Growing up

Well, my first baby, Gavin, is 11 years old now. Honestly hard to believe. I know how cliche'ed it sounds, but it really does seem like I just brought him home from the hospital yesterday. He is SUCH a good kid. He's quiet, kind, empathetic, caring, sensitive. Sure, he has his moments, but I can't believe how lucky I got with a kid as genuinely good as him. He's staring Middle School in the fall and of course I am worried about so many things-- him being bullied, being exposed to alcohol and drugs, girls, you know.

Oh my- I just found this draft of a post I started 3 YEARS ago! Gavin is starting high school in 2 days. Time really gets away, doesn't it?

Kindness

So it's said that people won't remember what you said, but they will remember how you made them feel....and I know that this is something I really need to work on. Growing up, I learned to be venomous with my words, to strike deep in defense. I was taunted and teased by kids and emotionally, verbally, and, at times, physically abused by my mother. I was small, and weak, and my voice, my words were all I had to strike back with. Oh, I took the teasing and abuse for many years before finding my voice....but once I found it, I realize that it hurts people way too much. Ironically, as cruel as I can be with my words, I am excessively empathetic and end up feeling terrible when my words or actions made others feel badly. This is a character flaw I have struggled with for many years and am trying to do better. Every year my New Year's Resolution is to "stop cussing and be kinder". And every year, I don't think I do nearly as well as I should. I will continue, though, because I don't want my legacy to be "the girl who makes people feel shitty".....

I'll just jump right into this one.
Back when I was about 15 I started having what I know now to be panic attacks. At the time I just thought I was dying. Truly. I remember I had my first one on the school bus. So, now, public transportation of ANY kind is a huge obstacle for me.
Anyway, I continued to have them, well, forever. Because I still have them. That's 22 years of unnecessary adrenalin pumping through my veins, washing over my body and saturating my heart. This cannot be good for my health. At first the panic attacks came infrequently, but they progressed to being daily in my early 20's. At one point I was almost housebound for a year or so. Going out to get my mail was an accomplishment, walking my dog around the block was almost always a failure, and grocery shopping was impossible. Due to my emet, when I have panic attacks, I am unable to eat, so throughout my 20's and early 30's, I was exceptionally thin. Like, accused-of-having-an-eating-disorder thin. I went from a curvy, healthy, slightly plump weight of 120-125 down to a skeletal 92 in a few short months. In my mid-20's I was FINALLY diagnosed with panic attacks and depression and put on an antidepressant and anti-anxiety medications. They helped immensely and I was able to function much better in the world.

Which brings us to now......well, last year really. Being on daily medications for 13 years was taking its toll on me mentally and physically. I was always tired. And not just tired, but genuinely fatigued. To the point that some afternoons I was physically unable to keep my eyes open. My children got used to seeing me in bed. ALL the time. I also had gained 20 (yes TWENTY!) pounds over the last 2 years. I decided I had to go off the anti-depressant and see if that would alleviate the fatigue, help me lose weight and give me my life back! I talked to my doctor and very slowly weaned myself off of the AD over a period of 6-8 weeks. In a very short amount of time I started having more energy! I even hired a personal trainer to start working out to try to lose that weight. I had pretty much stopped having regular panic attacks and therefore was eating very well and was in no danger of anyone thinking I had an eating disorder....unless it was overeating ;-) I had completely stopped my AD in April and decided in May that I wanted to wean myself off the anti-anxiety med which I had taken every single day for the last 13 years. (I had previously went off the AD several times over the 13 year period I was on it). I wanted to see how I could cope without any medication. Like a normal person. Again, I talked to my doctor and very slowly weaned myelf off the anti-anxiety medication and was med free by July. Yay me!
Things went well for quite a few months. In late December/early January I was feeling a bit depressed, but weathered it and attributed it to the winter blahs. There is always a chance I will have to go back on them, but for now I'm ok.
Now, for the anti-anxiety meds.....I'm not so sure I am doing well off of them. Back in the early winter I realized I was having more panic attacks, and closer together. And, even worse, my panic attacks were manifesting themselves in what I refer to as 'episodes' wherein I typically wake up in the middle of the night and a panic, thinking I am sick, and I fight getting sick for hours until I collapse into a phenergan induced coma. Then I am unable to eat for days.......and sometimes-- like today- these episodes come on out of the clear blue in the middle of the day....
I am just so exhausted. A couple weeks ago I decided to start taking my anti-anxiety every other evening to see if it will reduce or eliminate (or at least reduce the severity of!) my panic episodes. When these episodes come on, I usually start out feeling fidgity and progressing to feeling like I am coming out of my skin. In the midst of them, I also feel deeply depressed and wonder how I am supposed to get through life having to endure these things over and over and over and over and over and over again :-( And at this point, I cannot understand how I will. It's depressing, honestly. And exhausting. The episodes can progress to me feeling like I'm going to throw up for several hours and I typically must take some of my anti-anxiety meds and some phenergan in order to survive them. I admit that each one I go through makes me want to die. It remains to be seen if the addition of the anti-anxiety meds on an every-other-night basis will help with reducing/preventing/reducing the severity of the episodes.
But I pray that it will. Otherwise I will have to go back on my anti-depressant and go back into hibernation for the rest of my life :(

