So Happy in Chicago
Anissa Mayhew is a dear friend of mine that had a stroke yesterday at the age of 35. This is her second stroke, and right now her family needs all the love and support they can get. You can make a paypal donation or check out Aiming Low or Heather’s blog for more ways to help.
LOVE to you, ‘Niss. xoxoxo
{photo courtesy of Angie}
Today marks the second anniversary of Madeline Alice Spohr’s birth.
Today I weep a little more than usual for my friends, Heather and Mike.
Today I weep for the loss of my son’s friend, Maddie.
Ethan and Maddie
Today I reflect on how extremely lucky I am to have had a second birthday with my own preemie.
Snoozing and sunbathing in the incubator
Today I hope and pray for Baby Binky Spohr, growing steadily inside of Mama Spohr, to be born healthy, happy, and not too early.
Today I ask you to give what you can to the Friends of Maddie Foundation — for Maddie, for Ethan, for Aidan, for all of us parents of preemies who spent far too long in the NICU, for all the babies who fight daily to survive because they were born too soon.
Under the lights in his incubator
November is Prematurity Awareness Month. Please join me in donating to the Friends of Maddie Foundation TODAY to celebrate Miss Maddie Moo’s life and the success of my own preemie baby.
Five days old - precious time out of the incubator
My big boy now ~ nearly 3 years old
This spring I became a different person. I was exhausted. I had headaches 5-7 days a week. My patience was at an all time low.
I had started snoring for the first time in my life for no reason at all. Sure, I had the occasional snoring episodes when I would be really sick and stuffed up, or when, on occasion, I imbibed in a few too many cocktails.
But this snoring started overnight, every night, out of nowhere. No weight gain, no health changes, just BOOM. Snorty snory badness. My snoring was so bad that my husband was routinely sleeping in the guest room, as he is frequently on deadline and can’t afford NOT to sleep.
So earlier this month on August 3rd, I went in for a Sleep Study, as recommended by my Internist. This was my home for the night:
My girls kept me entertained by saying, “ropes on the wall and handcuffs on the bed, wtf kind of ’sleep study’ IS this??” (Yes, I emailed them a picture to pass the time. I was on my iPhone as long as I could!)
It’s not that I was scared per se, but it’s not exactly a comfortable experience.
I was hooked up to a pulse ox on my finger and heart monitors on my chest, which brought back the memories of my baby in the NICU, hooked up to all kinds of monitors.
I had about a dozen or more sensors all over my head, scalp and neck to monitor…uh…stuff related to my sleep?? I had a monitor on my leg to test for restless leg syndrome. First a gritty cleaner was applied to each location that needed a monitor, to ensure an all night seal. Since my skin is very sensitive, this was a bit painful and left big angry red marks on my skin for almost a week.
There was an infrared camera on me and a sound monitor. If I needed anything, like a trip to the restroom, I had to talk out loud to the room — “I NEED TO USE THE RESTROOM!” Then a voice would come over the monitor, “okay, I’ll be right there!” It was very strange.
There were three other people getting a Sleep Study that night — two men and one woman. The men stayed on one side of the center, and us women slept in bedrooms next to each other. All of the other participants were considerably older than I. I could hear my neighbor sawing away VERY loudly within minutes of lights out.
I had what is called a “split night” study. The first half of the night, the nurse just observed my sleep and snoring. At one point she had to come in to put me on my back, as I wasn’t snoring enough on my side. After an hour on my back, she had the information she needed and came in to put me on a CPAP (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure) machine to begin the second half of the study. My son was ALSO on a CPAP in the NICU.
I slept with the CPAP machine on for the remainder of the night. I woke up with a start at 6:20am. I laid back down to try to get a few more zzz’s, but my nurse was ALL OVER IT, and came right in with a cheery, “GOOD MORNING!”
Dang it. No kid, no husband, no dog, and I’m still up early.
I could see why she wanted to get started though — it took about an hour to put ON all of my monitors, and about forty-five minutes to take them all OFF. I was out of there by 7am.
The nurse is technically not allowed to give you any results since they are not doctors and don’t interpret the results, but she was able to tell me that I was definitely snoring and definitely NOT sleeping when I was on my back. I felt vindicated. And sad.
