Wow, I am NOT what you'd call quick at this

On the way home from the hospital, we stopped at my parent's house to pick up my son and to let them see the new baby. I was so happy to see my son. He was happy at first and then started to cry that 'you left me alone and I didn't know where you were' cry.

Tore my heart out and I was so happy to see him. My parents were fussing with the new baby and I was fine with that. We got already, said our thank you's and headed home.

I was still trying to feel something.

We get home and I got her settled in and I take time with my son and then the new baby starts to cry. I pick her up and cuddle her and she just cries harder and I get a bottle ready and that quiets her for a little, but you can tell she is still not comfortable with me. I change her and put her down again and that is how it was for the next three months. I kept getting more tired, more angry, more confused, more fed up, more lonesome, more desperate, more alone.

Husband was working night shifts at the time, so he would come home, play with the kids, if they were awake, for a few minutes, go to bed for the day, wake up about 4, have dinner, play a little, watch TV, go to work and the whole cycle started again the next morning.

When she was 3 months old I felt I couldn't do this anymore. I seem to remember feeling so desperate, (about what I didn't know), helpless, alone, unloved, not needed. My parents didn't understand what was happening but they took her in for a few months. It helped take some stress off. I was sent to see a doctor because they thought there was 'something' going on. But no one seemed to know.

One doctor thought the answer was to put me on Valium which, if you have taken it, basically turns you into a zombie. Another one sent me to a psychologist who examined my daughter separately from me and decided that I didn't know how to relate to a child and that I "didn't know how to play".

Really????

^^$#*&@**(&(^@^$

Somewhere during this time I had a moment with doctor Valium where I felt like I could finally open up to him and he gets a phone call. He answers it and the next thing I know he is talking stocks with someone on the phone!!! I put up with it for a minute or two, then got up, told him this was supposed to be my time, and hung his phone up. I left and never heard from him again. No follow up, no nothing.

Most of this timeline is confused in my memory because I was living on and operating from some other planet.



Eventually there was one day when I was at home alone with the babies and I couldn't take the crying anymore. I found myself with my hands on other side of her in the crib, screaming my lungs out at her.

THAT was when I knew I would do something to her if I didn't get a break.

Wow, that took me some time to get back to this story didn't it.

To pick up where I left off, I was, to say the least, HURTING: mentally, physically, psychologically (although THAT would only be discovered over 25 years later).

I was having severe labour, again all in my back, but not dilating. I got to the point that I didn't care who checked whether I was or not, as long as they could help get this baby out.

After about 20 or so hours 'they' started to fuss around me a little more. I am then told, by I don't know who, that I am going to have to have a c-section as there is nothing happening and they want to protect the baby.

WTF! ! ! ! !

Nothing was discussed with me.
Nothing was explained to me.
Nobody said there might be a problem with the baby.
NOBODY asked me what I thought.

They started to wheel me there and suddenly things started to happen and they barely got me to the delivery room before she wanted OUT.


They whisked her away somewhere and I was left there with them doing what ever it is they do to you after you deliver a baby.

I did NOT get to see her.
I did NOT get to touch her.
I did NOT get to hold her.

They take me to my room, and my Mom is sitting with me when a doctor comes in and says: "She stopped breathing once, we don't know if there is any brain damage, we'll let you know" and he leaves. My Mom told me years later that she saw a mask fall over my face when he said that.

When they finally did bring her to me, I held her and felt nothing. I thought that it was just like what happened with my son. I thought a few hours will pass, I can cuddle her and nurse her and she will love me and I'll love her right back.

Except that she wouldn't nurse from me. So they supplemented her with a bottle. We kept trying to nurse, but she didn't seem to want to. Whether it was harder than a bottle I don't know, but I keep trying. I told the nurse about her not even wanting to drink from a bottle and the nurse took her in her arms and right away she would drink. The second day the pediatrician came in I asked him if he knows why she won't nurse. He says" you don't need to nurse. There are plenty of good formulas out there."

So they switch her to the bottle full time, and the 'not drinking while I'm holding her' gets worse. I am sad and confused. And also in a lot of pain, because now that the milk has come in, I am HURTING ! ! ! ! !

Its too late to have the shot to prevent it from happening, so I am stuck with compresses and ice. Yay. It comes time to go home and still I felt nothing.
I wanted to stay at the hospital.
I wanted to see my little boy.
I wanted to sleep.
I wanted to nurse.
I wanted to LOVE MY BABY!

* * * * * 

Can you sense the frustration coming?

This may explain why I'm who I am

On January 27th, 1974, I gave birth to a little baby boy. It was 10:30 at night and I remember crying once I was back in my room and 'recovering'. It had been a 28 hour labour and I was very tired.

They had shown me the baby in the delivery room and when the nurse came to check on me that night I was crying. She asked what the problem was and I explained that I didn't like the baby. I thought he was 'funny looking.'

The nurse told me I was tired and just wait until the morning. Well, I did, and when they brought that little boy to me, I was ecstatic!!!!

