So this week the stretch marks have started to show up. I mean, they've been on my hips for a couple of weeks now, but I've always had stretch marks on my hips so I was pretty okay with that. But now they've started forming in a semi - circle under my belly button. And they're really, really ugly. I've been using the lotion and drinking the water and all that crap, so it's not like I didn't give it a sporting chance. And frankly, all the girls who lectured me on the importance of doing these things ended up with stretch marks themselves. So there's that. But the people who try to convince me that the stretch marks are like a motherhood trophy or a badge of honor or something; fuck off. The kid is the trophy you moron. The stretch marks are to be reserved for guilt trips later.
Can I talk about foot care here??? A lot of pregnant women talk a lot about painting their toenails. Screw that. It's fall and in a few weeks I won't be able to see my feet anyway, so who cares if my plum polish is chipped? But here's the thing that you don't think of when the gals are complaining about their pedicures: How the hell do you CUT your toenails? I did it the other night and I had to take a breather in between feet. What happens next time it needs done? I can't trust Matt to do this. While I don't care if my toes are pretty, there is still a certain amount of shaping that needs to be done here, and I just don't think he's up to the task.
So who do you ask to trim your toenails? It's not as embarrassing as asking someone to wipe your ass, but it's definitely something I'd rather not ask a good friend. What if they find something under there?? I'll never be able to make eye contact again. But paying the $30 for a pedicure seems ridiculous. I don't want french tips. I just want to not snag the sheets.
Baby shower is this weekend. Halloween themed, laid back, men invited, beer allowed, no games, no frills, no bullshit. I'm excited. Just found out that Marie and Ringo, who are giving me the party, are allowed to use an old stump in their backyard as a fire pit....so we'll have a bonfire later in the evening if it doesn't rain.
Tune in next week to find out if I still have room in my apartment for..well...me.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
25 Weeks
I used to think that the most bodily frustrating feeling in the world was a sneeze or a yawn that wouldn't come out.
I was wrong.
It is infinitely more frustrating to go to the bathroom and, after having JUST PEED, feel like you have to pee.
So I sit. And I wait. And I wait some more. I try leaning forward. I try leaning back. I try drinking water WHILE I'M SITTING THERE. Nothing happens. But I still feel like I have to go.
Everyone assures me this is normal. It sure as hell does not feel normal. It feels like torture. And because I've never done this before, my brain is screaming "Oh god, my kidneys are failing!" I know this is paranoia. But I cannot help it.
I wake up every day at 8am. I do not need to wake up at 8am, nor do I want to. But that's what time my body decides that it absolutely cannot go any longer without food. It doesn't matter that I had a snack at around 3am. What sucks about my 8am wake up call is that nowadays, I have a hard time going back to sleep. (If you call or text me too much before noon, rest assured that while I may not say anything, I probably hate you for the rest of the day. And possibly the day after.)
So what I do is, without completely opening my eyes, or turning on any lights, I shuffle to the refrigerator and open it. I then squint and fumble around in the door, which doesn't require looking directly at the light, until I find the applesauce. This I drink straight out of the jar. Then I put it away and shuffle back to the bedroom to pass back out until at least noon.
It's a lot like being hung over.
I was wrong.
It is infinitely more frustrating to go to the bathroom and, after having JUST PEED, feel like you have to pee.
So I sit. And I wait. And I wait some more. I try leaning forward. I try leaning back. I try drinking water WHILE I'M SITTING THERE. Nothing happens. But I still feel like I have to go.
Everyone assures me this is normal. It sure as hell does not feel normal. It feels like torture. And because I've never done this before, my brain is screaming "Oh god, my kidneys are failing!" I know this is paranoia. But I cannot help it.
I wake up every day at 8am. I do not need to wake up at 8am, nor do I want to. But that's what time my body decides that it absolutely cannot go any longer without food. It doesn't matter that I had a snack at around 3am. What sucks about my 8am wake up call is that nowadays, I have a hard time going back to sleep. (If you call or text me too much before noon, rest assured that while I may not say anything, I probably hate you for the rest of the day. And possibly the day after.)
