Dear Jellybean - 13 weeks 2 days

Dear Jellybean,

I want to apologize for not talking to you more before now.  To be honest, I was protecting myself.  It was hard to hope that you were really in there and doing well.  But today, you showed me.  You not only flipped around and waved your arms, but you showed the ultrasound tech a little attitude.  When they tried to go back for more views, you laid on your tummy and took a snooze, refusing to move.  When she did finally get you to move, you laid on you side, refusing to budge so she could see what she needed.  You are so like your sister!  Not surprisingly, you are tall, already blowing the curve at 13 cm (5+ inches) when pregnancy charts tell me you should only be 3 inches.

Seeing you today was amazing.  Don't get me wrong, seeing your heartbeat at the 6 and 8 week ultrasounds was incredible, as was hearing your heartbeat earlier this week.  But seeing you, looking like a little person, with a cute nose in profile and little limbs waving around, showing so much personality already, it made you real.  Really real.  I know you're in there.  Listening.  Learning the voices of your world--me, daddy, and Lil' Bit.  So, here's my promise to you--I'm going to try to remember to talk with you at least once a day.  Tell you what's going on out here as we get ready for you.  Tell you stories about me, daddy, and Lil' Bit.

This pregnancy has been harder on me than your sister's was, but that isn't your fault.  I need to remember to take joy in our time together.  All too soon, I will have to share you with the world.  Until then, I will do my best to make the most of our time.  I will do what I can to make us both healthy.  And, hey, the upside of the high risk pregnancy is an ultrasound roughly every 4 weeks, so we'll see you again soon.  Until then, I love you, my jellybean.  Whoever you are.  I can't wait to see who that is.

Love,
Mommy

My Reckoning

I have had a life-long love affair with sugar.  When I was younger, I ate 1 lb bags of skittles like they were a single serve and could down a dozen donuts in a single sitting.  It never occurred to me that eating that much sugar could cause problems down the road.  I simply assumed that you either had diabetes, or you didn't.  And, since I didn't, I was fine.  Now, I'm not saying that I would have changed my habits had I known the finer points of Type II diabetes, but it certainly would have left me a little more prepared for now.

So, I did the 1-hour glucose tolerance test and failed by a single point--needed 133 and got 134.  During my visit with the doctor about adjusting my meds, I discussed the additional anxiety I had over having to take the three-hour test.  We discussed my last pregnancy and I indicated that I had had gestational diabetes and been insulin-dependent.  She advised me that chances were strong that I would be again.  This made me sad, but at least she didn't pull any punches.  I took the 3-hour test last Friday and the results came back today.  They were less than stellar.  Whereas with Lil' Bit, I had only failed 2 of the 4 readings, which was sufficient for the diagnosis, I failed ALL 4 this time around.  For fasting, I needed 95, I had 96.  For the 1-hour I needed 172, I had 188.  For the 2-hour I needed 150, I had 154.  For the 3-hour I needed 135 and I had 146.  With the exception of my fasting number, these were not even close.  Ironically, it was my fasting number we had real issues with last time, so maybe this bodes well for being able to control it with diet and exercise this time rather than insulin.  Who knows.  But, since it's been 3 years since I had the diabetes class, I have to go again because "some things have changed."  I still have my meter, so I may be able to just use it rather than having to get a new one.  We'll see.

In any event, what is clear to me is that I need to make major dietary changes.  How I do this I'm not entirely sure.  I am not a huge fan of vegetables and those I like are the starchy ones.  I love fruits, but they are high in the sugar index.  I have already removed soda and french fries.  Although I indulged in a few candy bars yesterday in fear of the results today, I had mostly kicked those out of my diet, too, along with cake, cookies, and the like.  What I'm getting at is that all of the easy changes are done.  There are no more simple solutions.  I have to do the hard work now.  It's even more difficult because last time, since I wasn't diagnosed until 28 weeks, I ignored calorie counts and simply went with anything that didn't raise my sugar too far.  Thus, I figured out that I could have 2 McDonald's Sausage McMuffins with egg for breakfast as long as I took the top muffin off of both of them.  That would keep my numbers in range, which was all I cared about, never mind the huge calorie and fat content.  And then, I proceeded to eat that for many, many mornings.  This time, I'm only supposed to gain 15 pounds the whole pregnancy.  If you know anything about pregnancy weight gain, this essentially means I am losing weight during the pregnancy.  Not gonna happen if I focus solely on how food affects my blood sugar without regard for calories and fat.  

