Thursday, December 24, 2009
Battle of the Bulge, revisited
The perfect remedy for weight gain: take Metformin. I've lost over 16 pounds by having diahhrea 3-4 days a week for 4 months. And I haven't been dieting - I've been eating more!
Wednesday, August 06, 2008
The endless battle of the bulge
I have always been fat. Well, maybe not always, but definitely since I was 7. My weight has steadily creeped up and up and up, taking only minor downturns before continuing to go back up.
In January of 2002 at the age of 22 I decided to start Weight Watchers. I didn't have money, so I followed the plan without emotional support (except for a very wonderful friend who was also following WW) and lost some weight. The problem was, living on campus yielded no freedom to choose my meals. Now, I had *some* freedom (as I was eating in the dining commons) but the problem was total lack of variety. My fav foods were always the nuclear-green pesto tortellini, grilled cheese sandwiches and the always good pizza. Oh and tater tots. I could have lived on tater tots. I ate a whole plate whenever they were served. When I started WW I tried salads but they didn't really "do" it for me. Luckily for me my school started a stirfry bar that year and I started to enjoy the stirfrys. Every single day. Lunch and dinner. The ingredients seldom changed and there were few sauces I was tempted to try. It didn't take long before I dove into a big plate of fried food (or pesto tortellini... I don't remember which plate spelled the downfall of me on WW). I don't remember how much I lost that semester.
When I moved to PA in August of 2002, I began WW again with gusto. Having newfound freedom to choose my meals left me feeling empowered. I exercised and stuck to WW until the holidays, losing weight each week. My guilty pleasure was chocolate chip cookie dough... I banked points every day so I could have 1/3 roll of chocolate chip cookie dough every Friday night. Mmmm.
The holidays spelled a slight disaster, as travelling doesn't really go well with a diet plan such as WW. Hardly any healthy options exist on the road, and when you are travelling for 8 hours you must get out of the car. Christmas was worse than Thanksgiving, since I had to travel via Greyhound for like 22 hours to get to Michigan. I lived on snack food for that time. Ick.
I survived the holidays with only gaining probably 10 pounds back so I quickly got back to work trying to lose that weight again. I followed WW for ... I don't remember how long after that. I managed to get down to 202.5 pounds (starting from 260) by the time I met my (now) husband in April of 2004. I wasn't really following WW at that time, and he shared my love of good food - pizza, wings, etc. And, he loved me for me, not for what I looked like on the outside.
This was a revelation for me. All my life I had thought "If only I could get skinny, boys will like me. I'll be happy when I lose weight because I'll have a man." Realizing (after all 58 pounds were put back on) that my reasoning for wanting to lose weight was flawed left me feeling a little elated and I almost didn't want to lose weight again. I was enjoying eating all those good foods.
I got married on June 24, 2006, weighing 289 pounds. It was the most I'd ever weighed. This was followed 9 months later by the birth of my son. The most I'd weighed while pregnant was 299 pounds (one month before the birth), and once he was born I was down to 296. This ensured that once the swelling went down, I would have the unique opportunity to have lost weight by being pregnant.
You'd think I'd use that as an opportunity to jump-start a new attempt at weight loss. You'd be wrong.
I had so many medical problems after the birth of my son that I actually spent a lot of time in bed and although I wasn't eating too much, my activity level was really low. So, by the time I went in for my pap one year after my son was born I was up to 306. I had had enough.
I had a dissertation to write, though, so I held off starting WW again until I moved this summer. It's easier to follow when I'm not stressed out. I love to eat when I'm stressed and I had one last hurrah of pizza and ice cream. And ribs. Mmmm.
After moving, my back started to hurt whenever I got up from laying in my bed. Part of the problem is my bed, but there is no reason why a 28-year-old woman should be in so much pain. I knew I needed to lose weight.
I don't want to hurt. I already have pain in my legs and knees.
I don't want to dread clothes shopping.
I don't want to dread going to a beach.
I don't want my child to be embarrassed when he starts school.
I want to live long enough to see my child graduate, marry, and have kids of his own.
I don't want to develop diabetes.
I want to be able to keep up with my son when he wants to play.
So here I am, three weeks into my latest bout with WW. Hopefully my last. I've lost about 15 pounds but I've hit an emotional wall. I know I need to lose weight - not to attract a man but for my own health - but I have such a strong emotional connection to food that I feel like my inability to have a DQ blizzard or a batch of brownies or chocolate chip cookies is going to kill me. I'm depressed and I used to deal with it with food and I haven't figured out a way to deal with it with any other means. I started WW strong, routinely aiming for the bottom of my range and not being hungry when I "had" to eat those minimum point amounts. This week I have been routinely going to the max (or using banked points), and now tonight I only have 2-7 points left and I feel like I'm starving. I feel like I could kill for a whole pan of brownies or a humongous blizzard. I tried making sugar-free cookie dough the other day and it did not satisfy me at all. I can't get psychiatric help until my insurance starts in October, but I suspect I'll be making appointments as soon as I have my insurance information. I need to deal with this emotional connection to food if I'm ever going to win this battle.
In January of 2002 at the age of 22 I decided to start Weight Watchers. I didn't have money, so I followed the plan without emotional support (except for a very wonderful friend who was also following WW) and lost some weight. The problem was, living on campus yielded no freedom to choose my meals. Now, I had *some* freedom (as I was eating in the dining commons) but the problem was total lack of variety. My fav foods were always the nuclear-green pesto tortellini, grilled cheese sandwiches and the always good pizza. Oh and tater tots. I could have lived on tater tots. I ate a whole plate whenever they were served. When I started WW I tried salads but they didn't really "do" it for me. Luckily for me my school started a stirfry bar that year and I started to enjoy the stirfrys. Every single day. Lunch and dinner. The ingredients seldom changed and there were few sauces I was tempted to try. It didn't take long before I dove into a big plate of fried food (or pesto tortellini... I don't remember which plate spelled the downfall of me on WW). I don't remember how much I lost that semester.
When I moved to PA in August of 2002, I began WW again with gusto. Having newfound freedom to choose my meals left me feeling empowered. I exercised and stuck to WW until the holidays, losing weight each week. My guilty pleasure was chocolate chip cookie dough... I banked points every day so I could have 1/3 roll of chocolate chip cookie dough every Friday night. Mmmm.
The holidays spelled a slight disaster, as travelling doesn't really go well with a diet plan such as WW. Hardly any healthy options exist on the road, and when you are travelling for 8 hours you must get out of the car. Christmas was worse than Thanksgiving, since I had to travel via Greyhound for like 22 hours to get to Michigan. I lived on snack food for that time. Ick.
