she works at the surgery center in town, which may explain why I am referring to her as "Surgery Center Nurse." I called her the night before my procedure to clarify a few things, and we both got excited about the unfathomable cuteness that will be her cake.

Now, back to Thursday. Again. I'm lying there on the little wheelie-hospital-bed-thingie, about to be taken to the OR, and the nurse (Nurse #3) asks, "Should I call you the cake lady?" She is quite smiley and perky and friendly and perfectly made-up, which is completely unfair, considering I'm lying there with no make-up on and about to flash everyone around me. I thought she was talking about the cake book, which Nurse #1 had taken to show her colleagues. Nurse #3 clarified that Surgery Center Nurse, who would be assisting my doctor in the OR that day, was getting me to make a cake for her. Oh. Heavenly. Father. You have got to be kidding me.

Do you mean to tell me that I am going to make a cake for someone who will be up close and personal with my nether regions??? Why, yes. Yes, I do.

That was literally the worst news I could have gotten at that point.

But then Doc trumped that by saying my uterus may be coming out next.

I believe the conversation with Hubs in the car on the way home went something like this:

Me: "OH SWEET JESUS! SHE SAW MY NETHER REGIONS AND I'M MAKING A CAKE FOR HER!"

Hubs: "I've seen your nether regions and I still eat your cakes."

Me: "I THINK I'M HAVING A HEART ATTACK! I CAN'T MAKE A CAKE FOR SOMEONE WHO'S SEEN MY NETHER REGIONS!"

Hubs: "Your doctor has seen your nether regions and he ate your cake."

Me: "THERE IS NO FREAKING WAY I COULD EAT A CAKE MADE BY SOMEONE WHOSE NETHER REGIONS I SAW!"

Obviously I am quite professional, and, um, mature about it all.

Clearly a great day was had by everyone*.






*Except those of us whose nether regions were seen by everyone in the county.

Friday, September 4, 2009

I'm Still Here

I had "the procedure" yesterday.

Today, I feel like I gave birth, minus the fat little baby you get to go home with.

Except that I already have a fat little baby, so I guess I'm okay with that.

I had to apologize to my doctor. Last week, things were hurting, and I said, "OH MY GOD, WHAT ARE YOU DOING???" Maybe I didn't actually say it. I might have kind of yelled it. Maybe.

I mentioned that it felt like he was trying to fit a Hummer into a garage built for a Harley.

I'm sorry if I lost you there, what with all the technical medical terminology and such. I'll try to keep this in layman's terms from here on out.

He responded that while I was asleep, he'd be better able to fit that Hummer in there. He proceeded to say (with hand motions, lest I misunderstood) that he'd be able to stick his whole head in there and take a look around. You know, see what's up.

Good to know.

After it was all over, he spoke to Hubs for a few moments about how it went. He said the lab would have the results back sometime next week. My FIL (who was there to support me, and brought Hubs donuts and chocolate milk, but didn't brink me any, even though I hadn't had anything to eat or drink since midnight, so that I wouldn't puke all over anybody while I was there, but I thought it was kind of mean anyway, especially since Hubs walked in with SUGAR in the corner of his mouth, along with a bottle of cold chocolate milk, and I wonder how many commas I can put in here, and just how long I can make this aside go, okay I think that about covers it) asked my doctor, "Why does the lab have to interpret the results? Aren't you a doctor?"

Want to know what he said?

Wait for it...

"No, but I stayed in a Holiday Inn Express last night."