So, I have to do things differently this time.  I don't really have any choice.  I can't even console myself by saying I can stop after 7 months.  Given that this is my second time to have gestational diabetes, and this time I will have it for much longer, my chances of type II diabetes are increasing all the time.  I need to make changes now before it's too late and the diabetes doesn't go away when I'm not pregnant.  This sucks.  I hate it.  But hating it won't change it, and ignoring it won't make it not true.  This is my warning.  It's now up to me to listen and do something about it.  It's time to dig in and figure out how to do things right while I have a chance to protect my pancreas and stave off any more long-term damage.

Hello, Mr. Hole. We Meet Again.

These past few weeks I have been struggling, physically and emotionally, to get my life in order.  It hasn't really been working.  I tried catching up on sleep, taking time off work to get caught up, being good to myself, all of the usual things, but each day I have felt a little more in the hole.  Today, I was determined to make it a good day.  I got up, showered, got Lil' Bit to daycare, and headed off to work.  I never got there.  I got too overwhelmed just thinking about driving in.  I started crying too much for driving to be safe.  I headed home.  The worst part was, heading home made me feel worse.  I have always been capable.  People could (and did) say mean things about be, but I knew deep down that nothing they did could stop me from being capable and people would be able to see my ability.  My capability was my safety net, and now it was gone.

As I pulled into my driveway, I was racked with sobs as the negative thoughts flew through my head--"You weren't capable.  You couldn't make it to work.  You're useless.  How do you expect to take care of the kid you have, let alone the one on the way?!"  It was too much.  My mind looked up at the huge walls of the hole I had fallen into, curled up into a ball, and shut down.  It was frustrating and scary, but I am grateful that I was not so far gone that I could not see that this was a big problem.  It was my wake-up call.  I needed help.  I needed to up my meds.  Yet, even as I knew the truth of those statements, I railed against them.

"You're pregnant!"  I shouted at myself.  "You don't want to expose the baby to all that!"
"True," I answered myself, calmly and quietly, hoping to make myself listen to reason.  "You have done the best you could with that, but the time has come to say when."
"I don't want to!" I wailed petulantly.
"I know.  But you don't want to feel miserable and worthless either.  And you don't have to."
"I do want to be functional again.  Enjoy the life I have, the family and job I love..." I sniffled.
"Exactly.  You want to be you again."
I nodded, much like my toddler, hanging my head, knowing I was beat, but not wanting to concede just yet.
"It's okay," I comforted myself.  "This is not a moral failing."
"I know."
"Yes, but you don't believe me.  Yet.  But you will.  Once you're out of the hole, you'll look back and wonder why you fought so hard for so long, just like last time."
"But I feel like I'm taking the easy way out."
"You think this has been easy?  You did all you could.  You are a fighter.  But you can't out-think a chemical imbalance.  It doesn't work that way."

We sat quietly for a while--me, myself, and I.  And then I physically got up and contacted my doctor's office and left a message about getting my meds adjusted.  I hate feeling weak.  I hate feeling incapable.  But, I would hate myself more if I let things get worse instead of heeding the call and getting help.

And now I write.  I write so I can remember for next time, in case there is one.  I write so that maybe someone else can see their hole before it gets as deep as mine.  I write to remind others that they are not alone.  And, to be perfectly honest, I write to convince myself of the rightness of my choice--because I argue better in writing than out loud.  It's time to begin again, and find my way out of this hole.  And maybe, just maybe, now that I've seen this hole a few times, I don't have to fall in it again.  Here's hoping.

My Toddler, the Seagull

If you've ever seen Finding Nemo, there's this brilliant depiction of seagulls as single-minded birds that all fly around squaking, "Mine.  Mine.  Mine."  My two-year-old, having learned the word from one of her friends at daycare, has made it her own.  We have had to have several discussions about what is actually hers and what she is simply being allowed to use, although it still belongs to us--like an iPad, for example.  We have attempted to deal with each of these episodes, and I'd like to think we have made a lot of progress.  Overall, Lil' Bit does a great job sharing.  This gave me great hope for a smooth transition when the Jellybean arrives.  This weekend, however, it has become abundantly clear that the arrival of the Jellybean this fall is going to stir the pot when it comes to Lil' Bit's ownership issues.

It started with the cat.  Lil' Bit can be happily playing across the room, or even lovingly snuggled on her daddy's lap, but if the cat should dare to hop up and snuggle in my lap, she will suddenly shriek, "No, meow!  My momma!" and wave her hands wildly.  Should the cat dare to ignore her, she will run over and climb into my lap, thereby forcing the cat's displacement.  Once the cat had been moved, however, she will hop down, having successfully defended her territory.

Then came Easter Sunday.  Baby D, an adorable one-year-old, was in the nursery and she and Lil' Bit were playing and coloring together, happily.  Baby D then got up to play with the big purple ball, which she proceeded to kick across the room.  I told her, "Wow!  That was a great kick!"  Suddenly, from across the room, Lil' Bit points her finger accusingly at me and shouts, "No.  You my momma!"  In other words, "Mine!"  Guess we still have a lot of work left before our toddler is no longer a seagull.  Fortunately, we've got a few more months to work on it.