I survived the holidays with only gaining probably 10 pounds back so I quickly got back to work trying to lose that weight again. I followed WW for ... I don't remember how long after that. I managed to get down to 202.5 pounds (starting from 260) by the time I met my (now) husband in April of 2004. I wasn't really following WW at that time, and he shared my love of good food - pizza, wings, etc. And, he loved me for me, not for what I looked like on the outside.
This was a revelation for me. All my life I had thought "If only I could get skinny, boys will like me. I'll be happy when I lose weight because I'll have a man." Realizing (after all 58 pounds were put back on) that my reasoning for wanting to lose weight was flawed left me feeling a little elated and I almost didn't want to lose weight again. I was enjoying eating all those good foods.
I got married on June 24, 2006, weighing 289 pounds. It was the most I'd ever weighed. This was followed 9 months later by the birth of my son. The most I'd weighed while pregnant was 299 pounds (one month before the birth), and once he was born I was down to 296. This ensured that once the swelling went down, I would have the unique opportunity to have lost weight by being pregnant.
You'd think I'd use that as an opportunity to jump-start a new attempt at weight loss. You'd be wrong.
I had so many medical problems after the birth of my son that I actually spent a lot of time in bed and although I wasn't eating too much, my activity level was really low. So, by the time I went in for my pap one year after my son was born I was up to 306. I had had enough.
I had a dissertation to write, though, so I held off starting WW again until I moved this summer. It's easier to follow when I'm not stressed out. I love to eat when I'm stressed and I had one last hurrah of pizza and ice cream. And ribs. Mmmm.
After moving, my back started to hurt whenever I got up from laying in my bed. Part of the problem is my bed, but there is no reason why a 28-year-old woman should be in so much pain. I knew I needed to lose weight.
I don't want to hurt. I already have pain in my legs and knees.
I don't want to dread clothes shopping.
I don't want to dread going to a beach.
I don't want my child to be embarrassed when he starts school.
I want to live long enough to see my child graduate, marry, and have kids of his own.
I don't want to develop diabetes.
I want to be able to keep up with my son when he wants to play.
So here I am, three weeks into my latest bout with WW. Hopefully my last. I've lost about 15 pounds but I've hit an emotional wall. I know I need to lose weight - not to attract a man but for my own health - but I have such a strong emotional connection to food that I feel like my inability to have a DQ blizzard or a batch of brownies or chocolate chip cookies is going to kill me. I'm depressed and I used to deal with it with food and I haven't figured out a way to deal with it with any other means. I started WW strong, routinely aiming for the bottom of my range and not being hungry when I "had" to eat those minimum point amounts. This week I have been routinely going to the max (or using banked points), and now tonight I only have 2-7 points left and I feel like I'm starving. I feel like I could kill for a whole pan of brownies or a humongous blizzard. I tried making sugar-free cookie dough the other day and it did not satisfy me at all. I can't get psychiatric help until my insurance starts in October, but I suspect I'll be making appointments as soon as I have my insurance information. I need to deal with this emotional connection to food if I'm ever going to win this battle.
Saturday, September 01, 2007
I learned my lesson...
So I decided last night to upload my pictures of Jakob from the last 3 months to Walmart's photo webpage. I like to have physical prints for just in case the computer crashes, and I've got them electronic in case something happens to the prints. Anyway...
I uploaded the pictures based on thumbnails. There were 120, so way too many to upload individually and look at full-size. By thumbnail alone I uploaded them all. Then I pick them up today and I find this in the pile:
Yes, that's drool. Ewww. I don't remember that when I took the photo.
I uploaded the pictures based on thumbnails. There were 120, so way too many to upload individually and look at full-size. By thumbnail alone I uploaded them all. Then I pick them up today and I find this in the pile:
Yes, that's drool. Ewww. I don't remember that when I took the photo.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
spirits?
So I had a weird experience Tuesday night, and I don't know whether it was a hallucination or whether it was in fact real. My husband and I run a game night every Tuesday, and our friends and us play a game until midnight. By the time they leave, it's 12:30 and my husband and I go up to bed. Usually, this activity stirs up the baby and sometimes he notices his binky has fallen out of his mouth and he cries for it. If he doesn't stop crying on his own, I go in and put the binky back in his mouth. This happened Tuesday night. I went into his room and as I walked in I could see a dark shadow right next to the crib. It was about five feet tall and only about a foot and a half or two wide. As I saw it, the cat ran in and ran under the crib. I quashed my fears and went over to the crib (right where the shadow had been) and fixed the binky situation. Then, the cat darted out from beneath the crib and ran out of the room.
This is not the first time I've felt... someone... in the room when I go in there at night. Jakob also has been waking up more frequently lately, which might be due to a growth spurt or desire to practice what he's learning, or it might be that something disturbs his sleep. Jared also has noticed something in the room when he goes in there at night, and has a feeling that it is his grandmother watching over the baby. I don't know quite what to make of this. Our house isn't "haunted" per se, but in the past our CD player has turned itself on randomly. And, it turns itself on the tape setting, even though the last time the player was on it was playing the radio or CD (the radio setting turned itself on once and scared the crap out of Jared's sister, also leading me to believe it's some relation of Jared's).
The thing that bothers me though is that I don't know if it's really a spirit or if it was just a visual hallucination because I was tired and when you first go into a dark room your eyes take awhile to adjust. The hallway was NOT lighted, so I ruled out that it was my shadow. The shadow was... darker... than the darkness around it.
This is just the latest in a string of events that lead me to suspect that I might be a haunted person. I've "sensed" spirits for most of my life, although I've only seen them twice - once when I was four and once Tuesday night. What other paranormal events have happened in my life?
When I was four, I was laying in bed unable to sleep one night. I was laying on my back, but I rolled over to my side to face out into my room. Just then, I saw four beings of light roaming around the room. They were about toddler-sized and didn't have any describable features. I was getting scared, but I stayed frozen in bed until one came over to the side of my bed, right in front of my face. I freaked out and ran out of the room. My mother attempted to calm me down by telling me that the moon was shining through my window and making weird shapes. Yeah right. Independently-moving patches of light, shining through a second-story window.
Many years went by before I felt any weird feelings. The house my mother bought in Michigan when I was 16 always creeped me out. It creaked and moaned as it settled. I was sure most of the time it was the natural house settling sounds, but there were times I felt like I was being watched or thought I heard someone walking in the hallway. And the lights flickered whenever I mentioned ghosts or angels. (I freaked my friends out once because we were talking about my guardian angel and I started to imagine her and described her to my friends - just then the dining room light flickered.)
College was really when my feelings started kicking in. I went to a college that was not "haunted" in that there were no documented deaths and resulting paranormal activity. I however experienced my "feelings" several times. My first year, I felt watched in the library, and I was pretty certain I knew who it was who was watching me - with almost as much certainty as one who recognizes a friend on the street. The other experiences stemmed around the one dormitory I lived in and the academic building.
