Thank you for your kind comments. Those of you who chose instead to call and laugh at me for posting those photos, (albeit in a good natured way), you need to hush up. At least I have the chutzpah to post real pics of myself and not some airbrushed Glamor Shot AND, let me remind you most of you are too chicken to post a simple comment, nevermind bare your soul to the internet at large. So hush up.
I saw Dr. High Risk today...fought rush hour to get into Boston by 9 am. It was a busy day in the ATU; two women were going into labor (full term). The Monkey controlled himself and stayed somewhat still while we got 20 minutes of monitoring on the first try. Then he fell asleep for the ultrasound, which was kind of nice for a change...I could really get a good look at him without him moving all around. He looked peaceful and sweet. All is well. Dr. HR tells me if the bloodwork comes back okay, we can hold off a week and he'll see me next MONDAY. Woo hoo!
I then headed to Dr. Cutting Edge's office in another wing for the bloodwork...I had an appointment to see the nurse practitioner only; scheduling all these MD visits is getting nuts and it was easier to shoot over at 10:30 right after my OB appointment rather than wait for Dr. CE to be there at 1 pm. They drew 5 vials. The NP comes in the blood room while I'm being drawn; turns out there's a resident who is researching PNH who is very interested in talking with me - would I mind seeing her today? Not at all. No, anyone taking the time to research PNH gets my undivided attention whenever she likes.
And I was called back like, right away. The doctor herself came out to find me; she had red hair and she herself was pregnant. We introduce ourselves, shake hands, and go back to an exam room.
How far along are you? she asks.
28 weeks, I tell her.
You're viable, she says. I'm jealous. I'm 22 weeks - have a way to go before I can relax. I'm high risk too, but for a different reason- heart issues. I work with all male residents - they have no clue how hard it's been.
I can't imagine. Men just don't get it.
No, they don't. They really don't.
We chat a bit about the preeclampsia and how stable I've been. She asks about my symptoms and tells me about her PNH lecture coming up in June. She was outgoing and girlfriendly; my sense was had we both been non-pregnant, one glass of wine and we'd be revealing our deep dark secrets to each other. At the end of the exam and our discussion, she asks if I'd mind if she'd start seeing me in conjunction with Dr. Cutting Edge...she'd like to watch my progress and invites me to the lecture, if of course I can make it. She leaves the room, NP stays behind to just double-check to make sure I can go. My hematocrit has jumped to a very respectable 28. Bedrest is the key.
So now I'm anxious to get home and put my feet up and get this bedrest everyone insists is so good for me. I also needed to check some work stuff and answer some phone calls. When I pulled up to the house, the landscaper was there. He sees me pull up and I watch him drop his rake so he can come over and talk. AND THIS GUY CAN TALK. It's cold out and I finally have to explain to him that I've got things to do and that I really should get inside. It took almost 20 minutes to extract myself. When I got inside the phone didn't stop ringing once. I made a quick lunch for myself and headed up to my office to start returning calls. No sooner do I get my feet up than the doorbell rings - it's the landscaper, he's done - time to pay the bill. I head back downstairs and again, I'm pulled into a friggin marathon conversation with him, waiting for that break where I can make a graceful exit. As he's there, the phone is ringing nonstop. I finally get rid of him and head back up to the office and answer a few messages. Then the hospital calls- don't you know one of the tests came out too low (hello, which one? NP not sure) and I need to come back tomorrow to see Dr. CE himself and re-do the blood labs. Good God WHEN will I get a chance to JUST REST? I don't have a moment to settle down before the doorbell rings again- Sal's cousin is here, an hour early, to do my hair. God bless her, because I can't go get my highlights done at the salon anymore and she was gracious enough to take the time out of her extremely busy schedule when she could (she truly is a whirlwind) to come to me and give me some very good color. She brought her son over to play with the dogs. Problem is, dogs weren't home yet - the dogwalker picks them up to drive them to a park to play and hike and swim with other dogs once a day from 1 to 2:45. It's now 3:45 and there's no sign of them.