I was amazed, in love, smitten, thrilled, overjoyed, pleased, happy and in LOVE!

This little moving creature was mine. I made him (with some help of course). And he was meant to be my little boy.

* * * * *

During his first year of life, I had such fun with him. As he was turning one my then husband had a very bad car accident that laid him off work for several months and destroyed the brand new car. Around that time I discovered, even though on birth control, that I was pregnant again.

My late ex mother in law saw me and said, in a snotty sort of, looking down on me in a not very pleased, it was, my fault are you insane, sort of way and 'asked' me  "you're not pregnant AGAIN, are you?

*

Fast forward to July 17th, 1975. The doctor had decided that I would be induced for this baby, so I showed up pretty early in the morning with the phrase the doctor told me to use:  "I'm in labour," and with that I was taken to a room.

They hooked me up to something or other and I was 'off'.

Okay not really, because nothing happened ! ! ! ! !

So they increased the dose. In the meantime I find out the buzzer I have is not working and I have no idea where the husband is. I scream and I holler, but nobody answers. There are already enough people doing the same thing.

its now evening and my Mum arrived and sat with me for a while. Finally, 'he' shows up (he was downstairs watching the hockey game) and asks how I am doing.

So now I'm: hungry, angry, lost, hurting, scared, fed up and overall wondering why I started this in the first place. (Don't forget this happened while on birth control.)

If you have a child, you should watch this and tell all you know, whatever age.

Don't be afraid to act on your intuition.

You know how you start here and end up there??

Well, I was hanging around on YouTube and found this video. So heartbreaking yet uplifting.

How things can or cannot affect you

I've had asthma my whole life and never thought of it as some 'disease'. I knew it was a bother and that my parents had to take all kinds of precautions with me as a child. But, I never felt that I was at any 'risk' or in any 'danger'. I remember times that I ended up in a hospital and because it was a teaching hospital there would always be doctors coming around to do tests or to listen for the 'crackles' or wheezing.

It got to a point as a child that any time I saw a doctor approach I would lift my hospital pajama top up so they could listen to my lungs. It never bothered me that I remember. Mind you, I don't do that NOW when a doctor approaches me. Also as a kid, I had all kinds of scratch tests and breathing tests and x-rays and stuff. I used to have to go every week to get an allergy shot of some sort just to keep the hay fever under control and thus my asthma. Scratch tests were terrible as they were testing to see what you were allergic to. They made little pen marks on your arms(s) and beside each one made a tiny scratch with the point of a needle. Then a drop from each little vial of possible allergens was applied to its appropriate mark. If you had a reaction to something then the area they were testing would get swollen and then very itchy, but you can't scratch because it could interfere with the other places on the arm(s).

I remember when we would, as a family, go for a drive in the country. If we went down a dusty road, all the windows went up and the vents were turned off. If we drove past anyplace that was cutting straw or hay, same thing. It used to really bother my brothers and myself because it gets hot inside a car pretty quickly when you have two adults and four children in there.

Despite all this I grew up with a pretty healthy attitude about my 'disease'. It always surprised me when people made a fuss about the fact that I had ...... "ASTHMA".....

I remember having a bad night about four days after my brother had gone to hospital with his asthma. They admitted him and then one night my parents came home from visiting him to have the babysitter tell them how bad I was. Back to the hospital we go. So for about a week or so my Mum and Dad had their two oldest children in the hospital for the same thing and the other boys still at home. I don't know how they managed. I DO know that I thought it was an adventure in that I was 'away' with my brother and, even though we were in different areas of the hospital due to our age difference, he would come visit me or I would go track him down and we would play games or stuff.

I was always happy yo see my Mum and Dad when they came and they always brought a little surprise. One time it was a sleeve of tea biscuits, that I kept in my drawer ond doled as as I saw fit. Another time my Dad brought me this end of the roll newsprint. He worked at the Toronto Star then and sometimes the employees could bring home the end of the roll after a newspaper run. Can you imagine as a kid having a blank piece of seemingly endless blank newsprint to draw on? You could lay it on the floor in the hospital and draw what ever you wanted. Everyone just walked around you.

I guess I'm just thinking about how different things are now.

l find it interesting that I have to wear a Medic Alert bracelet that warns of my asthma. Oh, by the way, the only 'traumatic' thing that happened to me because of the asthma was when I was a teenager. I had to have a test done on my kidneys. The doctor told my Mum that the chance of me reacting to the dye they would have to use was like 1 in 100,000, but just to be safe we should have the test done at the hospital.

The doctor said to me you'll probably be fine and I remember saying 'with odds like that what do you want to bet that I'll react'? He just chuckled and I went home. We go to the hospital later that week and they hook me up. They say "we're injecting the dye now. How do you feel?"

I said "Fine," then almost immediately I remember saying "Oooohhh its getting dark in here." The next thing I knew I woke up in the recovery room, my Mum was absolutely frantic and I was covered in hives.