The dormitory I lived in for three of the four years was shaped like a U. I lived on one arm of the U, and the office was on the other end. My options were to walk all the way around the U or cut across the courtyard. Well, the courtyard isn't a good option if it was cold or if you want to bring a vacuum from the office to your room. So, I walked through the U. In the connecting hallway, though, I always felt followed. And not just followed - followed very close. So close, I could almost feel something breathing on the back of my neck. Being a fan of Ghost Hunters, I have since decided a lot of this feeling was probably driven by the fact that the breaker box was in this hallway - I'm sure I must be sensitive to electromagnetic energy.
The academic building was different. I had two distinct experiences there. In the first, I was taking care of the experimental rats - feeding, changing their bedding, etc. One night I was bending over the food bin to get food for them and I heard a loud bang (the thermometer had fallen off the wall) and as soon as I heard that bang, I instantly felt millions of little eyes fixed on me. And the rats were DEAD silent. Not a peep. It creeped me out so much I pulled the food bin out from the wall and put my back to the wall to get the rest of the food and I didn't turn my back on those rats until I left the room. The second experience was another feeling. I frequently felt watched in the main hallway in the psych department - it was in the basement after all. I actually hated going down there after 7 PM because I felt it everytime I went down there. One time, I went with a friend because he needed to scan some pictures. When we left, we walked down the hall and I suddenly felt like I was being watched. I turned around and of course nothing was physically there, but I felt a presence at the end of the hallway staring at me. Then I felt that it wanted to hurt me. I ran out as fast as I could and my friend just couldn't understand what I was talking about. I nearly had a panic attack I felt so afraid.
My first year in Pennsylvania I lived in a nearly-brand-new townhouse. It was only one year old. I had the basement room. I felt stuff in that room on occasion. There were a few nights I actually had to sleep with my lamp on because I felt like I was being watched - almost like it was a growling dog. I didn't hear anything, only sensed it.
I then moved into a house, which was much better for me. I still felt watched though, but not as often. I tried to not go downstairs very often because I also felt watched down there.
Here, I have felt watched. Sometimes, I have sensed a presence on the stairwell as I am in the living room. I don't go to the kitchen at night without turning on lights. Nearly everytime I go downstairs at night I feel like something is following me when I go back up the stairs. Sometimes, I feel the presence in the baby's room and sometimes I've felt it staring at me from the doorway into my room. It's not "bad"... it's just weird. This place is not very old - it was built in the 70s, so it's not very old. Given my history, I'm starting to wonder if it's me. There's been an increase since I started going with Jared, and a definite increase since Jakob was born. I don't know whether it's just that my mind is doing it or if it is real.
Two years ago I went to a workshop at a paranormal conference and discovered that I have some talent for psychometry. My "partner" in the exercise handed me his silver armband and I accurately described his girlfriend, who gave him the armband. Of course, my other "feelings" about him derived from the band were incorrect (where he lived, his family life, his school life, etc.) I would like to try to practice this skill. I have no other paranormal skills that I know of. I almost wish I did. Jared has dreams, as does his mother. I almost wonder if my experience when I was four scared me so much that I can no longer see spirit activity. I also wonder how much electromagnetic energy affects me. Perhaps that is what is causing all of this - fluctuations in emf fields. I'd like to think not.
This is not the first time I've felt... someone... in the room when I go in there at night. Jakob also has been waking up more frequently lately, which might be due to a growth spurt or desire to practice what he's learning, or it might be that something disturbs his sleep. Jared also has noticed something in the room when he goes in there at night, and has a feeling that it is his grandmother watching over the baby. I don't know quite what to make of this. Our house isn't "haunted" per se, but in the past our CD player has turned itself on randomly. And, it turns itself on the tape setting, even though the last time the player was on it was playing the radio or CD (the radio setting turned itself on once and scared the crap out of Jared's sister, also leading me to believe it's some relation of Jared's).
The thing that bothers me though is that I don't know if it's really a spirit or if it was just a visual hallucination because I was tired and when you first go into a dark room your eyes take awhile to adjust. The hallway was NOT lighted, so I ruled out that it was my shadow. The shadow was... darker... than the darkness around it.
This is just the latest in a string of events that lead me to suspect that I might be a haunted person. I've "sensed" spirits for most of my life, although I've only seen them twice - once when I was four and once Tuesday night. What other paranormal events have happened in my life?
When I was four, I was laying in bed unable to sleep one night. I was laying on my back, but I rolled over to my side to face out into my room. Just then, I saw four beings of light roaming around the room. They were about toddler-sized and didn't have any describable features. I was getting scared, but I stayed frozen in bed until one came over to the side of my bed, right in front of my face. I freaked out and ran out of the room. My mother attempted to calm me down by telling me that the moon was shining through my window and making weird shapes. Yeah right. Independently-moving patches of light, shining through a second-story window.
Many years went by before I felt any weird feelings. The house my mother bought in Michigan when I was 16 always creeped me out. It creaked and moaned as it settled. I was sure most of the time it was the natural house settling sounds, but there were times I felt like I was being watched or thought I heard someone walking in the hallway. And the lights flickered whenever I mentioned ghosts or angels. (I freaked my friends out once because we were talking about my guardian angel and I started to imagine her and described her to my friends - just then the dining room light flickered.)
College was really when my feelings started kicking in. I went to a college that was not "haunted" in that there were no documented deaths and resulting paranormal activity. I however experienced my "feelings" several times. My first year, I felt watched in the library, and I was pretty certain I knew who it was who was watching me - with almost as much certainty as one who recognizes a friend on the street. The other experiences stemmed around the one dormitory I lived in and the academic building.
The dormitory I lived in for three of the four years was shaped like a U. I lived on one arm of the U, and the office was on the other end. My options were to walk all the way around the U or cut across the courtyard. Well, the courtyard isn't a good option if it was cold or if you want to bring a vacuum from the office to your room. So, I walked through the U. In the connecting hallway, though, I always felt followed. And not just followed - followed very close. So close, I could almost feel something breathing on the back of my neck. Being a fan of Ghost Hunters, I have since decided a lot of this feeling was probably driven by the fact that the breaker box was in this hallway - I'm sure I must be sensitive to electromagnetic energy.
