Archive for October, 2009
October 20, 2009 at 10:40 · Filed under pregnancy
I asked stupid questions that I didn’t really want to know the answers to. Deep down, I guess I knew that I would have to face those answers at some point. Better that I do it sooner, rather than later, right? Not right, because now I can’t even get out of the house to go to work.
I arrived early. I’m not sure if it’s my fear of being late and missing the appointment, or my desire to get out of work that does it, but it happens every time. I’ve been in the hospital when I’ve turned up 40 minutes early before: it’s eerie. Last time I sat outside and it was a pleasant enough afternoon. This time I sat outside and froze. It’s my own fault for only carrying a thin jacket and no jumper, but I never really need them between home, the tube and the office, and I certainly don’t need them when on the tube or at the office.
Blood pressure and urine checked. Fine. Blood pressure was 102/62. Apparently that’s ok, but looking at the notes, it seems to me that it’s the lowest it’s been so far. Whether that’s a side effect of the pregnancy or the lofepramine I don’t know. Another mystery we’ll probably never know the answer to. Poked and prodded. Lumpy was lying head down with his back to my left side. Heartbeat apparently sounds good. I wouldn’t know what good or bad was anyway.
Blood taken for the dreaded glucose check. I’d originally asked the husband to come with me. You remember, I don’t do well with needles. But then it occurred to me that he’d have to bring the boy, and the boy wouldn’t do waiting. And as I’d not thought to ask what sort of testing they were going to be doing, there was a chance it could be a very long wait between two draws. So I figured I’d just have to suck it and get on with it alone. And I did. I was rather proud of myself.
And then for my questions. Well one question really. I explained that I still wanted a home birth and asked what the earliest date I could have one would be. 37 Weeks. Not that I could work out in my head at that point when 37 weeks would be. The midwife explained how they’d book it and that was all good. Except, she said, if there were any complications. Like gestational diabetes.
Oh shit.
You see last time round, I didn’t really have a clue what was going on. I got my blood tested, the results were so borderline that I may as well have had gestational diabetes as far as the doctor was concerned and off I went to the dietitian to learn how to cut out all sugar from my diet. They transferred my care across to the hospital straight away (instead of leaving it until the last minute) where once a week I’d get my finger jabbed with a needle and told that I was doing a good job of keeping my blood sugar within acceptable levels. An explanation of what this all mean for me and the pregnancy was never given to me, the closest I got was that it would go away once the boy had been born. Whether it was that the doctor never felt it necessary to give an explanation, it got lost in the translation, or the husband felt that it would best if I didn’t know what it all meant, I don’t know.
What I do know is that this time round I needed it explained to me. Just in case. There’s enough you can read about it butthe upshot is, if I do get it this time around, during labour my blood sugar would be closely monitored and treated. And yes, that means more needles. It also means no home birth.
Of course none of that really hit me until I walked out of there. I worked out when 37 weeks would start. 27 December if you go by their dates produced from the scan. If Lumpy is born at the same point the boy was, he’ll appear on 23 December. 4 days difference. 4 days being enough to land me in hospital.
And then it began. Because I realised there’s a good chance that I could have to go to hospital in order to get this kid out. And it’s only just occurred to me that I just can’t deal with that. Just the thought of it scares me beyond belief. And with everything that’s going on at the moment, that fear is just one more thing to deal with. One more thing that I can’t deal with.
I went to bed at 7:30 last night. I wasn’t feeling well anyway. I was tired, I’d been sick (sorry Tooting Broadway station). I still felt like my stomach was churning. The last thing I wanted to do was stay awake with my thoughts. I was too tired to even talk about it, so didn’t even get the chance to tell the husband what was going on. But I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t clear my mind of that nagging fear of hospital. And the tears. And even when I did and actually managed to fall asleep I’d only wake up and it would start all over again. I wasn’t even lucky enough to get a block of sleep before the night really began. I just kept waking. And waking. And waking. I managed three hours just after 3:00.
And so I woke up exhausted this morning. But at least I didn’t feel sick. The trouble is though, it seems that even the act of eating a small breakfast these days is enough to make the nausea start. And it did. And I cried a little over my breakfast. And then again in the shower. And it felt like I just couldn’t hold it all together. Even though I was desperately trying to suck it up and be strong. Because I was sure that if I could just make it to work, that would be half the battle over.
But I made a mistake. I weighed myself. Last time I did that I was happy. I’d put on just over 2lbs. Pregnancy is the one time I’m allowed to be happy about weight gain. But this time no such luck. I’d lost 4lbs. 4 freaking pounds. Because I can’t eat half the time, and when I can, there’s a good chance it’ll come back up again. And I shouldn’t be losing weight.
But it was too late. And I couldn’t hold it together. And by that point I knew that there was no way I was going to make it in to work. No point in going in to spend most of the day hiding in the toilets trying not to cry. And so I called in sick despite knowing that I won’t get paid for the time off.
