After a successful four-day couch-sitting marathon, I think I am ready to apply for a license in interior design. I've watched enough HGTV to help pretty much any of my friends design their rooms on a dime.
Besides, it would likely be much easier to convince people to pick beige paint for a wall color over sending a Soldier in a wait status to a school. Right? I'm certain of it.
Don't get me wrong, I do love being a Soldier, but don't you think being an interior designer would be way fun? Think about it -- some cute carpenter with bulging biceps and a little tool belt who can build a floor to ceiling apothecary that holds everything in its place. Ooh, and some assistant who can bring me fabric swatches with a skinny vanilla latte without me even asking.
Yeah, that would be fun. Three more days before it's back to reality. I wonder if the school of design tests on Fridays?
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Wednesday, September 29, 2010
Time for 2010 to move on
I think I can honestly say, without a doubt, that the year 2010 can certainly move on. I'm not even sure if I need for the holidays to even come. We can just skip it and start with a fresh 2011.
In this year, I've lost my dad, a great friend who was an outstanding Soldier and two unborn babies. I'm pretty sure that's enough for 365 days.
In June, I thought the scariest part of this year would be moving on without my dad. All the things he would miss -- birthdays, holidays and of course the birth of his grandchildren.
I'm sure you could imagine my hesitation and reservations when I found out Sept. 2 that I was pregnant for the third time (and I have no kids, so you do the math). Due to my complicated history with what most women would consider "the happiest time of life," I began my twice-weekly visits with the greatest ob/gyn in Frankfort.
I began shooting up with Lovenox, a blood thinner, every night, progesterone and taking extra folic acid. An extensive genetic test produced results that concluded a baby won't survive inside me without a combination of the drug cocktail.
After a couple scares, we finally saw the heartbeat Sept. 23 and I was ready to accept I would be a mom. But alas, nature -- God -- whatever had decided it's just not the time.
Sunday I went back to the doctor and the heartbeat was silent. Monday he had me come back in and in the place where a baby once was were numerous clots that were causing me so much pain I could barely stand without crying, sit without writhing in pain or sleep without waking to intense cramping and back spasms. Not to mention the extensive amount of blood I was losing.
My blood pressure was dropping (explained my lightheadedness for the last 24 hours), and due to the pain, my doctor suggested a D&C immediately. So, around the parking lot we went to the outpatient surgery where the medical teams at Frankfort Regional took exceptional care of me.
The anaesthesiologist was former SF out of Fort Bragg. We talked about our friends who have died (he saw my bracelet honoring Hunter -- he was wearing one for his buddy), and he showed me pictures of him with a full beard while he was in A-stan.
Then he explained the risks of the drugs he was about to push to me. I may throw up, it could go into my lungs and I'd get pneumonia. I was glad he didn't think Paula Deen was a crackwhore and he thought my choice of pre-surgery entertainment was soothing. I told him I didn't want any breathing tubes and he told me that wasn't my choice. I quivered and told him I'd cry. He said that's okay.
It took him about 5 minutes and two sticks to get in my IV. But I didn't hold it against him. All Army medics usually take at least 5 or 6 sticks. I don't know why, I have really nice veins, at least that's what the nurses always say. But finally, he stuck me, and gave me something that made me feel like my head weighed 8000 pounds.
Off we went, down the hall and into the bright room with all sorts of bells and whistles. And I thought I'd cry. Is this what Dad saw? I wondered if it was the last thing he remembered seeing. The bright circle lights above him, nurses covered with face masks and goggles. Not really soothing. They should've had some spa music or something playing don't you think? The last thing I said was I love you. I think I was telling it to my Dad. The nurses thought I was talking to them. Maybe I wanted to say it to both.
When I woke up I freaked out. I didn't remember where I was and then I realized I had lost another baby. Nice. I could feel that I was bleeding and I still couldn't move. "Oh hunny," my nurses said and they put a tissue on my chest. Strong work ladies, I can't move my arms yet. But my doctor came to my rescue, wiped my tears and through HIS tears, told me he would call me later. Oye.
I've been on the couch for the last 2.5 days. We went to dinner tonight with Kris' dad and stepmom. I ate the hell out of some Apple Streusel French Toast at Cracker Barrel. I thought breakfast (always my Dad's comfort food) would make it better. Eh, it went down good, but really didn't make much better.
Because in June, when I thought the scariest part of this year would be moving on without my dad, I was clearly wrong. The scariest part about 2010 is the fact that I might not be able to have a healthy pregnancy which would mean not being able to carry a baby to term.
I've never accepted failure well and that's kinda the ultimate failure for any woman -- not being able to reproduce.
So, that's the scariest part of 2010 and I have concluded that it is indeed, time for 2010 to move on.
In this year, I've lost my dad, a great friend who was an outstanding Soldier and two unborn babies. I'm pretty sure that's enough for 365 days.
In June, I thought the scariest part of this year would be moving on without my dad. All the things he would miss -- birthdays, holidays and of course the birth of his grandchildren.
I'm sure you could imagine my hesitation and reservations when I found out Sept. 2 that I was pregnant for the third time (and I have no kids, so you do the math). Due to my complicated history with what most women would consider "the happiest time of life," I began my twice-weekly visits with the greatest ob/gyn in Frankfort.