The academic building was different. I had two distinct experiences there. In the first, I was taking care of the experimental rats - feeding, changing their bedding, etc. One night I was bending over the food bin to get food for them and I heard a loud bang (the thermometer had fallen off the wall) and as soon as I heard that bang, I instantly felt millions of little eyes fixed on me. And the rats were DEAD silent. Not a peep. It creeped me out so much I pulled the food bin out from the wall and put my back to the wall to get the rest of the food and I didn't turn my back on those rats until I left the room. The second experience was another feeling. I frequently felt watched in the main hallway in the psych department - it was in the basement after all. I actually hated going down there after 7 PM because I felt it everytime I went down there. One time, I went with a friend because he needed to scan some pictures. When we left, we walked down the hall and I suddenly felt like I was being watched. I turned around and of course nothing was physically there, but I felt a presence at the end of the hallway staring at me. Then I felt that it wanted to hurt me. I ran out as fast as I could and my friend just couldn't understand what I was talking about. I nearly had a panic attack I felt so afraid.
My first year in Pennsylvania I lived in a nearly-brand-new townhouse. It was only one year old. I had the basement room. I felt stuff in that room on occasion. There were a few nights I actually had to sleep with my lamp on because I felt like I was being watched - almost like it was a growling dog. I didn't hear anything, only sensed it.
I then moved into a house, which was much better for me. I still felt watched though, but not as often. I tried to not go downstairs very often because I also felt watched down there.
Here, I have felt watched. Sometimes, I have sensed a presence on the stairwell as I am in the living room. I don't go to the kitchen at night without turning on lights. Nearly everytime I go downstairs at night I feel like something is following me when I go back up the stairs. Sometimes, I feel the presence in the baby's room and sometimes I've felt it staring at me from the doorway into my room. It's not "bad"... it's just weird. This place is not very old - it was built in the 70s, so it's not very old. Given my history, I'm starting to wonder if it's me. There's been an increase since I started going with Jared, and a definite increase since Jakob was born. I don't know whether it's just that my mind is doing it or if it is real.
Two years ago I went to a workshop at a paranormal conference and discovered that I have some talent for psychometry. My "partner" in the exercise handed me his silver armband and I accurately described his girlfriend, who gave him the armband. Of course, my other "feelings" about him derived from the band were incorrect (where he lived, his family life, his school life, etc.) I would like to try to practice this skill. I have no other paranormal skills that I know of. I almost wish I did. Jared has dreams, as does his mother. I almost wonder if my experience when I was four scared me so much that I can no longer see spirit activity. I also wonder how much electromagnetic energy affects me. Perhaps that is what is causing all of this - fluctuations in emf fields. I'd like to think not.
What is wrong with TV?
I like TV. I like it a lot. It entertains me and there is a lot of nice programming (a lot sucks though - damn reality shows).
But what on earth is it with TV today? Not a day goes by when I haven't seen a commercial with the words "sex", "erectile dysfunction", or "genital herpes". And not just at night. DURING THE DAY! I'm so sick of "Viva... Viagra!" and "I have genital herpes... And I don't". And what's worse is that I've seen it while my infant son was watching TV with me (so, it's not just on late at night - my son goes upstairs for bedtime routine at 7 PM). Luckily, he's too young to understand but how sad is it that I'm going to have to plan a speech for when my 2-year old asks me what genital herpes are? It's outrageous! I shouldn't have to explain sex and genital herpes until he's nine or ten. I try to keep the TV on the Discovery Channel during the day (it's one of only two networks I can watch during the day - along with MSNBC news or sometimes CNN Headline News), but even the Discovery Channel aires its show A Haunting during the day. Those programs scare the hell out of ME... I don't want my infant son seeing reenacted demonic possession.
But what on earth is it with TV today? Not a day goes by when I haven't seen a commercial with the words "sex", "erectile dysfunction", or "genital herpes". And not just at night. DURING THE DAY! I'm so sick of "Viva... Viagra!" and "I have genital herpes... And I don't". And what's worse is that I've seen it while my infant son was watching TV with me (so, it's not just on late at night - my son goes upstairs for bedtime routine at 7 PM). Luckily, he's too young to understand but how sad is it that I'm going to have to plan a speech for when my 2-year old asks me what genital herpes are? It's outrageous! I shouldn't have to explain sex and genital herpes until he's nine or ten. I try to keep the TV on the Discovery Channel during the day (it's one of only two networks I can watch during the day - along with MSNBC news or sometimes CNN Headline News), but even the Discovery Channel aires its show A Haunting during the day. Those programs scare the hell out of ME... I don't want my infant son seeing reenacted demonic possession.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Finally, some catch-up - my horrible health issues and dealing with my HORRIBLE insurance company
Finally, I get a few minutes to play catch-up. I know I should be working, but oh well. I'll just spend a few minutes on this, and then I'll get back to work.
My pregnancy started fine last fall, and everything was going well. I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes at the end of September - my insulin wasn't dealing with sugar well enough. (I barely failed this idiotic test.) When the ultrasound tech measured Jakob, he was in the 30th percentile for abdominal size, which I was happy about since it meant that my (non-) diabetes hadn't yet affected him. But, the doctor ordered ultrasounds for every month until the birth. I talked him out of one, the December one, because I knew I'd have a fight with my insurance company to get them to pay for it. These tests are at least $150 each - actually, the first was $300, but the insurance company has to pay for that one. The booklet says they pay for others that are "medically necessary". Well, if a mother has uncontrolled diabetes, the baby's abdomen grows so fat that:
1. the internal organs are underdeveloped
2. birth may be difficult, leading to broken collarbones on the baby or a ripped vagina in the mother
So, these monthly ultrasounds were medically necessary.
I tried very hard to follow the prescribed diet, but it was hard. I had to test my sugar twice a day (four times the first two weeks - I finally convinced them to stop that since I wanted to avoid eating just to avoid pricking myself). I gave in to my craving about twice a week - chocolate milkshakes. (I knew I shouldn't, but oh well. The calcium couldn't hurt.) The November ultrasound was fine, and the insurance company covered it, no questions asked. The January one, on the other hand, wasn't. Jakob was then 65th percentile (still not "huge" by any account), so the doctor put me on a medication to control my blood sugar. All it did was give me low blood sugar attacks. The February ultrasound was fine, although they didn't tell me what percentile he was. Anyway, about halfway through February I get my statement from my insurance company, saying they're not going to pay for the January ultrasound unless they get a copy of my medical records and the ultrasound report to "prove" it was medically necessary. Why the hell would I get it done if it wasn't medically necessary? No, I'm spending all this damn time at the doctor because I want to. I'd rather be in bed! Actually, in January, I was trying to rush around to get my dissertation experiments up and running and get my advisor's experiments running so that I could take half the semester off to have a friggin baby. I was doing twice as much work as normal just to fit it in half the time. Anyway, so I had the doctor's office photocopy my stupid chart and the ultrasound record for the January ultrasound (and the February one, since I figured they'd have issues with that one as well) and mail it to them. $5.38 to solve a $300 bill. And it just pisses me off because I (and Penn State) have been giving them money for FIVE YEARS (a lot of it) and the ONLY thing I've used them for until I got pregnant was my yearly pap, two or three doctor visits, birth control pills, and like two prescriptions. Thank God my husband and baby are on medical assistance, because they provide secondary insurance for me as well. Anything MEGA doesn't cover, PA does.