4:45 and I'm in the kitchen, half-foiled, when I hear my girls barking near the front door. At the same time the dogwalker comes flying into the kitchen - DON'T TOUCH THEM! THEY ROLLED IN POOP! (raccoon poop, we believe)
Now she can't take them out back to clean them up because the landscaper just reseeded and fertilized the lawn. They'll have to stay in the hallway - we'll just need lots of towels. So I head back upstairs to grab some so we can wet them down a bit and clean them up so they can at least stay in the house until we can give them a proper bath later on. My poor dogwalker was a wreck- evidently the brakes on her SUV failed on their way back from the park...when she finally was able to safely stop the car, she tried calling Triple A only to have her cell phone die. She had to leave the poopy dogs in her car to jog home to pick up her other car, come back, get the dogs, and deal with getting her SUV towed. Her day sounded absolutely awful.
The phone keeps on ringing while we keep checking the foils. I watch the caller ID - lots of more work calls that I realize I will have no choice but to attend to tomorrow, despite tomorrow being a designated STD day (short term disability- not the other thing- get your mind out of the gutter). These calls involve litigation and trial work that can't proceed without my review/input. I'm hoping I can call from bed and just wing it.
Sal gets home from work a little later. My hair is done and gorgeous. Time to clean up and hopefully put my feet up a little before our nanny candidate arrives for her interview at 7.
In a stroke of luck, we get very good vibes from the prospective nanny. She truly loves children and has been nannying for several years now while she gets her education at night. She's from Brazil, and promises to teach our son Portuguese and teach me how to make some good Brazilian food. In her language she's known as a baba (pronounced ba-ba). She was referred to us by people we know; we asked for some more references to call and check her out just to be sure. She is asking for the very price we were willing to pay. The dogs loved her and she was very cuddly and natural with them (yes, they were very clean by this point) and to me, that's a good sign of her true nature. She was genuine and sincere. We're going to give her a try. She'll start in August.
After she left, we were finally able to eat dinner. Finally, FINALLY, Sal just looked at me and said, "go lay down, NOW."
I hope to God tomorrow pans out a little differently. I plan on playing hooky from birthing class - it's massage night (damn!), but Sal has to go entertain clients from Germany and can't make it. Believe me, he'd rather learn to give me a pregnancy massage. Historically he finds that when you go out and have a few beers with the Germans, they inevitably begin to spew anti-American rhetoric and will always eventually admit how they blame certain ethnic groups for the problems in the world, and my husband, being the patriot and anti-hate kind of guy he is, has a threshold for how much of that he can listen to. When they're clients he can't argue too vehemently nor beat the shit out of them, even if they're incredible assholes. He'll come home with some appalling stories - he always does when he's out with the Germans. Their mindset is freaky and backwards.
Tomorrow I was planning on snarkily asking Dr. Cutting Edge just how a gal is supposed to rest if she's expected to spend 1/2 of her life at a hospital. One has to assume he's going to allude to the fact that I could always just STAY THERE, as in, sleep over and not get to go home at all. When you look at it like that, then really, this other stuff which keeps me on my feet and keeps me hopping all day - it kind of just really needs to go, and the only person who can truly make it all go away is myself. I'm to blame. When my bp got better I started allowing myself to do this and that and today is evidence of my inability to say no. Clearly, I just have to get as self-protective as possible and start getting truly blunt with people. As in turn off the phone and tell work it's all over until 3 months post-Simon. As in Mr. Landscaper, I'm on bedrest and can't be listening to your drivel today. As in let a 2 inch line of dark-brown-streaked-with-silver roots clash gloriously with a tri-color honey-highlighted mane and not think twice about it. I've got to learn to do this.
I gotta run...MIL is calling.
Notice again the Lovenox bruises. I don't know when this was taken- a few weeks ago? How cute is my Allie Dog?