So what I do is, without completely opening my eyes, or turning on any lights, I shuffle to the refrigerator and open it. I then squint and fumble around in the door, which doesn't require looking directly at the light, until I find the applesauce. This I drink straight out of the jar. Then I put it away and shuffle back to the bedroom to pass back out until at least noon.
It's a lot like being hung over.
Tuesday, October 13, 2009
Week 24
I spoke too soon last week.
I thought things were getting better for me health-wise, but in fact, they are simply getting different.
Last Tuesday, what had seemed to be a case of the sniffles turned into full head-congestion. I stayed home from work, ate oranges and drank soup, and tried to will my body well. By Tuesday night I had a little wheeze and a cough.
Wednesday I tried valiantly to get through the work day and made it 6 hours. By about 10 pm I was working hard for each breath. I had a doctor appointment scheduled for Friday, and was trying to hold out...but when my breathing became labored I headed for the ER.
4 breathing treatments, 6 vials of bloodwork, 1 bag of IV fluids, 2 shots, 5 hours, and $100 dollars later, I got to go home.
My doctor gave me instructions to stay home for the next few days and wrote me 5 different scripts for medication. Another $70 later, I took home 2 inhalers, an antibiotic, an oral steriod, and a bottle of heavy duty cough syrup. I asked the pharmacist if my insurance had covered any of my medication. She said yes - I had paid a co-pay of $30 each on the inhalers, which would have been $150 each out of pocket.
Even with the best health-care coverage available to me, I spent $170 total in co-pays and fees because I have bronchitis and have developed asthma.
$170. That's a car payment. That's a car load of groceries. That's money that most Americans need to spend in order to keep living and earning.
If I didn't have that money put aside already, I wouldn't have been able to afford the medications I needed to keep my body breathing. Many people don't have that sort of money put aside in case of emergencies...even if they have good jobs like I do.
And those that have a good job, and health care, but they don't have the extra cash for emergency medications? Do they get the help they need? No. No, they don't. The hospital can't turn you away. There's no such stipulation at the pharmacy.
Don't tell me there's nothing wrong with our health care system.
I thought things were getting better for me health-wise, but in fact, they are simply getting different.
Last Tuesday, what had seemed to be a case of the sniffles turned into full head-congestion. I stayed home from work, ate oranges and drank soup, and tried to will my body well. By Tuesday night I had a little wheeze and a cough.
Wednesday I tried valiantly to get through the work day and made it 6 hours. By about 10 pm I was working hard for each breath. I had a doctor appointment scheduled for Friday, and was trying to hold out...but when my breathing became labored I headed for the ER.
4 breathing treatments, 6 vials of bloodwork, 1 bag of IV fluids, 2 shots, 5 hours, and $100 dollars later, I got to go home.
My doctor gave me instructions to stay home for the next few days and wrote me 5 different scripts for medication. Another $70 later, I took home 2 inhalers, an antibiotic, an oral steriod, and a bottle of heavy duty cough syrup. I asked the pharmacist if my insurance had covered any of my medication. She said yes - I had paid a co-pay of $30 each on the inhalers, which would have been $150 each out of pocket.
Even with the best health-care coverage available to me, I spent $170 total in co-pays and fees because I have bronchitis and have developed asthma.
$170. That's a car payment. That's a car load of groceries. That's money that most Americans need to spend in order to keep living and earning.
If I didn't have that money put aside already, I wouldn't have been able to afford the medications I needed to keep my body breathing. Many people don't have that sort of money put aside in case of emergencies...even if they have good jobs like I do.
And those that have a good job, and health care, but they don't have the extra cash for emergency medications? Do they get the help they need? No. No, they don't. The hospital can't turn you away. There's no such stipulation at the pharmacy.
Don't tell me there's nothing wrong with our health care system.
Monday, October 5, 2009
Week 23
The list of things wrong with me is slowly dwindling, which is good.
See, after the whole staph infection in my face fiasco, I went to my OBGYN and told him my story. He was very surprised that the family practice doctor only prescribed antibiotics and DIDN'T prescribe an antiviral as well. I told him I figured it's because I was so bold as to self diagnose myself with a cold sore, and god knows the patient is never right.
Side note - I went to the emergency room once, and told the registrar I had a pilonidal cyst. She very snarkily informed me that I couldn't possibly know that for sure and refused to write it down. When I got to see the doctor, and explained what was going on, she said "Oh! A pilonidal cyst!" Bitch.
