[Written 12/20]
I got my RHOgam shot. I am not a happy camper about it for the following reasons:
1) They said when I called they could see me right then, and it was only 10:45, and I didn’t have anything until 1:00.
2) When I got there, I sat in the waiting room for a half hour.
3) Someone finally called for me and said I had to go downstairs and have blood work done in the hospital lab, and bring back the printout of the results with me.
4) It took a half hour to have two more vials of blood taken from me in the lab (recall that I gave blood last week for the glucose test and a few weeks before that for the liver tests).
5) After they took my blood in the lab, she said, “we can’t give printouts of the results, it goes to the blood bank. We don’t process the blood. Your doctor knows that. It usually takes about an hour to get results.” [Translation: It'll be at least 2 hours.]
6) I used relaxation breathing to keep from crying on the way back up to the doctor’s office. It worked, mostly.
7) I waited about 15 more minutes in the doctor’s office waiting room, and was ready to leave, when I was called back.
8) I was basically told, “Oops!!!!!! You already had this blood drawn, so you didn’t need to do that, so we can go ahead and give the shot. Sorry ‘bout that.”
9) The shot was in my butt cheek.
10) I will probably get billed a copay for having the blood drawn. I am not going to pay it, and the nurse said she’d check with the office manager how they can handle that so I don’t have to pay it.
11) My butt hurts.
12) I got back in the office at 12:39 or so, so I have 20 minutes to eat, and then it’s back to work.
13) I’m hungry and thirsty.
14) My butt hurts.
[Update 12/21]
My butt did stop hurting a short while later. I'm still mad that she stuck a needle in my flabby butt and then put a big ugly bandaid on it.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Sadness reigns in
We have been dealing lately with some family and friend problems which seem to affect us more now that we have a baby coming into the world, then it did when we weren't expecting. Well here is the jist.
To start matters off, my mother called Saturday evening to inform me that she took my father to the emergency room because he felt as though his heart was going to pop out of his chest. Upon taking his pulse and blood pressure (nurse mom), she diagnosed my dad at having a heart rate of 220 bpm and a blood pressure of 190/110. Now that is not normal. By the time he had gotten to the emergency room his heart had slowed somewhat and now that he is on medication upon his release from the hostipal, he is doing well. Scare one.
In between scare one and worry two we have Alisha (a pharm-D and my sister-in-law) speaking to Sabrina about the risk factors of my father (slightly obese) and my father-in-law (drinks and smokes). According to Sabrina, she would have assumed that obesity is a higher risk factor than someone who smokes and drinks, well it turns out that someone who smokes and drinks is 10% (or maybe it was 20%, I can't quite be exact) higher to have a heart attack than some one who is obese.
My father-in-law, who likes to drink and smoke, partly for fun, but mostly for pain relief has always worried Sabrina and I because what if he isn't around when our children grow older due to his habits. Worry two.
Scare three and the topper. I received a phone call from Sabrina's friend Missy, telling us that Sabrina and Missy's old college roommate, Julie, that her father had passed away. Now her father as of a year ago was health and normal. He had started to have pain in his joints around a year ago, but did say anything to anyone because he thought it was nothing until about two months ago he broke a bone and upon going to the hosiptal, doctor's had discovered cancer in his joints. The doctor's could not operate, but said that radiation and medication would hopefully help the situation. He was not feeling well on Saturday morning, the family took him to the hospital and he passed away Tuesday morning, with his family at his side. He was only 49...
Understanding that death is part of life and so if bringing a child into this world, but we keep going over and over and over the same situation, why are we deciding to have children in a world where a father at the age of 49 passes away. One can argue that why do children get gunned down in streets and countless innocent people are killed everyday across our hate filled world, but a death where the miracles of modern medicine or the decisions people make could not prevent. It is a sad and scary thought.
We just hope that our parents get to live long enough to see our children grow up, that is the point I am trying to get at. Will they make it that long, we hope so!!!! We hope there isn't an unexpected sadness in our family, like that which happened to Julie. Our thoughts and prayers are with her and her family in a hard time of morning.
To start matters off, my mother called Saturday evening to inform me that she took my father to the emergency room because he felt as though his heart was going to pop out of his chest. Upon taking his pulse and blood pressure (nurse mom), she diagnosed my dad at having a heart rate of 220 bpm and a blood pressure of 190/110. Now that is not normal. By the time he had gotten to the emergency room his heart had slowed somewhat and now that he is on medication upon his release from the hostipal, he is doing well. Scare one.