And I stayed home and blogged. And cried.
October 13, 2009 at 10:50 · Filed under Daily Life, pregnancy
Yesterday I cried. And although I stopped in between bouts, I never really seemed to stop.
I cried at my desk, I cried in the toilets. I almost went home early just so I could cry the great big heaving sobs that were threatening to come out. I cried at the doctors and I cried in my room. I cried.
I told the doctor everything. She asked what I wanted to do about it. “I don’t know” I admitted. “I just want to stop feeling so awful all of the time.” She agreed that I should stop taking the old meds and explained that the only other options were all in the same class as the new ones. She warned me that the side effects could last a good three weeks more, that they didn’t tend to prescribe that class any more because the side effects tended to be so bad. I groaned and explained that I couldn’t go on as I had been, that maybe if I could only get some sleep then everything else would fall in to place.
The doctor prescribed me sleeping pills. Six little round blocks of temazepam to be spread over the time between now and my next appointment with the psychiatrist in two weeks. Not to be used six days in a row to avoid addiction and lessen the insomnia when I’m not taking them any more.
I had high hopes. I took one last night, around half an hour before I went to bed as the doctor had told me. I went to bed at about 9:30 and didn’t take long to fall asleep. That’s not my problem. I woke again just after 12. And again every hour until just after 3. I slept for another two hours and then started waking up again. I must be the only person who can wake through sleeping pills, whose husband’s snoring can wake them through the sleeping pills. I’d like to blame him. I could chuck him out of the bedroom for the next few months and get some good night’s sleep. Unfortunately we know that’s not the problem, as annoying as it may be.
And now I feel tired again. Not groggy like the doctor told me to expect. Not unable to function for a few hours until that little tablet’s effect wore off. Tired, exhausted, because it’s just another night in a long run that I’ve been unable to sleep.
I felt like crying again this morning. My back hurt. It’s not been so bad in the past month or two. At least that’s been something. Even when it has been bad, I’ve had some respite in the morning, as if a night of lying down has given it the chance to recover. This morning I didn’t get that; I could feel it even before I got up. A hot shower didn’t help, rubbing left if feeling just as bad. And all I wanted to do was lie down and cry.
This afternoon I have a catch-up with the Wicked Witch. Every part of me tells me I should try to postpone it. She’ll ask how I am, and then I’ll cry, and afterwards I’ll have to spend half an hour in the bathrooms desperately trying to fix my makeup so no-one else realises.
I don’t have the energy for it anymore.
October 12, 2009 at 12:01 · Filed under awards
It’s always nice getting awards, a little bit more bling for your blog. Of course, when a very Posh person seems to think you’re a kreativ blogger, then it’s an honour.
Of course no award comes without it’s catches, and I have to:
1. Thank the person who gave this to you
Thank you Posh Totty!
2. Copy the logo and place it in your blog
Check.
3. Link the person who nominated you
Well go on then, we’ll have another link for the Posh one.
4. Name 7 things about yourself that no one would really know.
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I have a thing about feet. I can’t stand them.
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Despite being totally organised and efficient at work, I’m actually a really messy and disorganised person.
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I have a completely irrational fear of the
mouse in our house. In fact, every time the husband thinks he’s heard/seen it, I leap over the back of the sofa (no mean feat in my pregnant state but I wouldn’t want to go around the front and risk being near it for longer than absolutely necessary) and run up the stairs until he’s sure it’s gone.
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I find it really difficult to say something worthwhile when commenting, so I tend to just waffle on or say nothing at all.
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Most of my blogroll is made up of things to waste time with, instead of ‘real’ blogs. Perhaps I should find myself a more engaging day job?
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I’ll very rarely give up on a book once I’ve started it. Even if it takes me weeks to finish.
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I can’t have a shower unless I’ve brushed my teeth first. I guess it’s habit now.
5/6. Nominate seven ‘Kreativ Bloggers and Post links to the seven blogs you nominate
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7. Leave a comment on each of the blogs letting them know you nominated them
Well that’s not relevant to any post they might have up. I’l tweet them instead!
October 12, 2009 at 10:44 · Filed under Daily Life, pregnancy
I don’t like to be touched, or messed with. The husband knows that if he so much as gives me a hug at the wrong moment, he’s likely to get his head bitten off.
Last week, when the mother in law was over, she would not stop prodding the bump. “Is he in there?” she asked. Well of course, because he’s an unborn baby, where else would he be.? All I could think was move away from the bump. Because I haven’t asked you to poke and prod me, I haven’t invited you in to my personal space. You’re just assuming that because it’s you’re grandchild in there, it’s perfectly ok for you to take control of my belly and treat it as your own. Without even asking me if I mind. I am not just a baby carrying machine here, I’m a person as well. In fact, I’m a person first and foremost, and you should respect that. To get to the baby you have to bypass me, and it’s nice if you show that you care enough about the person to gain their permission, instead of only caring about the baby inside.