This was a very depressing post. I'm sorry!

Reflections....

So tonight is premier night for a ton of TV shows I watch. One is The Secret Life of the American Teenager. It's about this 15 year old girl who gets pregnant. On tonight's episode, she marries her high school sweetheart......and they elope to do it. It took me back 19 years to when I married Chuck in the Mayor's court of the City of Englewood on May 18, 1990. Looking back....I realize I was so young, so naive. I think I've become jaded. Anytime I see really young people getting married I think, uh-oh, that can't last. I know, it's not nice, but it's what I think. Probably because I've taken the plunge five times. That is not a typo. And I was actually engaged (with a ring!) at least 3 additional times. I dunno, I guess I'm addicted to love. Or engagement rings ;-)

But back to Chuck....I was so in love with him. I truly wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. I wanted to have his babies. So what happened? Why did I change my mind? Why did I change it so many other times, too? This is something I have been talking about in therapy and something I really haven't gotten an answer to yet. I guess, with Chuck, I just didn't realize the true meaning of what I was doing. That I should have put someone else's happiness ahead of my own. I'm so sad remembering that. Chuck wanted to have babies very quickly. I did not. I wonder if I had just listened to him, where would my life have been? Would I still be with him? Would we be celebrating our 19th anniversary this year? I'm not sure I 'regret' anything I've done, though I do reflect on those things that I wouldn't repeat and wonder how my life would have turned out if I hadn't done that thing or made that choice. I heard a quote somewhere that I love..."Regrets are mistakes I didn't learn from, and I learn from all my mistakes, so I don't have regrets"....or something close to that. You get the idea. I think it's a nice sentiment. Of all my divorces, I miss Chuck the most. And not even in a "I want to get back together" way....I just miss him. I miss me from those days. I was so young. I guess that's what I miss the most. My youth.

Wow

I cannot believe how long it has been since I wrote a blog. I guess it's because I use myspace most of the time, but sometimes a girl's just gotta blog and not be distracted by all the other stuff on sites like myspace.