In between scare one and worry two we have Alisha (a pharm-D and my sister-in-law) speaking to Sabrina about the risk factors of my father (slightly obese) and my father-in-law (drinks and smokes). According to Sabrina, she would have assumed that obesity is a higher risk factor than someone who smokes and drinks, well it turns out that someone who smokes and drinks is 10% (or maybe it was 20%, I can't quite be exact) higher to have a heart attack than some one who is obese.
My father-in-law, who likes to drink and smoke, partly for fun, but mostly for pain relief has always worried Sabrina and I because what if he isn't around when our children grow older due to his habits. Worry two.
Scare three and the topper. I received a phone call from Sabrina's friend Missy, telling us that Sabrina and Missy's old college roommate, Julie, that her father had passed away. Now her father as of a year ago was health and normal. He had started to have pain in his joints around a year ago, but did say anything to anyone because he thought it was nothing until about two months ago he broke a bone and upon going to the hosiptal, doctor's had discovered cancer in his joints. The doctor's could not operate, but said that radiation and medication would hopefully help the situation. He was not feeling well on Saturday morning, the family took him to the hospital and he passed away Tuesday morning, with his family at his side. He was only 49...
Understanding that death is part of life and so if bringing a child into this world, but we keep going over and over and over the same situation, why are we deciding to have children in a world where a father at the age of 49 passes away. One can argue that why do children get gunned down in streets and countless innocent people are killed everyday across our hate filled world, but a death where the miracles of modern medicine or the decisions people make could not prevent. It is a sad and scary thought.
We just hope that our parents get to live long enough to see our children grow up, that is the point I am trying to get at. Will they make it that long, we hope so!!!! We hope there isn't an unexpected sadness in our family, like that which happened to Julie. Our thoughts and prayers are with her and her family in a hard time of morning.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Doctor appointment
I had my 28-week appointment this morning (even though I'm really 27 1/2 weeks done). We are getting near the end!! They want to see me in one week to get my RhoGAM shot. For those who don't know, I need this because I have Rh- blood and Mike has Rh+. So there is an Rh antigen on Mike's blood cells that my body would recognize as a foreign body, and attack. And our baby could be Rh- or + since it will have inherited blood type from both of us (and other relatives, of course.) So if the baby is Rh+, it's okay for now; its blood doesn't really mix with mine, and so my body won't attack (that is, build an antibody against this foreign antigen.) But, during childbirth, the baby's blood will mix with my blood (this is still not clear to me, but I imagine it has something to do with it squeezing through my bloody, torn vagina, and it's not pleasant to think about). Once our bloods mix, my body would recognize this foreign antigen, and begin producing antibodies that will attack. By the time my body is cranking out the antibody, the baby will long be out, so the antibodies can't hurt the baby. But, and this is what's important, if a subsequent baby was conceived and had Rh+ blood, the antibody now present in my blood would cross the placenta and attack the baby's blood cells, which needless to say would not be good for that baby. I think this was a major problem in the past, and it caused a lot of miscarriages and such. Now that they know about it, they can prevent it from happening. So I need this shot. I don't know how it works, but I suspect it stops my body from producing an antibody if the baby does have Rh+ blood. I can't imagine why else I would have to have it before delivering the first.
Anyhow, there you have it, our first Littlest Lesh physiology lesson.
And then after the appointment next week, he wants to see me 2 weeks later, or 3 weeks from now. That'll be in the middle of my 30th week, and then after that the appointments are every other week. Eek!
And the baby is just fine. He found the heartbeat with a little more trouble than previous appointments--when he first stuck the doppler-probe-thingy-ma-jigger on my belly, the little bugger (baby, not doctor) kicked it. And then it apparently squirmed around and wouldn't give a good heart rate reading. But it settled. And then I asked the doctor if he could tell which way the baby was facing, and should it be head down by now? Is it important? And of course, the baby is presently breech. But he said it's totally fine until the 35th week or so, at which time we'll want to make sure it's head down. But it was funny that he claimed he could feel the head, and he cupped his hands around where it is, and it's pretty much standing up in there, and I was all, "No wonder it feels like someone is dancing on my cervix!" Seriously, I've been complaining to Mike that it's kicking my bladder, what must be my cervix, and my lower colon a lot, and not to be too callous, but it makes me feel like I have to poop. It sucks. I hope it flips over before it gets any better at stomping.