Apparently anaphylaxis is not good. I caused quite the stir in the hospital and had all kinds of doctors excited because they got to see a real, almost, fatal reaction. I guess when you're learning its nice to see what would happen. I just remember that my Mum was scared witless.

Me...

I took it in stride and remembered to tell the doctor " I told you I'd react."

Its odd how some kids grew up petrified of needles and to this day can't stand them. Whereas I see a needle coming and my veins are jumping saying here we are, come poke us.

Needles don't bother me. AT ALL. I have to get my blood tested every week to ten days now because of warfarin, but still it doesn't bother me.I think its because it was just treated as something that happens rather than this big scary thing and all this reassurance and talking about it. My folks just took me to the doctor and chatted about stuff and I read a book or played with the toys and dutifully walked in, got my shot, and waited till I was free to go. Then I went back to being a kid.

I guess my folks did a damn good job of getting me through childhood.

Tsk Tsk Tsk

It looks like one of us has been neglecting the blog lately.

Not mentioning any names......!

* * * * *

Well, I guess once the novelty of testing me every week had worn off, I got a little complacent with writing. That's just pure "I'll do it tomorrow -ishness". I keep thinking 'ehh, I'll write something tomorrow. I'm too (tired, lazy, sick, hurt, whatever) to have written that particular day. 

I think it actually comes down to sitting at the computer and not having a title. For me, having a title is sort of where I start. Once I have that, then usually the words start to come.

Now obviously I must have had something that makes me think of a title, but, to me, it always feels like I have the title first.

* * * * * 

So, the INR thing is only being checked every few weeks now..

They are trying for 4 weeks between, but then I have managed to screw that up. I have, at least three times, forgotten to take my medication. Turns out that's not a good thing. The warfarin level must stay at a steady level in order to do the job it was hired for.

Sooooooooo..... , last Friday, I come downstairs to take the days dosage of three different pills and see Thursday's pills still in the container.

(whoops) 

I am working that day and will not be home at the time I normally take them. Okay, I'll just put them in my pill container in the car and take them on break. At least that's what I think I may or may not have done.

Because when I get home I look for the pills, and can't find them. I would not have taken them at home before I left because it was too early. I start to think and do NOT remember taking them on break time. Then I better take the proper day's dosage, in this case Friday's.

But then I remember that maybe I did take them because, seeing as how I'd missed the day's before pills then being early shouldn't be a problem. But I also remember thinking that that will mess up the next day because the timing will be off again. So what happened to Thursday's meds?

* * * * *

Now that was Friday. Three days before, on Tuesday we were stirred from slumber at 4 in the morning by Emma, the uber watchdog, barking at something outside. As we awaken a little more we hear these noises and the Hubby looks out the window to see three fairly young kids knocking down the safety pylons in front of the house.

(Sewer work, should, should be finished by the end of June, which means August, maybe, so there is a big sidewalk sized moat in front of the house. The pylons are to let drivers know that there is a drop off.)

Hubby is calling the police to report the vandalism. I decide to go downstairs and see if I recognize any of the little dears.

I don't need to turn a light on because, 1) it will mess up what I can see outside, and 2) I've lived here for 24 years I know where everything is! ! ! ! ! 

EXCEPT THAT; I had forgotten about a piece of equipment in the hallway. Yup, you guessed it. I tripped over it. It was all in slow motion and I remember parts of the incident but the most vivid memory I have is of 'coming back ' to real time, realizing I have a death grip on this piece of equipment, a monitor. By the way, the first thought was the fact that I had not ruined the monitor.

I get up, look out the front door, no little creeps anywhere, so I go back inside. When I get back upstairs and lay down, I find that there is a huge swelling over the artificial hip. Within five minutes, that has increased 100% in size. There is no real pain at this point. I get another hour or two of sleep and then get up to go about my day. Once I get downstairs and start the day I lean against something and I feet a lot of pain.

When I get in the car to go to the medical centre I sit into the nice comfortable bucket seat in my car and the side touches my hip area.

 &^%$#&    OUCH     &^%$#& !  

Same thing getting out of the car. I see the nurse who calls in a doctor who then both check it out again. They are amazed that I didn't break anything, and tell me to keep an eye on it. And use ice. (I am startled at myself for not once thinking about ice.) If there is any pain in the joint or difficulty walking, or other changes, then see them again or go to emergency. I actually felt okay about the joint except the surface pain.

Hubby calls to see how I am and I ask him to bring home ice. He decides to come home early to keep an eye on me. He was quite sad looking when he came home. Turns out he's feeling GUILTY for leaving the monitor there. Its NOT his fault. 

I am the one that gets really annoyed with kids being stupid.

I am the one that  decided to go downstairs.

I am the one that wanted to catch the little bastards out wreaking havoc.

I am the one that didn't turn the light on !

I am also the one with this really cool looking bruise that is now covering almost my whole thigh, front to back, hip to knee. I have to sit with one side off the edge so as not to cause pain. This picture shows the line from the chair edge and the bruise end of day one:

 The light part is right over the artificial joint.

So,

what have you been doing lately?.