So anyway. He told me that if it happened again, and it probably would, I should call him up and he'd fax me in a script for an antiviral.
So last Friday, when I noticed I was getting another cold sore, I called my doc's office. They told me that they would call in the prescription to my drug store. I thought this was all just fantastic. Until they told me the name of the drug they were putting me on.
Valtrex. (tm)
For those of you who have never watched TV, Valtrex is a drug commonly used to treat genital herpes. People in Valtrex commercials kayak and canoe and hike and smile alot.
Now, I can deal with a lot of things. I can deal with dirty looks at the OBGYN because I'm wearing a PBR t-shirt. (There is no rule that says I must consume the beverage while wearing the t-shirt.) I have never had a problem buying my own tampons, condoms, or diahrrea medicine. But I just cannot walk my pregnant ass into the pharmacy to pick up my herpes prescription while the cashier smirks knowingly and snickers behind her hand. I just know I'll make a big deal out of telling everyone behind the counter that it's for a cold sore, while they roll their eyes and mutter "Yeah, right" under their breath.
So I made Matt pick it up.
See, after the whole staph infection in my face fiasco, I went to my OBGYN and told him my story. He was very surprised that the family practice doctor only prescribed antibiotics and DIDN'T prescribe an antiviral as well. I told him I figured it's because I was so bold as to self diagnose myself with a cold sore, and god knows the patient is never right.
Side note - I went to the emergency room once, and told the registrar I had a pilonidal cyst. She very snarkily informed me that I couldn't possibly know that for sure and refused to write it down. When I got to see the doctor, and explained what was going on, she said "Oh! A pilonidal cyst!" Bitch.
So anyway. He told me that if it happened again, and it probably would, I should call him up and he'd fax me in a script for an antiviral.
So last Friday, when I noticed I was getting another cold sore, I called my doc's office. They told me that they would call in the prescription to my drug store. I thought this was all just fantastic. Until they told me the name of the drug they were putting me on.
Valtrex. (tm)
For those of you who have never watched TV, Valtrex is a drug commonly used to treat genital herpes. People in Valtrex commercials kayak and canoe and hike and smile alot.
Now, I can deal with a lot of things. I can deal with dirty looks at the OBGYN because I'm wearing a PBR t-shirt. (There is no rule that says I must consume the beverage while wearing the t-shirt.) I have never had a problem buying my own tampons, condoms, or diahrrea medicine. But I just cannot walk my pregnant ass into the pharmacy to pick up my herpes prescription while the cashier smirks knowingly and snickers behind her hand. I just know I'll make a big deal out of telling everyone behind the counter that it's for a cold sore, while they roll their eyes and mutter "Yeah, right" under their breath.
So I made Matt pick it up.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Stop being such a turd.
I originally started this blog because I wanted to have fun. I wanted to write Dave Barry-esque blog entries about my ridiculous exploits as a pregnant chick in Cleveland, with the most awesome and outrageous friends and family imaginable.
But then...Nothing. Happened. Okay, except for the whole ass bleeding thing a couple of months ago, but that's IT. I didn't have morning sickness. I haven't gained 20 zillion pounds. I have like, one stretch mark, and I think it might be from before. I'm sure weird, gross things will happen eventually. But in the meantime there isn't anything to make fun of myself about.
So I get on here and I write about my feelings. How pathetic is that? I'm sure I could find some way to word my feelings so they would be more funny and accessible. I mean, wanting to punch people in the throat for telling me I'm pretty is funny, right?
I need to stop being such a turd.
But then...Nothing. Happened. Okay, except for the whole ass bleeding thing a couple of months ago, but that's IT. I didn't have morning sickness. I haven't gained 20 zillion pounds. I have like, one stretch mark, and I think it might be from before. I'm sure weird, gross things will happen eventually. But in the meantime there isn't anything to make fun of myself about.
So I get on here and I write about my feelings. How pathetic is that? I'm sure I could find some way to word my feelings so they would be more funny and accessible. I mean, wanting to punch people in the throat for telling me I'm pretty is funny, right?
I need to stop being such a turd.
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