Oh, and we start Lamaze classes in late January. I'm excited.
Anyhow, there you have it, our first Littlest Lesh physiology lesson.
And then after the appointment next week, he wants to see me 2 weeks later, or 3 weeks from now. That'll be in the middle of my 30th week, and then after that the appointments are every other week. Eek!
And the baby is just fine. He found the heartbeat with a little more trouble than previous appointments--when he first stuck the doppler-probe-thingy-ma-jigger on my belly, the little bugger (baby, not doctor) kicked it. And then it apparently squirmed around and wouldn't give a good heart rate reading. But it settled. And then I asked the doctor if he could tell which way the baby was facing, and should it be head down by now? Is it important? And of course, the baby is presently breech. But he said it's totally fine until the 35th week or so, at which time we'll want to make sure it's head down. But it was funny that he claimed he could feel the head, and he cupped his hands around where it is, and it's pretty much standing up in there, and I was all, "No wonder it feels like someone is dancing on my cervix!" Seriously, I've been complaining to Mike that it's kicking my bladder, what must be my cervix, and my lower colon a lot, and not to be too callous, but it makes me feel like I have to poop. It sucks. I hope it flips over before it gets any better at stomping.
Oh, and we start Lamaze classes in late January. I'm excited.
Fun links, part deux
Again, you need to have volume turned up. This one was pretty popular a month or two ago, and I think it was even on the Today Show or something like that. But it's definitely worth watching. They make me like the Backstreet Boys. I never realized how good that song is!!
Thursday, December 08, 2005
The Christmas Spirit
I am going to try something new. I find all kinds of crap on the web that is linked on my favorite sites, and I always want to pass them on to people, but I don't know who. So I will start linking them here! I also don't want to steal someone else's thunder by pretending that it was my discovery, so I will tell you who I got it from (but not also link to that page.) A lot of my stuff will come from the Buzz List, which can be found here. It is updated twice a week, and as best I can tell, there is no way to access old lists, so I couldn't link to that page even if I wanted to. Does that make sense?
Today's fun link was brought to us by Steve at theSneeze.com, which is one of my favorite links over in the right margin. You must have your speakers turned up, or if you're at work, use headphones. There is no sense in looking if you don't have sound. You also have to scroll down the page a bit, past the stupid ads. Merry Christmas, and enjoy!
Today's fun link was brought to us by Steve at theSneeze.com, which is one of my favorite links over in the right margin. You must have your speakers turned up, or if you're at work, use headphones. There is no sense in looking if you don't have sound. You also have to scroll down the page a bit, past the stupid ads. Merry Christmas, and enjoy!
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Complaints and the complaining complainers who make them
Sorry for the abrupt ending to the post [below.] I started writing it two mornings ago when I wanted to die, and didn't want to come in to work. I worked on it for the first two hours of my morning, and then ran out of time, so figured I'd come back to finish the bitchfest.
So I tried today. And my heart's just not in it. I just don't feel like bitching today! I had such grand plans for that post, and it would end with an exhaustive list of my symptoms and a plea for a diagnosis (other than psychosis.) But these things must come and go, because I can't recall what sucked so badly all last week and this weekend. I do remember becoming concerned about my perpetually bloody nose (not actually like a nosebleed, but lovely red strings of blood throughout all the snot when blowing my nose--this went on for more than a week before I decided to be concerned), my unpleasant and anything-but-regular bowel, and increasing sciatica causing me to stumble every now and again. So I worried about high blood pressure causing the apparent nasal equivalent of hemorrhoids, but I checked and I was fine (perhaps too low, in fact, at 95/70). I worried about my bowels, whether this would be the last straw to start the real hemorrhoid parade, but it hasn't happened! And I decided that the sciatica is fine. It's an annoyance, for sure, but compared to the neurological problems my sister dealt with in pregnancy, I can handle some tingling and weakness. It's like a gentle reminder to sit the hell down and take a break.
Speaking of, I think this is my biggest problem. I just don't like being a weakling. A sissy. A big sit-on-my-ass-so-I-don't-overexert-myself baby. But I talked to my mom about it, and it turns out that I'm just like her and my grandmother (poor Mike), and so if I don't want to turn out like them (requiring multiple knee replacements like my grandmother or having brittle bones and likely osteoporosis at 50 like my mother or peeing my pants several times a day like both of them), then I have to take it easy when my body says to, and I have to take all my calcium supplements even when it's hard to remember.