What's Happenin' Now

My apologies for being so quiet.  First, there was nothing new to report.  Than, life got too crazy to have time to write--but that involves the toddler and will be the subject of another post.  Add in all the extra tired from being pregnant, and *voila* radio silence.

So, focusing on just pregnancy-related news, let's start with the good.  Monday I went to the doctor and was released not just from bed rest, but from the fertility center to my regular doctor.  I also got to cut back on my meds and should be totally off them by the end of April.  The ultrasound showed no problems with the jellybean, who was .61 inches long and had a heart rate of 157.  I called my OB's office and made an appointment for my nurse intake, which occurred today.

It started kind of scary when my blood pressure was 147/89.  Fortunately, we retested at the end and it was down to 126/80.  Phew!  We declined all prenatal testing and just asked for the 20-week ultrasound; same like last time.  I don't care how low the risk of miscarriage is with the testing--any risk is too much.  However, there is one difference this time.  Around the same time as the 20-week ultrasound, I will also get referred to a pediatric cardiologist for a fetal echo-cardiogram to make sure there are no heart issues with the jellybean--there's an increased risk since Lil' Bit has some.

They told me that my next appointment is around 13 weeks, when I'll see my doc and we'll get to hear the heartbeat!  They told me that they changed their "rotation" policy from last time I was there.  Now, most, if not all, of my regularly scheduled appointments will be with my doctor and I will only see the other docs if I have an unexpected issue, or my doc is out for some reason.  I'm excited that I will get to see my doc more often ('cuz she's so awesome!) and, since I met most of the other docs last time, I'm feeling pretty good.

Then, we hit the discussion of the blood tests and the bad news came.  I have to do a glucose tolerance test for gestational diabetes within the next week.  Apparently, they test waaaay earlier than usual if you've had it before.  And, even if I pass, they will still test me again later.  I don't know if they wait and test me again at 28 weeks with everyone else, or if I will get tested several times along the way.  Either way, I'm a little freaked out.  I don't want to have to take shots the WHOLE pregnancy.  Just two months of insulin and testing drove me bananas last time.

Still, I'll do what I have to do.  As I've been telling myself for the last few weeks--we paid good money for me to feel this miserable.  :)  And, hey, at least I'm not on bed rest anymore!

The Consequences of Getting What You Want

I am a firm believer that we are co-creators of our world and that it is very important to place our energy on things we want and not on things we don't.  This is not to say that I can simply wish myself a million dollars, much as many of us would like that to be true.  But where we focus our energy has consequences.  And so, during this stressful week, I added another mantra to my repertoire:  Although I most desire an easy pregnancy, I would rather have a freaked-out pregnancy than no pregnancy at all.  Well, I got what I wanted--a pregnancy.

This past Monday I called the center to report more bleeding.  In fact, this week it pretty much became a constant, unwanted companion.  I asked whether I could move my ultrasound up to find out what was going on.  No luck.  They were all full-up.  The nurses did their best to reassure me that it was probably nothing and not to worry.  However, I remember them giving me the same spiel when I was miscarrying, so it really provided no comfort.  I considered going to an urgent care or ER, but the truth was it wasn't "really" an emergency.  Yes, I wanted to know, but if the center wasn't that concerned, it wasn't worth tying up ER resources over.  I bided my time and waited impatiently for Thursday to arrive.  Of course, Thursday started with lots of cramping and bright red bleeding, which made waiting for my afternoon appointment excruciating.  Still, the time finally arrived.  I advised my doctor of the issues we'd been having and then we looked at the ultrasound to see what was going on.

The good news:  there was a baby--and only one (we don't have to buy tons of new stuff--whew!).  The baby measured .56 cm, which was exactly on target, and had a strong heart rate of 123 (I giggle every time I type this because Lil' Bit has recently learned to count to three, so when I type it, in my mind I hear her say 'one, two, free'--but I digress).  However, the doctor was concerned with the cramping and bleeding and put me on bed rest (he called it a vacation from work, but I'll be working from home) for a week and a half or so, followed-up by another ultrasound.  He said he was pleased with what he saw but, "now that we got you a baby, we have to fight for it."

So, here I am, fighting for my adorable jellybean by laying on the sofa with a laptop on my stomach and drinking all the water I can stand.  It's frustrating, but it beats the alternative.  EDD:  November 4.  Grow, baby, grow!

Got Stress?