Anyway.....wow, yea. I'm 2 years older. And really finally realizing it. I was lying in bed a few nights ago and realized... I'm getting old. I am beyond my 'hot' years. This revelation was disquieting to say the least. I had an awkward childhood, then awkward teen years. I was cute, but because I had been such a geek in elementary school, I never saw myself as cute. Then in my late teens and early 20s I was so sick all the time, and so very thin (92 pounds at one point), that I didn't have the energy to appreciate my youth and budding beauty. My late 20s and early 30s, however, were HOT DAMN! I had some great times, I really felt good about my body and attractive, I dated alot.....they were good years. As I reflect, they were most definitely my most attractive years. At one point I had a cougar phase and, at 31, I briefly dated an 18 year old. BARELY 18. Yea, I know! In my defense, I had met him in a bar and he was wearing a wristband (indicating that he was at least 21) and he had told me he was 24. A couple weeks later, I saw his driver's license and discovered that not only was he only 18, but he had just turned 18 two months prior! Oy vey! AND he was still in high school! He had been able to hide it for a couple weeks because he went to a vocational school where he worked for 2 weeks, then attended school for 2 weeks, then back to work, etc. I had met him the weekend prior to his 2 week work phase and went and met him for lunch at his job site several times, he came and spent the night with me, etc. What was even worse was that I was only a couple years younger than his mother! Literally! Anyway, we split when I discovered how old he really was, but we remain friends. But, yea, it was a lot of fun (and very flattering!) to be 31 and have this hot, young, hardbodied teenager interested in me. As I laid in bed the other night, however, I realize that this will not be possible for me again. Well, I mean, I'm married so of course it won't happen again....but I'm just saying...if I was single, it's not gonna happen. I notice the loss of elasticity in the skin on my face and neck. I'm starting to look haggard. I can only imagine what I will look like in another 10 years. I've always prided myself on looking much younger than I am...and even well into my 30's, I was always mistaken for being in my 20s. I doubt that would ever happen again and it saddens me. It puts me closer to death, lol. Seriously, tho, I know there have to be plenty of women out there who have went through this revelation...and I wonder, how do you handle it? It's almost overwhelming to think about, but not something you can really ask someone else. I mean, if you say "Hey, I just wondered how you felt when you realized you weren't a hot young thing anymore?".....you are essentially saying 'You are not a hot young thing anymore', and that is as patently unacceptable as asking a women when she is due when she has not personally, herownself, told you that she is expecting. (Another mistake I made once, and never repeated. Oh, the embarrassment!).....So, any words of advice? Shoot them my way!

My phobia rears it's ugly head....

Well, as most of you who read this know, I suffer from emetophobia {fear of vomiting} (and I DO mean SUFFER). Well, my eldest has woken us about 45 minutes ago with vomiting and he had another bout about 5 minutes ago. His stepfather, Doug, bless his heart is taking care of everything and I have simply grabbed my laptop and ran outside. Had to take an extra dose of tranquilizer and I'm freaking. All you "normal" people out there are going "what the hell is her problem??!! Her kid threw up. So what." Well, it is a BIG deal to me, that is why it is a PHOBIA. In irrational fear. And I KNOW that it is "not a big deal"....my mind really does know that.....but when something triggers me, my phobia kicks in and that's all she wrote :-( I REALLY hope no one else catches whatever he has.....poor kid.

Rosemary's Baby

Yes, I did it. I designed this shirt for my little angel.....go ahead and laugh- you know you wanna!

The Aftermath

OK, so as I'm getting discharged from the hospital I'm told that I cannot drive (ok, not so bad) & cannot go up or down ANY stairs. Um, not an option. We live in a quad level home. You walk in and you are in the living room, walk through that and you are in the kitchen and dining room. To get to the downstairs (which has a family room, bathroom, office and laundry room) and the basement you have to-- yes, go downSTAIRS. Or, alternatively, if I wanted to go up to the bathroom and bedrooms, I had to go upSTAIRS. I did opt to sleep on the couch so I would be more comfortable (it was easier to get up and down from the couch than the bed), BUT I had to make several trips a day up the stairs or down the stairs to one of the bathrooms. It was a slow and painful process, I can assure you. I would place one hand on my incision site as if to protect anything from falling out and then use my other hand and arm to try and pull myself slowly up or down the stairs. Then, when I actually made it to the bathroom, I had to carefully undo my girdle thing, then SLOWLY lower myself onto the toilet. Probably TMI, but I'm just being honest here and want ya'll to realize how painful it was!! After I was done peeing, I had to SLOWLY stand back up, very gently pull my drawers up and then put my girdle back on (OH! I LOVED my girdle!!! it made me feel more secure :-) then I'd shuffle my way slowly back to the couch. I repeated this process many times over the next 10 days or so. It took a good 2-3 weeks after the surgery for me to feel human again, but the bright spot is that I lost alot of my pregnancy weight very quickly! (Hey, gotta try and find a bright spot here).
Now, here I am 10 months post partum and I'm down to and stuck at 120. I want to be at, like 112-114. I guess if I actually worked out sometime I might get there. Bikini season is almost here, so I'm gonna do my best.....will update again tomorrow and let ya'll know some new things that have been going on. Ciao, mi bellas!