I began shooting up with Lovenox, a blood thinner, every night, progesterone and taking extra folic acid. An extensive genetic test produced results that concluded a baby won't survive inside me without a combination of the drug cocktail.
After a couple scares, we finally saw the heartbeat Sept. 23 and I was ready to accept I would be a mom. But alas, nature -- God -- whatever had decided it's just not the time.
Sunday I went back to the doctor and the heartbeat was silent. Monday he had me come back in and in the place where a baby once was were numerous clots that were causing me so much pain I could barely stand without crying, sit without writhing in pain or sleep without waking to intense cramping and back spasms. Not to mention the extensive amount of blood I was losing.
My blood pressure was dropping (explained my lightheadedness for the last 24 hours), and due to the pain, my doctor suggested a D&C immediately. So, around the parking lot we went to the outpatient surgery where the medical teams at Frankfort Regional took exceptional care of me.
The anaesthesiologist was former SF out of Fort Bragg. We talked about our friends who have died (he saw my bracelet honoring Hunter -- he was wearing one for his buddy), and he showed me pictures of him with a full beard while he was in A-stan.
Then he explained the risks of the drugs he was about to push to me. I may throw up, it could go into my lungs and I'd get pneumonia. I was glad he didn't think Paula Deen was a crackwhore and he thought my choice of pre-surgery entertainment was soothing. I told him I didn't want any breathing tubes and he told me that wasn't my choice. I quivered and told him I'd cry. He said that's okay.
It took him about 5 minutes and two sticks to get in my IV. But I didn't hold it against him. All Army medics usually take at least 5 or 6 sticks. I don't know why, I have really nice veins, at least that's what the nurses always say. But finally, he stuck me, and gave me something that made me feel like my head weighed 8000 pounds.
Off we went, down the hall and into the bright room with all sorts of bells and whistles. And I thought I'd cry. Is this what Dad saw? I wondered if it was the last thing he remembered seeing. The bright circle lights above him, nurses covered with face masks and goggles. Not really soothing. They should've had some spa music or something playing don't you think? The last thing I said was I love you. I think I was telling it to my Dad. The nurses thought I was talking to them. Maybe I wanted to say it to both.
When I woke up I freaked out. I didn't remember where I was and then I realized I had lost another baby. Nice. I could feel that I was bleeding and I still couldn't move. "Oh hunny," my nurses said and they put a tissue on my chest. Strong work ladies, I can't move my arms yet. But my doctor came to my rescue, wiped my tears and through HIS tears, told me he would call me later. Oye.
I've been on the couch for the last 2.5 days. We went to dinner tonight with Kris' dad and stepmom. I ate the hell out of some Apple Streusel French Toast at Cracker Barrel. I thought breakfast (always my Dad's comfort food) would make it better. Eh, it went down good, but really didn't make much better.
Because in June, when I thought the scariest part of this year would be moving on without my dad, I was clearly wrong. The scariest part about 2010 is the fact that I might not be able to have a healthy pregnancy which would mean not being able to carry a baby to term.
I've never accepted failure well and that's kinda the ultimate failure for any woman -- not being able to reproduce.
So, that's the scariest part of 2010 and I have concluded that it is indeed, time for 2010 to move on.
And another one bites the dust ...
I've been against blogging pretty much since the day that I learned that it existed.
Not really sure why. I guess I'm just an oldie who loves the smell of newsprint or magazines. I like to hold in my hand what I'm reading and it has taken me probably four or five years to realize that not everyone likes to hold what they are reading.
The journalist in me is also a little queazy because if I miss a punctuation mark, or spell a word incorrectly, it will be here for all to see until one of my copyediting friends corrects me. Oh drat. As if I'm not worried enough during the day.
Enough about that.
What is this blog? Well, it's my sounding board. A place for me to tell the tales of this PA Drama Queen for all to see. (Perhaps one day I will disclose where the nickname comes from.)
So, this is my first post, and I'm about to write another. Only because I feel that writing is my therapy and it's a way for me to express myself. It allows me to put it all out there in one swift click of a button and then rather than me telling 20598693 people about it, they can just read it.
So here it is, the tales of a PA Drama Queen. Enjoy, and I do hope you come back.
Not really sure why. I guess I'm just an oldie who loves the smell of newsprint or magazines. I like to hold in my hand what I'm reading and it has taken me probably four or five years to realize that not everyone likes to hold what they are reading.
The journalist in me is also a little queazy because if I miss a punctuation mark, or spell a word incorrectly, it will be here for all to see until one of my copyediting friends corrects me. Oh drat. As if I'm not worried enough during the day.
Enough about that.
What is this blog? Well, it's my sounding board. A place for me to tell the tales of this PA Drama Queen for all to see. (Perhaps one day I will disclose where the nickname comes from.)
So, this is my first post, and I'm about to write another. Only because I feel that writing is my therapy and it's a way for me to express myself. It allows me to put it all out there in one swift click of a button and then rather than me telling 20598693 people about it, they can just read it.
So here it is, the tales of a PA Drama Queen. Enjoy, and I do hope you come back.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)