Anyway, the birth went alright, but it could have been better. I saw the doctor on March 5 and she asked if I'd been scheduled for induction yet. I said no, should I be? I asked, I know there's no way to know for sure, but in your experience can you estimate how big the baby's going to be? She said, well, you're measuring enormous. Is this something to say to a 9-month pregnant woman two weeks after a Mexican woman gave birth to a 15 pound baby and a Hong Kong woman gave birth to a 14 pound baby? Needless to say, I scheduled myself for induction on the 7th. My cervix was 1 cm dilated already, so I figured that it should be a piece of cake. Was I wrong! They induced me at 8:30 am on the 7th and I didn't even "start" labor until 3:40 that day, and as of 6:30 the NEXT MORNING I was still only 4 cm. The pain had started at 10:45 pm the 7th, and it wasn't because of the contractions. It's because once they start the Pitocin they don't let you out of bed except to go to the bathroom. And they have to monitor the baby constantly (fidgiting with the damn machine for 20 minutes after going pee, that's fine, but heaven forbid you want to get out of bed for 20 minutes!). Jakob was pressing into my back so hard that I had extreme back pain, and they wouldn't let me get out of bed. Finally, I lied and said I had to go to the bathroom, just to get out of bed. The pain stopped the instant I stood up. I knew labor was going nowhere. Finally, at 6:30 AM, after 8 straight hours of pain and only two shots that were *supposed* to numb the pain but didn't - they just knocked me out - I gave in and hollered for the epidural. Why the hell didn't I get that sooner. I felt like a failure, though - I wanted to experience the birth and experience the satisfaction of being able to push Jakob out. I didn't get that. At 2:30 PM the 8th, after almost 24 hours of being "in labor" (and being at the hospital for 31 hours - they made us get there at 7:30 am on the 7th), the doctor said I was still only 4 cm and Jakob's head was swelling really badly. So, I consented to a c-section just to be done with the whole business.
The surgery (my first) went better than I expected. The incision got infected, but I was on antibiotics so I was fine. Jakob was having a hard time eating though. He wouldn't open his mouth wide enough to get a good latch. I had milk, but he wasn't getting enough and after the first two days he started getting really hungry and would cry and cry and make me cry. The nurses (overwhelmed by an influx of 13 babies in two days), threw a nipple shield at me and told me to deal with it. Well, they handed me a piece of paper that told me (which I didn't read until two days later - who friggin has time to read with a newborn baby???) that the nipple shield doesn't stimulate the nipple in the same way the mouth does, so my milk supply was decreasing and Jakob was eating so often I couldn't possibly pump in between him eating. I wouldn't get any sleep at all. He kept losing weight and I kept getting frustrated at night. He'd fall asleep while eating and would eat so damn slow that I honestly got nothing done for the entire time I was nursing (about three weeks). The nurses actually made us start supplementing with formula in the hospital, because Jakob dropped 12 ounces in the hospital. Two good things came from using the formula - Jared could feel him, giving me and my nipples a break, and the formula made Jakob sleep a LOT longer than the breastmilk - four hours sometimes, even as a newborn. That sleep time was a Godsend, because my health problems were just beginning.
The doctor took my staples out on March 16, 8 days after surgery. He threw some steri-strips over the incision, which happened to be a vertical one (which, given my fat roll, wasn't the smartest of ideas, I don't think). Once I got home, I examined his handiwork in my full-length mirror, and geez, you'd think the guy would take a little pride in his work. I tell people lovingly about the J for Jakob he inscribed on my belly. It's a good thing I wasn't a bikini model - my career would be shot.
Anyway, I felt pretty good. Two nights before the staples came out I had a nightmare. In this nightmare, my incision came open, my insides were hanging out, and my mother wouldn't take me to the hospital. It freaked me out, but my staples were still in and the incision was intact. Fast forward three days, March 17, happy St. Patrick's day. I wake up at the crack of noon (Jared fed the baby formula, allowing me to sleep from like 8-noon), and I go to the bathroom and as I'm sitting there I decided to examine my incision to see if it has healed any. So I pull out my hand-mirror and see to my horror a one-inch opening, with red goo coming out (please don't vomit). I called down to Jared, "Uh, honey, I think I need to call the doctor." He came upstairs and said, "What's wrong?" I showed him the incision and he started freaking out and called an ambulance. I've never ridden in an ambulance, but what I didn't know is that a cop arrives just before the ambulance. So here I am, on the toilet, in my bra and underwear, and there's a cop and two medics coming up the stairs. They ask if I can walk, since our place isn't exactly designed for easy stretcher access. I grab my robe (so short it barely covers my ass) and throw on some sandals (in March, mind you), and hobble out to the ambulance, with a maxi-pad covering the incision. I get up on the stretcher, beg them to get me in the vehicle before my neighbors see (they're a nosy lot), and then on the way, the medic looked at my incision and said, it's a good thing your husband didn't drive you to the hospital - the incision opened all the way up while you were going down the stairs. So here I am, at the ER (my first time at an ER for me since I was like 6), freaking out because I think my insides are coming out and one of the obgyns comes in and is nonchalant about it. She wipes me down with iodine and packs it with gauze and says to meet her at the office the next day (Sunday - she apparently had to meet another person there - I hope not for a similar thing). I had never heard of incisions "opening up". I figured that if they thought there was any risk of it they'd have sewn me up instead of used staples that had to be removed. I don't know.
Anyway, so I had to have home nurses come in for awhile to clean it out, and they had to show Jared how to do it because medical assistance only covers so much (and my other insurance doesn't cover it AT ALL. Screw making sure my skin closes up - put a band-aid on it I guess. 17 friggin centimeters long, 8 wide, and 5 deep.) Anyway, after about two weeks of daily changes and once-weekly "debriding" which basically involves scraping off the dead cells and some healthy ones nearby with a scalpel, the doctor orders a special WoundVAC to close up my wound. It works by sucking the air out of the wound (after being stuffed with foam) and the low-pressure promotes tissue repair. I thought, great, 'cause I don't want to be all open throughout the summer - had to do work.