I think the peeing my pants thing is a lost cause. That's okay. Mike has cleaned up my pee more times than I'd like to admit already, and we've got a lot of golden years ahead of us. I love you, dear!!
So I tried today. And my heart's just not in it. I just don't feel like bitching today! I had such grand plans for that post, and it would end with an exhaustive list of my symptoms and a plea for a diagnosis (other than psychosis.) But these things must come and go, because I can't recall what sucked so badly all last week and this weekend. I do remember becoming concerned about my perpetually bloody nose (not actually like a nosebleed, but lovely red strings of blood throughout all the snot when blowing my nose--this went on for more than a week before I decided to be concerned), my unpleasant and anything-but-regular bowel, and increasing sciatica causing me to stumble every now and again. So I worried about high blood pressure causing the apparent nasal equivalent of hemorrhoids, but I checked and I was fine (perhaps too low, in fact, at 95/70). I worried about my bowels, whether this would be the last straw to start the real hemorrhoid parade, but it hasn't happened! And I decided that the sciatica is fine. It's an annoyance, for sure, but compared to the neurological problems my sister dealt with in pregnancy, I can handle some tingling and weakness. It's like a gentle reminder to sit the hell down and take a break.
Speaking of, I think this is my biggest problem. I just don't like being a weakling. A sissy. A big sit-on-my-ass-so-I-don't-overexert-myself baby. But I talked to my mom about it, and it turns out that I'm just like her and my grandmother (poor Mike), and so if I don't want to turn out like them (requiring multiple knee replacements like my grandmother or having brittle bones and likely osteoporosis at 50 like my mother or peeing my pants several times a day like both of them), then I have to take it easy when my body says to, and I have to take all my calcium supplements even when it's hard to remember.
I think the peeing my pants thing is a lost cause. That's okay. Mike has cleaned up my pee more times than I'd like to admit already, and we've got a lot of golden years ahead of us. I love you, dear!!
Monday, December 05, 2005
Everyone could use a helping hand
I think it's official: my body is falling apart. It all starts with an innocent sniffle, and the next thing I know, I'm a leaking cripple with a massive, unrelenting headache.
I'll start with the minor complaints and work my way up. This is actually a cuter, more quaint side of crippledom. Mike got a real kick out of himself, anyhow. So I have very little abdominal strength left. I guess this was to be expected, but I hadn't given it much thought. In fact, weeks ago when Becca was in town, she watched me struggling on my parents' living room floor like an overturned beetle, and she cautioned, "Brina, you know you're not supposed to use your abdominal muscles, right?" Uh, well, since you point it out, I guess that sounds like a good idea. But no, no one ever told me that. Okay, no problem, I'll roll onto my side when I have to get up. But sometimes, you really can't roll onto your side. I'm having trouble coming up with a good example of when you would have to rise straight up (I have a really shitty example, and that would be when I wake in the middle of the night and I have Mike blockading one side of me, and the body pillow and Cole blockading the other side, and I don't want to disturb the stupid cat because I like having him there), but I assure you that it happens very often throughout the day. Oh! When I want to drink a sip of water, but I'm supine on the couch, I must simply sit up. Mike has gotten very, very aware of when I need a little tug. He offers his hand before I even ask. It's very sweet. And I feel like a cripple. But here's where it gets creepy: he does it in his sleep. When I wake up and have to get out to the bathroom, but I can't sit up, I must grunt or something when I try, because he holds a hand up, and I pull on it, hard, and he supports me until I clamor over Cole, and he stays sleeping through the whole thing. I pointed out one morning that he'd been doing this for me, and it totally delighted him, since he had no idea.