Apparently it takes ten business days to score your test, which I think is bullshit, but okay, whatever. So I had to make my follow up appointment for AFTER our two week vacation (which ended up being just over one week due to me being a cracker and breaking my ankle). August 24th I was supposed to get the results. But as you’ll remember, I had surgery on the 21st and my husband said, “NO WAY. You need to rest.” “But I want to sleeeeeeeeep!” “Uh, you have norco.” “Oh, right.”
So instead, I went to get my results two days ago. It was illuminating, to say the least. When I am on my back, I wake up roughly every two minutes. I had thirty-seven instances of apnea in an hour. Which means my body woke itself up just barely so I could start breathing again THIRTY-SEVEN TIMES. IN ONE HOUR.
HOLY JEEBUS CHRIST NO WONDER I’VE BEEN AN IMPATIENT, BITCHY, NO FUN, DEPRESSED, HEADACHE RIDDLED CRACKJOB.
{exhale}
I am someone who needs a lot of sleep. A LOT. Nine hours does a body good. I can’t accomplish a lot with these sleep restrictions. But I REALLY can’t accomplish ANYTHING when I’m actually NOT SLEEPING. ALL NIGHT LONG. ::headdesk::headdesk::headdesk::{REPEAT}
Apneas over thirty times an hour is considered “severe.” So I am now a super cracker with severe sleep apnea. And a bionic ankle. And empty uterus.
Yesterday I went to the “durable materials” center where I was given my prescribed CPAP machine. Last night I used my CPAP machine for the first time. I slept all. night. long. My first wakening was at 5am for a bathroom break. That hasn’t happened in YEARS! Then I went back to sleep for a couple more hours.
This machine is going to change my life. I am not ridiculously tired. I did not feel even the slightest urge to nap this afternoon, whereas the past few months they were a necessity for my sanity.
I was at risk for sleep apnea because it’s in my family — my dad and maternal grandfather both had it — I have hypothyroidism, and yes, I am overweight. The doctor is fairly certain that it is not caused by my weight, however, since I hadn’t recently gained weight when the apnea set in. We’ll just chalk it up to getting older.
I wanted to share this because we, as women, are ashamed to admit that we snore. Snoring is NOT ladylike. Snoring is something only MEN do. Snoring is embarrassing!
TOTALLY CHEESY PSA: If you or someone you know snores and it is disrupting your life, get help. Like, NOW. You won’t regret it.
As most of you know, I had surgery on my broken ankle a little over a week ago. I was put under general anesthesia and had numerous x-rays the week between breakage and fixage (I totes just made that up).
WARNING: FEMALE TMI AHEAD
A day and a half before I broke my ankle, I got what I thought was my period. My first off-birth-control-cuz- 9/1/09-we’re-gonna-start-trying-for-a-baby-period. Since my on-birth-control-periods of late have been ultra light and short I didn’t know what to expect.
So this first off-bc-period was short. But strange. But I didn’t think much of it. Cuz, oh HAI! Not only am *I* a cracker, but my body is, too (see: 50 days until a positive pregnancy test with the Little Man).
Friday, August 14th, 9am-ish, I break my ankle by (seriously) TRIPPING OVER A GAS HOSE THAT WAS PUMPING GAS INTO MY CAR at the Gas Station (as if that wasn’t clear). (Heh.)
WARNING: MEDICAL TMI AHEAD
I get numerous x-rays taken, a shot of morphine in the ass (doc asks, there’s no chance you’re pregnant, right? Me: No. Doc: SURE sure? Me: Like, on my period sure.), and a buttload of vicodin (ok, just 30) and a few valium to help me sleep.
The week leading up to the surgery, I’m on vicodin and then norco (twice as much narcotic painkiller and less acetaminophen than vicodin) nearly 24/7.
Friday, August 21st, 3pm-ish, I get my general anesthesia, some IV fluids, antibiotics and then more IV pain meds when I wake up.
Around 6pm the anesthesiologist comes by and asks about my pain and offers a nerve block — sort of like an epidural for your leg — and since I was kinda sorta hyperventilating from the pain, I said OH SURE!! Hook me up!!!
Before he started he jokingly said, “No yelling.” Then he stuck a bunch of needles into the back of my knee and top of my calf and jutted them around to hit all the nerves. A few of the nerves caused my foot and leg to twitch repeatedly and involuntary. It hurt a bit, but apparently I am awesome because he said, “WOW. You’re tough!” Which, DUH. (Snort.)