So I asked the husband to have a word with her.
Perhaps if she’d asked if I minded in the first place…
Like Thursday. R asked if she could touch the bump and I let her, because I’m kind enough to realise that people do get excited when it comes to babies. I had to laugh and tease her. If I hadn’t seen her touching the bump I wouldn’t have known she’d done it she was so gentle. But that’s all ok. Because she asked first. She respected the fact that I may not want her touching the bump unannounced.
Yesterday we headed up to the mother in law’s. We stopped on the way because I just can’t hold my pee these days, and when I got back to the car, the husband had spoken to the sister in law. He had a message: “tell Lumpy he’d better not stop kicking because sister in law wants to feel it.”
“You didn’t speak to your mum, did you?” I asked him, knowing full well that he wouldn’t have. Because if he had, she would’ve bitched to the sister in law, and perhaps that comment wouldn’t have been made.
When we got there, the sister in law poked and prodded and I was a good girl. I gritted my teeth and kept quiet, making an escape as soon as I could. But, when she started doing it again I had to get out of there quick before I said something everyone else would regret. Because you know you don’t mess with the pregnant woman.
So I left the room and I did what any normal blogger does. I tweeted my unhappiness. Because that’s what you do right.
But the husband seems to think I’ve sparked some major international incident that will require the skills of Obama and his ilk to resolve, all because my tweets feed directly to Facebook and his family might see it.
I think they were all lucky that I was too tired to do anything more than tweet.
October 9, 2009 at 15:32 · Filed under Daily Life
I felt numb. I had so many words but no way to get them upon a page. The husband thought I was tired, that was why I was staring in to space. But really I felt numb. I hoped that it would get better, and I was lucky. It did. I wonder if it was more psychological than any effect of the changing medications but I doubt I’ll have any way of knowing for sure.
I’ve not slept well for weeks. I’d gotten used to waking in the night for bathroom trips. I’d sleepily stumble out of bed and make my way there and back, falling into bed again with a thud and heading straight back to sleep. But then I started waking for no reason. A few times a night I’d wake, listen to the husband snore for a while and then fall back to sleep again. It tired me, but I could deal. It certainly couldn’t be any worse than the sleep deprivation that will come in a few months time.
But then I slept for a few hours, and woke, every 15 to 20 minutes for most of the night. And I was exhausted, and numb. But I carried on anyway. The husband said it was one of the side effects and I argued that it couldn’t be. I’d only taken two tablets so far.
And the next night it happened again; I slept for a few hours then woke every hour, almost on the hour until a few hours before the alarm went off. And the next night. And the next.
I started going to bed earlier. 9:30, 9:00, 8:00. We’d sit down for dinner, the boy would go to bed and I’d be free to fall into my own. Anything for a few hours. Anything to feel human again.
Two nights ago I had a good night; the gaps between waking were longer. I felt better during the day. I stayed up later going to bed just after 9:30. But it didn’t work. Today I feel just as bad as before.
Then there’s the heat. The office is cold at best but I’m burning up like I’m standing beside a furnace. I’m so hot and sweaty that I feel sick. The tube is no better. It’s been bad since summer, but this past week it’s seemed so much worse. People sit there in their winter coats but I strip off the layers. I’ve stopped carrying a cardigan back and forth to the office, it sits in my locker just in case. Instead I travel in a lightweight jacket which comes off as soon as I descend into the dirty tunnels. Still I roast, unable to gain even the slightest control over my internal thermostat. I disembark from the train feeling physically sick, dizzy, weak. All I can think of is making it up those escalators and out in to the cool autumn air. I’ve had to ask the husband to pick me up from other stations, just so I can travel on overground lines in the hope of a little moving cool air.
I don’t know which problems are symptomatic of which issues. Is it pregnancy, tiredness, or the new medication? I’m so exhausted that by each afternoon I have headaches, dizziness. Both I know are a problem for me when I’m overly tired, but they’re also listed symptoms of the medication.
The house has fallen by the wayside. It’s not important when compared with the search for sleep. The laundry remains unwashed, days’ worth of washing up piled in the sink. I tried to attack both but I gave in preferring to sleep. This morning I had to tumble dry underwear in the hope that it would dry in time to be worn before we had to leave. There was none left in two out of three drawers.
I wonder what will fall next. My work is shoddy, maybe it’ll be that. Perhaps time with the boy spent doing his homework. Maybe eating in the evening will be the next to go. Surely I can only eat two meals a day if it means another hour’s sleep.
I have an appointment with the doctor on Monday. Already I’m not hopeful. There’s too many things to consider, all too closely linked with this new medication. It’s not the GP who’s prescribed it to me but the psychiatrist. How willing will she be to interfere with a treatment plan another doctor has devised?
What I do know is that I can’t go on.
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