One day after the nurse hooked me up to the WoundVAC (I think March 28 or so), I was going to the bathroom and Jared was about to leave for work. All night I had had a dull pain in the upper-right side of my back, and when I awoke at noon I was sitting on the side of the bed and I suddenly got incredibly sick to my stomach and felt like I was going to have diarrhea. (I had eaten a couple poptarts, but I'd never had that reaction before.) I ran to the bathroom, and while sitting on the toilet, I held Jakob's baby bathtub under my mouth in case I vomited, but nothing came up or out. I sat there, in pain, and suddenly I got very dizzy, lightheaded, and warm. I laid down on the floor because the tile felt so cool and nice. Jared came up to say he was leaving and found me there and he freaked out. I asked him to look up the symptoms for a heart attack, since I knew they were different for a woman than for a man, and when he returned with the list, I knew I wasn't having a heart attack. Jared called the on-call nurse at the medical assistance office to ask whether we should go to the ER or not. The nurse recommended going to the ER. Well, it took the ER 8 hours to get me in and do several tests. They did a pee test (which they had to catheterize me for, since I still had the lochia), a blood liver panel, and an abdominal ultrasound. They found several small gallstones and recommended I follow-up with my regular doctor and have the liver panel re-tested within a week since several of the enzymes were off normal. Well I don't have a regular doctor, so since I was seeing the obgyn the next week for debriding, I figured I'd ask him to order the liver panel. He threw a fit, but did. I then had to go through the process of going back to a doctor on campus, and that was a nightmare since I couldn't *legally* park on campus during the day, and leave it to Penn State to put the medical building in a place without any student parking nearby. As if I'm going to park in the commuter lot and ride a 15-minute bus to get there with a one-month old baby in tow. Yeah right.
Anyway, the doctor says huh, I want you to heal up a little and then re-take the liver panel. I think stress and the healing process is making your liver go haywire. OK. Well, on May 8th I had another gallbladder attack. Except this time they didn't do shit for me. The "doctor-in-training" said well, it's a vagal nerve response - you get sick because of the pain. No, the sickness started first that time. Anyway, whatever. The doctor decided after that attack to refer me to a gastroenterologist to deal with it. HE decided to run several blood tests and a really expensive test (thank God for multiple insurances), scheduled for June 4th, with a follow-up appointment on June 13. Well, the pain started the night of June 3rd, and I told myself I would put up with it and just go to the stupid test to prove I was having gallbladder problems. Well, at 6:30 am June 4th I was moaning on the side of the bed and Jared wouldn't let me wait until the 11:30 exam. I told the ER what test I was taking, and they gave me a pain reliever that wouldn't interfere (supposedly). (I had to wait 45 minutes for the nurses to stop drinking their damn coffee to give me the shots, but that's another story.) Those shots hurt like hell AND didn't help with the pain. AND, I still couldn't take the test later that day and had to reschedule. Bastards! Originally, they were going to wait and schedule me for June 15th and I said HELL NO! It's this hospital's fault I can't take it today. I starved myself all morning so I could take this damn test and I'm going to take it! So they rescheduled it for June 6th, two days later. My back still hurt from Monday. I figured they'd call with the results but they never do. I figured I'd find out June 13th when I met with the GE.
All is well, right? No. June 12th my back started to hurt at about 5:45 at night. Jared had just made dinner (lasagna) and he gave me some. I was in pain, but I decided to eat a little because I was STARVING. Anyway, the pain got a lot worse and by 7:30 I decided to go back to the ER. I don't know if it was the fact that Jared launched a complaint after the last time, or if it was the fact that the lasagna came right back up in their waiting room trash can and in the disposable baggie the nurse handed me, but I got right in. This time, they took me in for another ultrasound (and a chest x-ray, because who knows it could be something else I guess, even with my history) and found a stone stuck. Of course they did. I friggin passed three of them before this point. Anyway, they took me into surgery the next morning at 10:30. I didn't wake up until 2:30, although the surgery didn't take that long. They opened me up laproscopically, but couldn't find the stone, so they opened me up horizontally just above my belly button and still couldn't find it. Yeah, I passed it in the night. I do that. My stones weren't big enough for a complete blockage but they were the exact same size as the opening to get out of the gallbladder. Wouldn't you assume that they therefore were able to get out, AND that they wouldn't cause a complete blockage?
Anyway, I was so happy to be done with that, although I now have a fully-capital J on my belly, with the crossbar and everything. Luckily, I had no problems with the staples after that surgery.
So, it's been two months since then. The only other medical issue is that re-taking the glucose tolerance test six weeks after Jakob showed I was still diabetic, but my doc scheduled me for the A1c, the more standard test, and I'm only a 5.7. Which means I'm NOT diabetic (have to be above a 6 to be diabetic). But, FOR THE HELL OF IT, he put me on a pill already. I said whatever. If taking a pill means I can eat more carbs, whatever. I'm not into this whole one-serving of carbs for breakfast nonsense. I want a friggin bowl of cereal, not a slice of bread with egg and cheese or a slice of bread with egg salad or HALF of an English muffin. Not going to work for me. And the nutritionists PISS ME OFF. I've had to talk to three, and there's not a healthy-looking one among them. Why do nutritionists always look so sickly? It's one thing to be healthy and fit, but nutritionists just look so pale gray and too-skinny. I know! They're ALIENS!
My pregnancy started fine last fall, and everything was going well. I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes at the end of September - my insulin wasn't dealing with sugar well enough. (I barely failed this idiotic test.) When the ultrasound tech measured Jakob, he was in the 30th percentile for abdominal size, which I was happy about since it meant that my (non-) diabetes hadn't yet affected him. But, the doctor ordered ultrasounds for every month until the birth. I talked him out of one, the December one, because I knew I'd have a fight with my insurance company to get them to pay for it. These tests are at least $150 each - actually, the first was $300, but the insurance company has to pay for that one. The booklet says they pay for others that are "medically necessary". Well, if a mother has uncontrolled diabetes, the baby's abdomen grows so fat that:
1. the internal organs are underdeveloped
2. birth may be difficult, leading to broken collarbones on the baby or a ripped vagina in the mother
So, these monthly ultrasounds were medically necessary.
I tried very hard to follow the prescribed diet, but it was hard. I had to test my sugar twice a day (four times the first two weeks - I finally convinced them to stop that since I wanted to avoid eating just to avoid pricking myself). I gave in to my craving about twice a week - chocolate milkshakes. (I knew I shouldn't, but oh well. The calcium couldn't hurt.) The November ultrasound was fine, and the insurance company covered it, no questions asked. The January one, on the other hand, wasn't. Jakob was then 65th percentile (still not "huge" by any account), so the doctor put me on a medication to control my blood sugar. All it did was give me low blood sugar attacks. The February ultrasound was fine, although they didn't tell me what percentile he was. Anyway, about halfway through February I get my statement from my insurance company, saying they're not going to pay for the January ultrasound unless they get a copy of my medical records and the ultrasound report to "prove" it was medically necessary. Why the hell would I get it done if it wasn't medically necessary? No, I'm spending all this damn time at the doctor because I want to. I'd rather be in bed! Actually, in January, I was trying to rush around to get my dissertation experiments up and running and get my advisor's experiments running so that I could take half the semester off to have a friggin baby. I was doing twice as much work as normal just to fit it in half the time. Anyway, so I had the doctor's office photocopy my stupid chart and the ultrasound record for the January ultrasound (and the February one, since I figured they'd have issues with that one as well) and mail it to them. $5.38 to solve a $300 bill. And it just pisses me off because I (and Penn State) have been giving them money for FIVE YEARS (a lot of it) and the ONLY thing I've used them for until I got pregnant was my yearly pap, two or three doctor visits, birth control pills, and like two prescriptions. Thank God my husband and baby are on medical assistance, because they provide secondary insurance for me as well. Anything MEGA doesn't cover, PA does.
