Life Goes On

This morning I went for a run. The thing about running is you can pretty much tell in the first five minutes how it's going to go. On a good day, like one of those great, cool autumn days, I'm as light as a feather. Other days, it's like running in quicksand. My side starts hurting or my knee is giving too much. There is however a third option that I was thinking about this morning. Sometimes, if I just keep running I can move past the aches and pains and get into the zone.

I had a rocky start today. Not just on my run. I popped into the grocery to pick up a couple of things and the only other person there was a mom with a baby. This baby looked just like my son only she was a little girl. Same wild hair, same chubby legs, same pout. I started to well up, fighting back tears. When I was pregnant I didn't want to be and now that I'm not, I'm sentimental. I think this is the fundamental problem we face as human beings - how to be happy with what we have and where we are and not regret what's past or what we can't change.

When I checked email this morning, I had lots of Facebook messages from my ongoing thread. The six of us have been at it now for months. There will be a flurry of activity, then silence, then someone finds a picture from 1982 and we're back at it. As I've said before I really love my thread. I'm getting to know people as adults that I didn't know all that well as kids for the most part. They're all really stellar human beings.

This has been a tough year. Friends have lost jobs and worse. This one woman Shannon is such a hot shit. She's an artist and a golfer, mom to four and recently divorced--just battling back from the depths and still funny as hell.

Today Shannon sent this message to the group:

I have no idea why, but "Bungle in the Jungle" is playing in my head. This morning was my last time in the car pool line after almost 20 years of doing it. Bittersweet. I can't tell you how many times I've sat idling in the high school parking lot picking up or dropping off and have seen all of us in flashbacks. There's always the kid that starts the school year looking like he's ready to join the ROTC and ends the year looking like a rock star. I just have a hard time believing it's been so many years since we were all there.

For Shannon, her kids are moving on. For me, my pregnant days are over. For some of the threaders, it's losing a job and becoming Mr. Mom. But life keeps moving and we'd best do the same.

When I run with my son, he hates it because he hasn't quite made it to that place where you feel like you're flying. To him every step is taking away from something else he'd rather do. To me, I'm grateful to still be taking the steps at all. Just keep running I tell him. It will get easier. He's young. He'll learn.

I saw Dave Matthews interviewed on Sunday Morning. It was a fairly somber piece about the near break-up of the band and the sudden death of their saxophonist. Dave said to the interviewer, "The fact that we're going to die is a pretty good reason to stop complaining."

To watch them grow. To stop complaining. To just keep running. Life goes on.

Will's Birthday

I've been catching up with friends this week and I have to say what a great group of friends I have. Lucky girl I am. Instead of spending more time worrying about my stuff, I'm going to write about the day Will was born.

It was a Memorial Day weekend just like this one, also a Sunday. Around four o'clock in the morning I got up to go pee and just kept peeing. I called out to Rod, "I think something is wrong." Then I realized this must be what happens when your water breaks. We called the doctor who asked me to describe the contents of the toilet bowl. Because the water was yellowish they wanted me to come in immediately. They would explain later that they suspected meconium which means Will had likely taken his first tiny poop in utero.

Because of the meconium there is a risk of infection to the baby, so the doctors wanted to get him out as quickly as possible. We decided to induce using pitocin, a nasty drug that has to be administered through an IV. For me that meant my Lamaze stuff was out the window. No showers or baths, no rolling on a yoga ball, no walking around the hospital. I had an IV, a catheter and a fetal heart monitor so I was tethered to my bed. The pitocin seemed to have no effect as I lay there not effacing and not dilating. It took me hours and hours to get to two centimeters. So the day and then the night wore on and on.

Rod very kindly agreed to let me watch the Stanley Cup and the NBA finals. I was so uncomfortable I really didn't care. Sometime in the middle of the night they called in an anesthesiologist to administer a blank? I've blocked it from my memory. Just asked Rod and he said, "The saddle block?" Yes Rod the saddle block like they give horses. What the hell is it called? Administered into the spine. Should remember that.

Anyway, sweet relief. I dozed for two hours. I can't remember if it was before or after, I think before, that one of my awesome nurses let me take a shower. It was completely against the rules for her to do this but I really appreciated it. I could glimpse why being in the water while giving birth could be a good thing.

As the morning rolled around, I was finally at the right station or effaced enough to start pushing. Unfortunately at that point, some 30 hours after being induced, I no longer had any energy. I was tapped out. My epidural (THAT'S THE WORD) had worn off and I was back to uncensored pain. The OB finally came in and it was the one guy I didn't want. Hair plugs man. I remember looking down at his hair plug head and wanting to kill him.

After pushing for two hours and getting nowhere, hair plugs said something like, "We probably should've done a C-section but it's too late. So you need to get your ass in gear and push this baby out." Those weren't his exact words.

Finally, there was Will. He didn't cry. He was very calm. They had a special team in the room at that point to check his lung function and make sure he didn't have an infection. He just sat there under the warming lights. I could see Rod put his hand on his chest and almost cover it entirely. Will was a big baby, 9 pounds 4 ounces.