The LONG awaited ending to my birth story....

I figured I better get this done before the baby turns one, eh?
OK, so where were we? Oh, yea, in recovery after the c-section, shivering uncontrollably....

So, after shaking like an epileptic with no meds for an hour or so, I finally was able to regain a little bit of composure about myself. They piled on blankets and this really cool heat filled thing that resembled a pool raft and it helped to warm me up and was really cozy :-) Doug went on to the nursery with Jaxon while I slept.
Several family members were able to come back into the recovery area and visit with me, but I was pretty out of it and don't remember a lot...I know my mom was there and Doug's mom was there and I think Heather, Dad, Glenda & Greg all came back, too. Greg had taken some pictures of Jaxon getting his first bath on his digital camera and he showed them to me. I was getting REALLY anxious to see my little munchkin and was kind of jealous that everyone else was getting to see him EXCEPT me....Doug finally came back and then Jaxon was-- FINALLY-- wheeled in in his little hospital bassinet so I could see him!! I had them sit my bed up a bit so I could hold him and the first thing I did was take his knit cap off so I could see his head and ears and hair. I hadn't seen anything except his scrunched up little face when I was in the surgical suite and I needed to see him, all of him, all his parts. Unfortunately, since they swaddle the newborns up like little burritos, I was only able to see his head and his hands, but that was enough, for now. The nurses took him back to the transitional nursery and finally wheeled me up to my room around 5:30 or 6pm. Jaxon's blood sugar had dropped and he was having trouble maintaining his temperature so he had to stay upstairs in the transitional nursery for awhile longer. He was finally brought down to my room around 8pm and I was able to nurse him a little. I was still on IV fluids and I still had my urinary catheter in. I actually LIKED the catheter! It meant I didn't have to get up to pee!! Call me weird. I was given Pitocin and precautionary antibiotics, as well as duramorph for pain. We slept off and on Wednesday night and Jaxon spent part of the night with us, and part in the nursery which was right across from our room. I spent most of the evening having my vitals checked every couple hours and C-A-R-E-F-U-L-L-Y and VERY slowly changing positions. After my surgery, then had bound my abdomen with a girdle and I LOVED IT. I wore it faithfully, even long after I was home from the hospital. It REALLY helped with the pain and walking....and I felt like my insides were going to fall out if I didn't wear it, LOL.