Anyway, the birth went alright, but it could have been better. I saw the doctor on March 5 and she asked if I'd been scheduled for induction yet. I said no, should I be? I asked, I know there's no way to know for sure, but in your experience can you estimate how big the baby's going to be? She said, well, you're measuring enormous. Is this something to say to a 9-month pregnant woman two weeks after a Mexican woman gave birth to a 15 pound baby and a Hong Kong woman gave birth to a 14 pound baby? Needless to say, I scheduled myself for induction on the 7th. My cervix was 1 cm dilated already, so I figured that it should be a piece of cake. Was I wrong! They induced me at 8:30 am on the 7th and I didn't even "start" labor until 3:40 that day, and as of 6:30 the NEXT MORNING I was still only 4 cm. The pain had started at 10:45 pm the 7th, and it wasn't because of the contractions. It's because once they start the Pitocin they don't let you out of bed except to go to the bathroom. And they have to monitor the baby constantly (fidgiting with the damn machine for 20 minutes after going pee, that's fine, but heaven forbid you want to get out of bed for 20 minutes!). Jakob was pressing into my back so hard that I had extreme back pain, and they wouldn't let me get out of bed. Finally, I lied and said I had to go to the bathroom, just to get out of bed. The pain stopped the instant I stood up. I knew labor was going nowhere. Finally, at 6:30 AM, after 8 straight hours of pain and only two shots that were *supposed* to numb the pain but didn't - they just knocked me out - I gave in and hollered for the epidural. Why the hell didn't I get that sooner. I felt like a failure, though - I wanted to experience the birth and experience the satisfaction of being able to push Jakob out. I didn't get that. At 2:30 PM the 8th, after almost 24 hours of being "in labor" (and being at the hospital for 31 hours - they made us get there at 7:30 am on the 7th), the doctor said I was still only 4 cm and Jakob's head was swelling really badly. So, I consented to a c-section just to be done with the whole business.
The surgery (my first) went better than I expected. The incision got infected, but I was on antibiotics so I was fine. Jakob was having a hard time eating though. He wouldn't open his mouth wide enough to get a good latch. I had milk, but he wasn't getting enough and after the first two days he started getting really hungry and would cry and cry and make me cry. The nurses (overwhelmed by an influx of 13 babies in two days), threw a nipple shield at me and told me to deal with it. Well, they handed me a piece of paper that told me (which I didn't read until two days later - who friggin has time to read with a newborn baby???) that the nipple shield doesn't stimulate the nipple in the same way the mouth does, so my milk supply was decreasing and Jakob was eating so often I couldn't possibly pump in between him eating. I wouldn't get any sleep at all. He kept losing weight and I kept getting frustrated at night. He'd fall asleep while eating and would eat so damn slow that I honestly got nothing done for the entire time I was nursing (about three weeks). The nurses actually made us start supplementing with formula in the hospital, because Jakob dropped 12 ounces in the hospital. Two good things came from using the formula - Jared could feel him, giving me and my nipples a break, and the formula made Jakob sleep a LOT longer than the breastmilk - four hours sometimes, even as a newborn. That sleep time was a Godsend, because my health problems were just beginning.
The doctor took my staples out on March 16, 8 days after surgery. He threw some steri-strips over the incision, which happened to be a vertical one (which, given my fat roll, wasn't the smartest of ideas, I don't think). Once I got home, I examined his handiwork in my full-length mirror, and geez, you'd think the guy would take a little pride in his work. I tell people lovingly about the J for Jakob he inscribed on my belly. It's a good thing I wasn't a bikini model - my career would be shot.
Anyway, I felt pretty good. Two nights before the staples came out I had a nightmare. In this nightmare, my incision came open, my insides were hanging out, and my mother wouldn't take me to the hospital. It freaked me out, but my staples were still in and the incision was intact. Fast forward three days, March 17, happy St. Patrick's day. I wake up at the crack of noon (Jared fed the baby formula, allowing me to sleep from like 8-noon), and I go to the bathroom and as I'm sitting there I decided to examine my incision to see if it has healed any. So I pull out my hand-mirror and see to my horror a one-inch opening, with red goo coming out (please don't vomit). I called down to Jared, "Uh, honey, I think I need to call the doctor." He came upstairs and said, "What's wrong?" I showed him the incision and he started freaking out and called an ambulance. I've never ridden in an ambulance, but what I didn't know is that a cop arrives just before the ambulance. So here I am, on the toilet, in my bra and underwear, and there's a cop and two medics coming up the stairs. They ask if I can walk, since our place isn't exactly designed for easy stretcher access. I grab my robe (so short it barely covers my ass) and throw on some sandals (in March, mind you), and hobble out to the ambulance, with a maxi-pad covering the incision. I get up on the stretcher, beg them to get me in the vehicle before my neighbors see (they're a nosy lot), and then on the way, the medic looked at my incision and said, it's a good thing your husband didn't drive you to the hospital - the incision opened all the way up while you were going down the stairs. So here I am, at the ER (my first time at an ER for me since I was like 6), freaking out because I think my insides are coming out and one of the obgyns comes in and is nonchalant about it. She wipes me down with iodine and packs it with gauze and says to meet her at the office the next day (Sunday - she apparently had to meet another person there - I hope not for a similar thing). I had never heard of incisions "opening up". I figured that if they thought there was any risk of it they'd have sewn me up instead of used staples that had to be removed. I don't know.
Anyway, so I had to have home nurses come in for awhile to clean it out, and they had to show Jared how to do it because medical assistance only covers so much (and my other insurance doesn't cover it AT ALL. Screw making sure my skin closes up - put a band-aid on it I guess. 17 friggin centimeters long, 8 wide, and 5 deep.) Anyway, after about two weeks of daily changes and once-weekly "debriding" which basically involves scraping off the dead cells and some healthy ones nearby with a scalpel, the doctor orders a special WoundVAC to close up my wound. It works by sucking the air out of the wound (after being stuffed with foam) and the low-pressure promotes tissue repair. I thought, great, 'cause I don't want to be all open throughout the summer - had to do work.