As Rod loves to remind me, I was not feeling particularly maternal at that point. I had a fourth degree tear and had to have stitches. I hated Dr. Hair Plugs and Rod and pretty much everyone except my nice nurses. So Will waited patiently for me to change my attitude and then I got to hold him for the first time. He was a beautiful boy. Really the most beautiful boy with a full head of dark hair. But the thing was his demeanor. To come into the world as he did through much pain and chaos and to just sit there quietly observing, was amazing.

He's still a beautiful boy. Still even keeled. Not really quiet anymore but calm. Happy 11th Will! Love, Mom

Nine Weeks

I made an appointment with an OB/GYN for today. I'm not pregnant anymore. They're scheduling me for a D&C next week. Twins they think but he said there was something very wrong. I'm sorry to friends who will find out about this from my blog.

After we decided to ride out the pregnancy and see what was going to happen, we still didn't want Will to know anything about it. He would've been really excited about the prospect of a baby. So we kept it a secret from everyone.

Now Rod's brought me flowers. Think I might spend a few hours crying. I didn't want to have a baby but it feels so strange to accept what's happening and then it's over.

The Irish Goodnight

Last Friday we went to a neighbor's house for a dinner party. My sister-in-law started this supper club and Deb and John were the next to man up. I'm sort of hoping no one calls me on this obligation because our dining room is a disaster area. Like one of those burned out buildings in Saving Private Ryan.

Right before dinner my husband started to feel unwell as we say. His stomach was bothering him. He was truly bummed because the man loves his dinner. And his lunch. And his breakfast. He asked me to say his goodbyes so he could go home without making a fuss and off he went.

When people noticed my husband was no longer with us, I told them he'd headed home. Our host John then said, "Oh the old Irish Goodnight." I've never heard this phrase before but that's exactly what happened. It was all great to see you, glad handing, munching on hors d'oeuvres and then poof my husband vanished.

So here's to John Carley for a classic one-liner. The Irish Goodnight.

Toby's New Trick

I find particularly with TV commercials, the stereotypes still out there about women are absolutely infuriating. Because I'm also in the marketing business, I'm even more offended that creative people like myself could come up with these concepts and then sell them to clients without so much as a thought as to how ridiculous women look.

To that end, I'll be pointing out major offenders as I see them. First up, Stanley Steemer and the dog butt scrubbing incident.

First of all, I don't know what they did to that poor dog to make him scrub his butt. Either they had a casting call for dogs with worms or they infected the dog with worms. Either way, just cruel.

Second I think the two women are wearing exactly the same ugly sweater in different colors. (cheap ass production budget)

Third no mother is going to shriek in horror at dog butt scrubbing. Let me tell you Stanley Steemer copywriting team, mothers are bad asses who have seen all manner of horrors. You can't imagine what comes out of a child's body, from their noses to their bums. Absolutely horrifying. Not only that, it often ends up on our clothes and we walk around town wearing it, completely unfazed.

Get a grip. You want to throw a woman a curveball? You'd better come up with something better than worms. Because that's the least of our worries.

Dear God Don't Take Him Now. You Don't Want Him.

I've been a little too Mommy Dearest lately in my blogging so I'm moving on. Normally that would mean ripping on my husband. I am pretty sure he's going to cock up Mother's Day again but I usually get something sweet that my son was forced to make in school. Hopefully that's the case this year.

The reason I can't slag on my husband is because I had an eye opening experience about two weeks ago. I was in the kitchen making dinner when I heard a loud thump like something big dropping hard. I thought my husband's computer or printer had fallen off his desk. I called his name and he didn't answer. I poked my head in the door of his office and couldn't see him. That was because he was lying on the ground out cold.

I ran over to him, shaking him trying to wake him. His eyes were open but his breathing was heavy and he was not responding at all. About a month ago we cancelled our home phone because we really never use it and only get telemarketing calls on it for the most part. I'd turned my cell phone off because I didn't want to be bothered while cooking.

I scrambled to get my phone, turn it on and wait while that stupid hourglass sifted the hands of frickin' time. When the phone came on I dialed 9111. That's 911 with an extra 1. When I realized my screw-up I was mashing the hang-up button and trying to redial when my husband woke up and looked at me like I was crazy. I was crying hysterically thinking he was having a stroke. He has those bad Southern genes, high cholesterol and high blood pressure. He has the blood pressure under control now (for the most part) but you never know.

So he's sitting there on the floor like he's just come out of a deep sleep. He had no recollection of what happened and no idea why I was crying. I told my friends it was like that scene in On Golden Pond when Norman appears to be leaving this life and Ethel is trying to keep him here. She says, "Dear God don't take him now. You don't want him." Believe me God, the same goes for Rod.

We just sat there for a few minutes - me trying to stop crying and Rod looking like a little kid who thinks he's in trouble. I am so thankful our son was in the shower and saw none of this. Rod tried standing up and it went pretty well. He had a huge knot on his head, a scrape at his temple and a small cut in the corner of his mouth - all on one side. He'd hit the metal base of a chair on the way down.