Thursday morning my catheter was removed and my IV fluids were stopped, though they kept my IV line in my arm to give me injectible torbuteline? torbitrol? something or other for pain. I refused any oral pain meds because I was afraid they would make me feel sick....I think I was the strangest OB patient they had ever seen. The nurses kept offering me Vicodin or Percoset or other narcotics for pain and I kept refusing. I guess most people ask for MORE and I was refusing to take any at all....after a c-section no less!...and they just didn't know what to make of me....I don't know if they thought I had some secret stash of something I was taking on the side or if they thought I was just crazy, but oh well...
Since my IV was out, I had to start taking things by mouth. I started out with sucking on ice chips and I ate a little jello and some saltines. My OB, Dr. Imbody came by to check on me and he explained that I had lost a lot more blood than usual during my surgery (damn that irritable uterus!) and that I was very anemic. My hemoglobin was only around 6.5 or so and if it dropped to 6 or below, then I would have to have a blood transfusion. Oh joy! Of course, all I could think about was that when we give dogs blood transfusions, they often vomit, so I was absolutely NOT going to let them put someone else's blood in me and take that chance. I begged them to let me take some vitamins and retest me in the morning, which they did. Friday morning (my birthday!!), my hemoglobin was up to 7.1 so I was saved from a transfusion and was very happy about that. Later in the morning, Dr Thesing stopped by to check on me and he explained that I had bled more because my uterus had been contracting so hard for so long (since 29 weeks, remember?!?) that it was just worn out and couldn't contract properly to stop the bleeding during the surgery. I'm so thankful that we went ahead and scheduled the c-section when we did or it could have been worse.
I continued nursing Jaxon Thursday and Friday. Thankfully, as with Gavin, he caught on easily and I didn't have any problems other than the HUGE bruise the nurse left on my boob when she was trying to show me how to get him to latch on properly. She squeezed my boob so hard, she left a bruise that lasted a week! I'm SO not kidding! Anyway.....Jaxon was circumcised by Dr Thesing on Friday and you could hear the poor thing crying all the way from the nursery into our hospital room :-(
The first time I got out of bed to pee was on Thursday after they removed my catheter. I waited as long as humanly possible before I did it, but finally my bladder was beyond full and I had to attempt the long walk to the john. It took several minutes to actually sit up, get my feet over the edge of the bed and then attempt to stand, but I managed to do it and it wasn't too bad because I had a lot of painkillers left in my system from the surgery. On Friday afternoon, everything started wearing off and I started getting really painful. It was very, very difficult and painful to get out of bed and walk a little in the halls, but I had to keep doing it. The nurses said it would make me recuperate faster, although after I was chatting a little with one of the nurses in the hall and she realized I was the anemic patient, her mouth literally dropped and she said she had NEVER seen anyone with a blood count as low as mine be able to get up and walk around. She was amazed and I just kept trucking along. I want to see if I can explain the pain I felt....There is, of course, the residual pain of having all those contractions for hours, days, weeks.....but, then there is the actual surgery pain. The only surgery I had had prior to this was to have my wisdom teeth removed when I was 25. I wasn't at all prepared for the pain. The incision was a horizontal incision very low on my bikini line, only about 6 inches across. For some reason, it hurt the worst on the right side of my body. Every single time I tried to get out of bed or change positions, it felt as if I were being stabbed and seared with a hot poker. I don't know how else to describe it. I now know what "searing pain" means. It's quite literal. On Friday, bless Doug's heart, he helped me to take a shower. This took quite a bit of planning and strategy. I managed to get up, shuffle into the bathroom, get undressed and s-l-o-w-l-y step into the shower (you'd be amazed at how much it hurts to step up 2 inches when your insides have just been dissected). Then I had to figure out whether I could stand for the shower or whether I was going to use one of those dorky looking "shower seats". Considering that the shower was only about as wide as my ass, I opted to stand so I could wash and get out quicker....I figured the seat thingy would just hamper things. Doug stood with me and helped me wash and he didn't even act grossed out when he saw me completely naked, jelly belly and all. He washed my hair and was just a wonderful husband. Then he helped me to get out and dry off and get my fishnet underwear and diapers back on. I don't know how on earth he could ever have wanted to have sex with me again after seeing all that, but bless him, he does :-) He also spent every single night at the hospital with me and only left to go home and feed the dogs. He had a little routine in the hospital where after I would nurse Jaxon, he would put him in his bassinet and take him for a ride around the hospital corridors....it was such a cute thing to see. I knew Doug would be a good dad, but I can tell you he is a GREAT dad......I was often heard exclaiming to anyone who would listen that if Doug had boobs, he wouldn't even need me because he does everything for Jax. OH, and to top everything off, he snuck off and told the nurses that it was my birthday on Friday and the cafeteria staff brought me a little birthday cake! My doctors wanted me to stay until Sunday, but I REALLY wanted to get home, so they released us on Saturday afternoon. It's amazing how quickly you are admitted to a hospital and how s-l-o-w-l-y they take to release you....guess they gotta milk the insurance companies for all they can, eh?

OK, here is a list of visitors we had while in the hospital:
I already mentioned who was there on Wednesday, but here is who came on Thursday:
Dad & Glenda (they brought Gavin who got to see Jaxon for the first time!! Gavin was SO excited-- he wanted to stay in the hospital with us!)
Gavin (obviously)
Helen & Sophia
Mom & Heather
Sara
Brandy, Jerry, Haylee & Ellie
Melanie
Friday visitors:
Dad, Glenda & Gavin
Donnie Rineer
Greg
Dorothy
Mom & Heather

So, that is the birth story of Jaxon Jett Ivey......and here is a picture of him today, at 9 months....