This isn't as cute a story about crippledom. I've gotten leg cramps in my sleep every now and again since I was a teenager. I mean, sure, they suck, and it's a terrible feeling, but as quickly as they come on, they go away, and I could go right back to sleep. They increased in frequency somewhat as this pregnancy progressed (this is a very common complaint in pregnancy,) but last week, I had the leg cramp to end all leg cramps. And yet, I imagine that it could be worse. This cramp just wouldn't give up. It was so sudden and so strong, I woke up with a gasp, I'm sure, though all I was aware of was sitting straight up in bed, yelling "owwwwwwwwww!" (Apparently my abdominal muscles work when they have to.) I tried to flex my foot back towards me, as you're supposed to, but my foot was paralyzed. The muslces in my foot and calf were so rock hard, we could have used my leg to hammer in the rest of the moulding in the nursery (oh, yeah, that's still totally not finished.) And the more I tried to flex my foot, the more it hurt, and then I realized Mike was awake, rubbing my foot. It was very surreal. His rubbing kind of maybe helped, but I don't know, since the pain was already so excrutiating. Part of me was so thankful that he was trying to soften the muscle, and I didn't want him to stop, but part of me was afraid he was making it worse and I briefly considered clawing out his eyes. When I realized that this cramp wasn't going to stop, and it was worsening, tears started streaming down my face, and I yelled and screamed and cried, and after a couple more minutes, it softened, and I threw myself back and tried to catch my breath, and then it started again. Now that's never happened. Tears ran down my cheeks again, and I totally panicked. If I'd had a saw lying in bed, I'd have removed my leg. I swear to God. I wondered if the neighbors could hear my screams, and if they'd think Mike was murdering me. Then it softened up a little bit, and I lay back and tried to flex, flex, flex my foot, and it started once more. This last one probably only lasted a minute, but Mike probably thought I was dying. When it let up, I could still tell the muscle was still partially tensed, ready to fire at any second, and I hyperventilated and cried until that tension went away. I can't remember if I said anything to Mike except, "I don't know what to do. I just don't know what to do," over and over and over. I wondered how in the world I would ever survive childbirth. I always thought I was tough, and I could take some pain when it was necessary. (That's funny given that I'm pretty much a big sissy and I get hurt every time Mike wants to tickle me, and I whine about him being too rough with my delicate body.) Mike and I then slept from 5AM until 6AM, and when I woke and slid down out of bed, and stood, OW! My calf felt terribly bruised, as if I'd sprained the muscle. I walked it off and showered with little problem. It was sore, but not really crippling me. It was sore for the rest of the day, but really only for the first dozen yards or so I'd walk each time I got up. But Mike was very somber that morning. I kept asking him what was wrong, and it turned out that he was just upset over my painful episode, and he didn't know how to make it any better.
So then that afternoon, I was on the bus from hell, heading towards Mike's bus stop. (Our bus, the EBO, passes my work and then Mike's work. Most days, I am on the correct bus and he is just arriving at his bus stop as we arrive, and he gets on, and we ride home. Some days, I am on an earlier bus, and I must get off at his stop, and wait for him, and we get on the next bus. Some other days, I am on the correct bus, but it's so full of passengers that they can't let any more on, and since Mike's stop is at the end of the line in Oakland, I have to get off even though Mike is waiting at his stop, and we have to wait together for the next one.) This particular day, the bus driver was like Seinfeld's Soup Nazi, except she was the Bus Nazi. She just kept yelling at people standing out on the sidewalk, "If you can't get behind the yellow line, you can't ride!" Of course, the people in the back of the bus were casually hanging around, with plenty of room, while the people in the front squished in like sardines. Finally, there was no way they were going to get another person behind that stupid yellow line. (Please bear in mind that Mike and I ride standing in front of the yellow line all the time--this driver was hard core.) So I knew that I'd have to get off at Mike's stop. When we got to his stop, I tried climbing through the people so I could get the hell out of the there. I'd like to think that no one would move, and they are all assholes, but the truth is, there was nowhere to move to. I am having a lot of trouble learning to navigate my big belly through crowds, and whatever I did to squeeze through didn't work. I fell onto my right knee (the leg that had cramped overnight) really hard. The crowd magically dispersed then, and thankfully, my sister was standing at the very front of the bus, only 4 or 5 feet from me (she and Carl were the last passengers to make it behind the yellow line), and she looked down, saw me kneeling on the floor, and her jaw dropped and she stared. So I held out my hand, and mumbled, "Uh, could you help me up?" And she stood me, and tried to make sure I was okay, but I bolted out of the bus as quickly as humanly possible. And once the bus was out of sight, I cried again. My knee throbbed. But I was more emotionally injured than physically injured. I was just tired of hurting, and tired of being clumsy and fat and out of control of my body, and I just wanted Mike! And he called right then, since he was running a couple of minutes behind, and he heard me cry, and he rushed to me and held me and just tried to console his pathetic wife. We made it home.