We sat there debating going to the ER when our son appeared. We decide it would be best to take my son to my brother's house if we were going to the ER.

By the way I called two urgent care places to try to have him seen there. The first was closing. The second had a seriously rude doctor on call. Fairfield Family Medical Care has no heart. I called them and got a receptionist who passed me to the doctor. I explained what had happened and the doctor said he would not see us - we had to go to the emergency room. So I started to explain why we didn't want to go to the emergency room, namely because my husband hadn't paid our COBRA for the month and I wasn't sure if we would have to pay for an ER visit ourselves. The doctor interrupted me to say he knows no one wants to go the ER but that's too bad. When I explained the possible lack of insurance, he continued to be an asshole but suggested that at the ER they would probably observe him until midnight. He told me not to give my husband anything to drink or eat except sips of water and no medication.

So that's what we did. We sat up until 12 and then I set my alarm to wake up every few hours to make sure he was still breathing. He is by the way, still breathing.

The next day my husband went to see our doctor and she prescribed a series of tests from an MRI to a carotid artery test. He passed the EKG and MRI. We're still waiting to hear about the carotid artery and the echocardiogram.

The doctor thinks my husband overdid it the weekend before - playing hours of baseball and then tennis with our son. Before he passed out he'd had a glass of wine that he drank quickly. She thinks the dehydration combined with the wine caused his blood pressure to plummet and he passed out.

Since my husband resigned from his job he's been working at home and that's always a bit irritating, but particularly now because we are also renovating our house and are basically sitting side by side in what used to be our dining room.

I guess I learned a few things from this experience. One be better prepared for emergencies. Two pay your GD insurance premium. Three I'm not ready for my husband to leave this life.

Weeks

I haven't measured my life in weeks for a very long time. How many weeks are you?

Last week I found out I was 5 weeks. Pregnant. At 45. I can't tell you the shock associated with hearing those words at my age. Obviously we were not doing fertility or taking other measures to make this happen. Complete fluke. I took the test and saw the faintest of second lines. Must be a mistake I thought. I called my doctor and told her about the test and she wanted me to come to her office immediately because I was also cramping.

I took a blood test there that confirmed the pregnancy and then she expedited an ultrasound for me so they could check for ectopic pregnancy or other irregularities.

I have said on more than one occasion that we made a huge mistake not having another child. The truth is we did have other pregnancies but no other children. And now, at 45, with a nearly eleven year-old son, now is not what I meant. I think this is the ultimate be careful what you wish for scenario.

We thought about it over the weekend and I googled all the horrors associated with pregnancy at my age. Let me tell you it is not good. According to one report the chances of my getting pregnant at 45 with my own eggs is less than 1% because all my other eggs are "abnormal". I have an over 50% chance of miscarriage and a 1 in 12 chance of birth defect.

After thinking and crying my husband and I made a difficult decision to end the pregnancy. So I called my doctor to tell her that's what I'd decided and she didn't even have the balls to call me back. She had her 20 year-old nurse call me to tell me she didn't think the doctor "would agree with that". Call Planned Parenthood or my OB/GYN - that I don't really have because I haven't been pregnant in 12 years. I have one doctor who saw me in the ER during my last miscarriage. So I called the offices of that doctor, clearly distraught, and the receptionist tells me, "They'd have nothing to do with that."

So here it is, the real deal. While abortion is legal, they're going to make it as tough on you as you can possibly imagine. I called Summit Women's Health, a Planned Parenthood like organization. The receptionist was very kind and we made an appointment. Because I was only 5 weeks, I was eligible to take a pill versus surgical option which I really didn't want to do. I am pro-choice by the way but it's a choice I never thought I'd have to make.

The receptionist at Summit told me to be prepared for the protestors outside and just to ignore them. I hung up the phone and immediately started crying again. Not only was I doing this thing, I'd have to deal with fanatics waving pictures of dead fetuses in my face and screaming baby killer.

I don't know. I guess I am a baby killer. I don't feel like a baby killer. I feel like someone who's got to make a terrible choice.

The same week I turned up pregnant, my husband collapsed on the floor of his office. I heard a loud bang and went running in and there he was on the floor, staring out eyes, open and breathing irregularly. He was out for a minute while I was frantically trying to a) turn on my cell phone and b) dial 911. I dialled an extra 1 and in the time it took me to try to end that call, he woke. He asked me why I was crying. "I thought you were dying," I kept repeating. As it turns out, I might have been a bit hysterical because of the hormones.

I ultimately cancelled my appointment at Summit. The radiologist who did the ultrasound told me about a new test they can do called CVS. She said they can do it before 12 weeks, "before I start to show." That's code for in case the test for abnormalities turns out positive, they can terminate the pregnancy. In all likelihood that's what will happen and I will end up getting that abortion only in a way that makes doctors more comfortable.

I have another week to do the pill option and I may go through with it. Part of me is horrified of ending up on the evening news, my son seeing it and all his friends seeing it. Part of me is fucking pissed off. What I learned last week is we can choose but the choices are tough. I guess that's fair but it seems like such a circus for something that is so private and sad.