One day after the nurse hooked me up to the WoundVAC (I think March 28 or so), I was going to the bathroom and Jared was about to leave for work. All night I had had a dull pain in the upper-right side of my back, and when I awoke at noon I was sitting on the side of the bed and I suddenly got incredibly sick to my stomach and felt like I was going to have diarrhea. (I had eaten a couple poptarts, but I'd never had that reaction before.) I ran to the bathroom, and while sitting on the toilet, I held Jakob's baby bathtub under my mouth in case I vomited, but nothing came up or out. I sat there, in pain, and suddenly I got very dizzy, lightheaded, and warm. I laid down on the floor because the tile felt so cool and nice. Jared came up to say he was leaving and found me there and he freaked out. I asked him to look up the symptoms for a heart attack, since I knew they were different for a woman than for a man, and when he returned with the list, I knew I wasn't having a heart attack. Jared called the on-call nurse at the medical assistance office to ask whether we should go to the ER or not. The nurse recommended going to the ER. Well, it took the ER 8 hours to get me in and do several tests. They did a pee test (which they had to catheterize me for, since I still had the lochia), a blood liver panel, and an abdominal ultrasound. They found several small gallstones and recommended I follow-up with my regular doctor and have the liver panel re-tested within a week since several of the enzymes were off normal. Well I don't have a regular doctor, so since I was seeing the obgyn the next week for debriding, I figured I'd ask him to order the liver panel. He threw a fit, but did. I then had to go through the process of going back to a doctor on campus, and that was a nightmare since I couldn't *legally* park on campus during the day, and leave it to Penn State to put the medical building in a place without any student parking nearby. As if I'm going to park in the commuter lot and ride a 15-minute bus to get there with a one-month old baby in tow. Yeah right.
Anyway, the doctor says huh, I want you to heal up a little and then re-take the liver panel. I think stress and the healing process is making your liver go haywire. OK. Well, on May 8th I had another gallbladder attack. Except this time they didn't do shit for me. The "doctor-in-training" said well, it's a vagal nerve response - you get sick because of the pain. No, the sickness started first that time. Anyway, whatever. The doctor decided after that attack to refer me to a gastroenterologist to deal with it. HE decided to run several blood tests and a really expensive test (thank God for multiple insurances), scheduled for June 4th, with a follow-up appointment on June 13. Well, the pain started the night of June 3rd, and I told myself I would put up with it and just go to the stupid test to prove I was having gallbladder problems. Well, at 6:30 am June 4th I was moaning on the side of the bed and Jared wouldn't let me wait until the 11:30 exam. I told the ER what test I was taking, and they gave me a pain reliever that wouldn't interfere (supposedly). (I had to wait 45 minutes for the nurses to stop drinking their damn coffee to give me the shots, but that's another story.) Those shots hurt like hell AND didn't help with the pain. AND, I still couldn't take the test later that day and had to reschedule. Bastards! Originally, they were going to wait and schedule me for June 15th and I said HELL NO! It's this hospital's fault I can't take it today. I starved myself all morning so I could take this damn test and I'm going to take it! So they rescheduled it for June 6th, two days later. My back still hurt from Monday. I figured they'd call with the results but they never do. I figured I'd find out June 13th when I met with the GE.
All is well, right? No. June 12th my back started to hurt at about 5:45 at night. Jared had just made dinner (lasagna) and he gave me some. I was in pain, but I decided to eat a little because I was STARVING. Anyway, the pain got a lot worse and by 7:30 I decided to go back to the ER. I don't know if it was the fact that Jared launched a complaint after the last time, or if it was the fact that the lasagna came right back up in their waiting room trash can and in the disposable baggie the nurse handed me, but I got right in. This time, they took me in for another ultrasound (and a chest x-ray, because who knows it could be something else I guess, even with my history) and found a stone stuck. Of course they did. I friggin passed three of them before this point. Anyway, they took me into surgery the next morning at 10:30. I didn't wake up until 2:30, although the surgery didn't take that long. They opened me up laproscopically, but couldn't find the stone, so they opened me up horizontally just above my belly button and still couldn't find it. Yeah, I passed it in the night. I do that. My stones weren't big enough for a complete blockage but they were the exact same size as the opening to get out of the gallbladder. Wouldn't you assume that they therefore were able to get out, AND that they wouldn't cause a complete blockage?
Anyway, I was so happy to be done with that, although I now have a fully-capital J on my belly, with the crossbar and everything. Luckily, I had no problems with the staples after that surgery.
So, it's been two months since then. The only other medical issue is that re-taking the glucose tolerance test six weeks after Jakob showed I was still diabetic, but my doc scheduled me for the A1c, the more standard test, and I'm only a 5.7. Which means I'm NOT diabetic (have to be above a 6 to be diabetic). But, FOR THE HELL OF IT, he put me on a pill already. I said whatever. If taking a pill means I can eat more carbs, whatever. I'm not into this whole one-serving of carbs for breakfast nonsense. I want a friggin bowl of cereal, not a slice of bread with egg and cheese or a slice of bread with egg salad or HALF of an English muffin. Not going to work for me. And the nutritionists PISS ME OFF. I've had to talk to three, and there's not a healthy-looking one among them. Why do nutritionists always look so sickly? It's one thing to be healthy and fit, but nutritionists just look so pale gray and too-skinny. I know! They're ALIENS!
Monday, August 20, 2007
Back again!
Wow, it's been almost a year since my last post. I had the baby in March, and he continues to grow up big like his Daddy. Actually, he looks just like his Daddy.
Well, sorry it's short but sweet but I have a whole lot of shopping to do and I hope to get home by 7 to give baby a bath, so I need to get going.
Well, sorry it's short but sweet but I have a whole lot of shopping to do and I hope to get home by 7 to give baby a bath, so I need to get going.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Have I kept you in suspense???
Well, I couldn't keep you in suspense any longer. Oh, believe me, I got great enjoyment out of prolonging it for 46 days, but I can't keep prolonging it.
I'm pregnant!!!
Yes, it is true. I am due in March, so this blog will have a serious drop-off in activity (even compared to now) after that point.
So far so good, as I've seen the baby and heard the heartbeat and I think I even felt the baby move last weekend. I don't know if it was actually the baby moving, though, only time will tell.
I'm pregnant!!!
Yes, it is true. I am due in March, so this blog will have a serious drop-off in activity (even compared to now) after that point.
So far so good, as I've seen the baby and heard the heartbeat and I think I even felt the baby move last weekend. I don't know if it was actually the baby moving, though, only time will tell.
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