I was in much better spirits at home, and we made dinner and I vaccuumed a lot after dinner and cleaned up a little, and I was very productive. By bedtime, I was just wiped out. I was truly nervous about going to bed, for fear of having another cramp, but I fell right asleep and only woke once with a tiny pre-cramp that never amounted to much. Whew.
I woke up in the morning relieved, and slid out of bed, stood, and promptly fell. I caught myelf and fell back onto the bed, but my right gluteus maximus (big butt muscle) apparently had stopped working during the night. I could hardly stand! It kept giving out under me. I didn't understand. I hadn't hurt my butt, I hurt my calf and my knee. Then I decided that I was pretty well sore all over, and I had overdone it vaccuuming and stuff. And so I felt like a 90-year-old woman who can't do too much in a day lest she wear her body out. And I'm still having trouble getting used to this. I went shopping with my mom on Saturday, and made it to the third store before I just couldn't go anymore. I sat on a bench in Target for a very short time, and then had to get up and get moving again. I survived the day without any injuries, so that was nice, but I was just pooped.
I'll start with the minor complaints and work my way up. This is actually a cuter, more quaint side of crippledom. Mike got a real kick out of himself, anyhow. So I have very little abdominal strength left. I guess this was to be expected, but I hadn't given it much thought. In fact, weeks ago when Becca was in town, she watched me struggling on my parents' living room floor like an overturned beetle, and she cautioned, "Brina, you know you're not supposed to use your abdominal muscles, right?" Uh, well, since you point it out, I guess that sounds like a good idea. But no, no one ever told me that. Okay, no problem, I'll roll onto my side when I have to get up. But sometimes, you really can't roll onto your side. I'm having trouble coming up with a good example of when you would have to rise straight up (I have a really shitty example, and that would be when I wake in the middle of the night and I have Mike blockading one side of me, and the body pillow and Cole blockading the other side, and I don't want to disturb the stupid cat because I like having him there), but I assure you that it happens very often throughout the day. Oh! When I want to drink a sip of water, but I'm supine on the couch, I must simply sit up. Mike has gotten very, very aware of when I need a little tug. He offers his hand before I even ask. It's very sweet. And I feel like a cripple. But here's where it gets creepy: he does it in his sleep. When I wake up and have to get out to the bathroom, but I can't sit up, I must grunt or something when I try, because he holds a hand up, and I pull on it, hard, and he supports me until I clamor over Cole, and he stays sleeping through the whole thing. I pointed out one morning that he'd been doing this for me, and it totally delighted him, since he had no idea.
This isn't as cute a story about crippledom. I've gotten leg cramps in my sleep every now and again since I was a teenager. I mean, sure, they suck, and it's a terrible feeling, but as quickly as they come on, they go away, and I could go right back to sleep. They increased in frequency somewhat as this pregnancy progressed (this is a very common complaint in pregnancy,) but last week, I had the leg cramp to end all leg cramps. And yet, I imagine that it could be worse. This cramp just wouldn't give up. It was so sudden and so strong, I woke up with a gasp, I'm sure, though all I was aware of was sitting straight up in bed, yelling "owwwwwwwwww!" (Apparently my abdominal muscles work when they have to.) I tried to flex my foot back towards me, as you're supposed to, but my foot was paralyzed. The muslces in my foot and calf were so rock hard, we could have used my leg to hammer in the rest of the moulding in the nursery (oh, yeah, that's still totally not finished.) And the more I tried to flex my foot, the more it hurt, and then I realized Mike was awake, rubbing my foot. It was very surreal. His rubbing kind of maybe helped, but I don't know, since the pain was already so excrutiating. Part of me was so thankful that he was trying to soften the muscle, and I didn't want him to stop, but part of me was afraid he was making it worse and I briefly considered clawing out his eyes. When I realized that this cramp wasn't going to stop, and it was worsening, tears started streaming down my face, and I yelled and screamed and cried, and after a couple more minutes, it softened, and I threw myself back and tried to catch my breath, and then it started again. Now that's never happened. Tears ran down my cheeks again, and I totally panicked. If I'd had a saw lying in bed, I'd have removed my leg. I swear to God. I wondered if the neighbors could hear my screams, and if they'd think Mike was murdering me. Then it softened up a little bit, and I lay back and tried to flex, flex, flex my foot, and it started once more. This last one probably only lasted a minute, but Mike probably thought I was dying. When it let up, I could still tell the muscle was still partially tensed, ready to fire at any second, and I hyperventilated and cried until that tension went away. I can't remember if I said anything to Mike except, "I don't know what to do. I just don't know what to do," over and over and over. I wondered how in the world I would ever survive childbirth. I always thought I was tough, and I could take some pain when it was necessary. (That's funny given that I'm pretty much a big sissy and I get hurt every time Mike wants to tickle me, and I whine about him being too rough with my delicate body.) Mike and I then slept from 5AM until 6AM, and when I woke and slid down out of bed, and stood, OW! My calf felt terribly bruised, as if I'd sprained the muscle. I walked it off and showered with little problem. It was sore, but not really crippling me. It was sore for the rest of the day, but really only for the first dozen yards or so I'd walk each time I got up. But Mike was very somber that morning. I kept asking him what was wrong, and it turned out that he was just upset over my painful episode, and he didn't know how to make it any better.