One of the things a fertility clinic will tell you when you are trying to get (and stay) pregnant is to avoid stress.  This is certainly a lovely theory, but the whole infertility gig does not lend itself to being stress-free.  Add in a toddler having surgery, a non-private room at the hospital, dental issues, and dehydration-induced bleeding and--VOILA!--you have my ridiculously stressful life.

So, let's go back to Sunday.  I had taken Lil' Bit to church as usual.  Somehow, during coffee hour, I broke a crown.  I called my dentist at home (one of the benefits of small town living!), and got an appointment to see him the next day to put on a temporary one.  Once I got slightly calmed down from that snafu, we worked on getting our ducks in a row to head for Detroit to take Lil' Bit in for her surgery.  My zen had not even returned when I discovered I was bleeding again.  After getting Lil' Bit to bed, I drank lots of water and put my feet up.  My mantra was--I can't control this; there is a plan to which I am not privy; but if I get a say, please stick around.  And, by morning, things seemed a little better.  Still, I called the fertility center to seek reassurance.  They told me there was nothing that could be done at this point and that they weren't worried, but I could call if I needed further reassurance.  I did my best to feel reassured by this, pulled up my big-girl pants, and headed out to Detroit.

Surgery on Tuesday morning went well and everything was copacetic.  Then, we discovered there were no rooms available for Lil' Bit, so we waited in the recovery area for several hours for a room to come open.  We were relieved when we got word she had been assigned to one, but it was another hour or two before we were sent up because they had to clean it.  We discovered we were sharing the room with another two-year-old who had just had the same surgery.  What we soon discovered, however, was that this child could scream and did not want to see any nurse, doctor, or anything of the sort and mom had no intention of holding said child to provide comfort--she just kept talking on her phone.  I mean, I know screaming.  I was a willful child who would scream to the high-heavens, but I had nothing on this toddler.  In fact, the non-stop, high-pitched screams and other activities by the child were such that the nursing staff finally came and "helped" mom take the child to another location because Lil' Bit (and likely the whole freakin' floor) was clearly being affected.  The charge nurse actually came in and apologized and, when I said the standard, "It's okay," her response was, "No, it's not."

Things got marginally better upon the return, although we heard overheard conversations that would make Teen Mom plot lines seem like Leave It To Beaver episodes (Phil tells me that the conversations overnight were even more "entertaining").  Needless to say, I forgot to take care of myself as I was working hard to console my child and *bam* significant bleeding and cramping.  I was certain I was miscarrying, wigged out, and started crying, all of which freaked out Lil' Bit even more.  Seeing her response, I worked hard to push down all that anxiety and sadness and pull myself together and then worked to console her and get her calm.  We finally got me back to the hotel where I drank tons of water and laid down with my feet up.  Again, by morning, things seemed okay.

After a rough morning at the hospital, Lil' Bit finally got discharged.  On the drive home, my temporary crown popped off.  The only good thing about this was that I was scheduled to get my new permanent one the next day.  On the downside, we were back up to 14 meds per day with Lil' Bit, most of which could not be combined and seven of which were liquid doses (her least favorite).  Needless to say, every day involves tons of screaming as we try and "do what's best for her," while I watch her be a little more traumatized each time.  Her regular med-taking has suffered to the point that, even once she's better, we have a long haul to get her back to where we were before all this.

Thursday arrived and I got my new crown.  It was unpleasant, but at least I got a little time away from the house such as it was.  By last night, things seems to be on the upswing.  I was feeling pretty good about the rest of Lil' Bit's recovery.  Thinking the day might end on a good note, I was disheartened, but no longer surprised, to discover I was bleeding *again*.  Worse, Lil' Bit didn't want to sleep alone (who could blame her), so I spent the night on the floor of her room.  Although I didn't get much sleep, I did manage to drink more water and get my feet up and got things stopped again.

That brings us to this morning.  After an okay morning, things went downhill fast.  I swear, it was like she was worse than right after her surgery. Now, I remember with my recent surgical recovery feeling like I was backsliding.  I don't know why I assumed that wouldn't happen with her, but I did.  Seeing her misery today hit me really hard.  And, even though Phil and his parents have worked very hard to try and provide me some downtime, my little girl just wants her mommy and my heart just can't say no.  However, I have managed to not be too far from water and have stayed well-hydrated, thus preventing the now diagnosed dehydration-induced uterine contractions/bleeding.

I know my previous goal was just to make it to the ultrasound this Thursday, but now, I am living hour by hour, minute by minute, just trying to make Lil' Bit as comfortable as possible and to get through this emotionally and physically intact.  There is no freakin' way I can stay stress free through all this.  Life is what it is.  But, I just keep telling myself:  I can't control this; there is a plan to which I am not privy; but if I get a say, please stick around.  All I can do now is wait.  And drink lots of water.