So then that afternoon, I was on the bus from hell, heading towards Mike's bus stop. (Our bus, the EBO, passes my work and then Mike's work. Most days, I am on the correct bus and he is just arriving at his bus stop as we arrive, and he gets on, and we ride home. Some days, I am on an earlier bus, and I must get off at his stop, and wait for him, and we get on the next bus. Some other days, I am on the correct bus, but it's so full of passengers that they can't let any more on, and since Mike's stop is at the end of the line in Oakland, I have to get off even though Mike is waiting at his stop, and we have to wait together for the next one.) This particular day, the bus driver was like Seinfeld's Soup Nazi, except she was the Bus Nazi. She just kept yelling at people standing out on the sidewalk, "If you can't get behind the yellow line, you can't ride!" Of course, the people in the back of the bus were casually hanging around, with plenty of room, while the people in the front squished in like sardines. Finally, there was no way they were going to get another person behind that stupid yellow line. (Please bear in mind that Mike and I ride standing in front of the yellow line all the time--this driver was hard core.) So I knew that I'd have to get off at Mike's stop. When we got to his stop, I tried climbing through the people so I could get the hell out of the there. I'd like to think that no one would move, and they are all assholes, but the truth is, there was nowhere to move to. I am having a lot of trouble learning to navigate my big belly through crowds, and whatever I did to squeeze through didn't work. I fell onto my right knee (the leg that had cramped overnight) really hard. The crowd magically dispersed then, and thankfully, my sister was standing at the very front of the bus, only 4 or 5 feet from me (she and Carl were the last passengers to make it behind the yellow line), and she looked down, saw me kneeling on the floor, and her jaw dropped and she stared. So I held out my hand, and mumbled, "Uh, could you help me up?" And she stood me, and tried to make sure I was okay, but I bolted out of the bus as quickly as humanly possible. And once the bus was out of sight, I cried again. My knee throbbed. But I was more emotionally injured than physically injured. I was just tired of hurting, and tired of being clumsy and fat and out of control of my body, and I just wanted Mike! And he called right then, since he was running a couple of minutes behind, and he heard me cry, and he rushed to me and held me and just tried to console his pathetic wife. We made it home.
I was in much better spirits at home, and we made dinner and I vaccuumed a lot after dinner and cleaned up a little, and I was very productive. By bedtime, I was just wiped out. I was truly nervous about going to bed, for fear of having another cramp, but I fell right asleep and only woke once with a tiny pre-cramp that never amounted to much. Whew.
I woke up in the morning relieved, and slid out of bed, stood, and promptly fell. I caught myelf and fell back onto the bed, but my right gluteus maximus (big butt muscle) apparently had stopped working during the night. I could hardly stand! It kept giving out under me. I didn't understand. I hadn't hurt my butt, I hurt my calf and my knee. Then I decided that I was pretty well sore all over, and I had overdone it vaccuuming and stuff. And so I felt like a 90-year-old woman who can't do too much in a day lest she wear her body out. And I'm still having trouble getting used to this. I went shopping with my mom on Saturday, and made it to the third store before I just couldn't go anymore. I sat on a bench in Target for a very short time, and then had to get up and get moving again. I survived the day without any injuries, so that was nice, but I was just pooped.