That starts to sink in but I’m still feeling some pain, so the nurse asks, “would you like a vicodin?” WHY YES I WOULD!! “Have you had these before?” WHY, YES, I HAVE!! “Would you like one or two?” TWO PLEASE!!!!
So I got two vicodin with a side of Sprite and graham crackers. By the time we left the Surgery Center, I was feeling no pain.
By the time I got settled at home, I was very, very high.
I took a norco before bed and called it a day.
Saturday, August 22nd, sometime-ish, popping norco every three hours, nerve block wears off, I start bleeding. NOT from my incision sites.
Hmm…that’s weird. I just HAD my period. Maybe it’s all the adrenaline and stress and trauma. (It’s happened before!)
Pop another norco.
Sunday, Monday, continue norco and bleeding. Appetite suppressed. Maybe the pills?
Tuesday, white wine spritzer. First drink in over a week. Causes heartburn. Strange. Same as above.
Wednesday, white wine spritzer. Same as above.
Thursday, something is wrong. I’m still bleeding (never A LOT). I’m slightly nauseous. I don’t want an alcoholic beverage (SOMETHING IS VERY WRONG)(snort). Maybe I should take a pregnancy test.
Thursday, August 27, 9:55pm, take a pregnancy test. Hmmm…there’s a faint line there…it’s getting darker. HOLY SHIT IT’S POSITIVE.
HUH.
Well. Hmm. WOW. Huh.
Warrior: How’d THAT happen?? We didn’t even…I mean uh….
Me: WELL I HAVEN’T BEEN SLEEPING WITH ANYONE ELSE IF THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE IMPLYING!!! (He wasn’t.)
Me: You think the baby’s fried? (Heh.)
No more norco.
Friday, August 28, Midnight, still awake. Damn fried baby thoughts keeping me awake.
9:10am, call the doctor.
9:30am, send Warrior across the street to borrow a pregnancy test.
9:55am, hear from the doctor. She acknowledges my crackerness in not so many words. (LOVE my doctor.)
10:00am, piss on a weird paper stick pregnancy test. Fail to realize that I PEED ON THE WRONG SIDE OF THE STICK. BECAUSE THIS WAS SOME CHEAP ASS STICK THAT ONLY HAD THE PEE PAPER ON ONE SIDE OF THE STRIP.
10:02am, I am a pregnancy test failure. Null result.
11:00am, Warrior goes out for more pee sticks, dog medicine & food, lunch for preggers.
11:37am, Warrior home. I pee on another stick. Very clearly positive. (Oh yeah, STILL BLEEDING.)
3:30pm, go get blood drawn to test HCG levels.
4:30pm, Endocrinologist appointment. Thyroid still fucked. Let’s up meds to cover baby.
5:25pm, I think we’re getting a little excited about the idea of a baby.
Rest of the evening, I’m in a great amount of pain from my ankle and my uterus. More blood.
Saturday, August 29, morning, I feel nauseated. Good sign, right???
Sunday, August 30, morning, I don’t feel nauseous. I feel better! My uterus must be empty.
4:30pm, take another pregnancy test, IT’S NEGATIVE. Like I thought it would be. Cuz I felt empty. And not full.
Evening, hash out the negative test with my girls. Almost convinced it’s a fluke. Want to believe it’s a fluke. But I feel empty.
Monday, August 31, morning, I feel nauseous and dry heave a few times. Maybe this is a good sign? Slight headache coming on.
10:20am, attempt to get blood drawn. Dude can’t get no satisfaction from my arm. Goes for my hand. Ow.
11:00am, appointment with sleep doctor. I haven’t been sleeping. (More info in another post.)
12:20pm, I’m out to lunch with my Mother-in-Law, dining on tasty garlic noodles while my OB leaves a message at home saying that the HCG levels went from 287 on Friday to 193 today. Looks like an early miscarriage.
12:45pm, text message from Warrior checking in. Tells me his Big Boot remains for another three weeks (he broke his foot very badly on MAY 11TH. THREE AND A HALF MONTHS AGO).
1:38pm, actually get the message from my doc. Start to spread the word that there will be no baby this time.
1:50pm, take a norco and half a valium, as my headache has turned into a migraine and I’M NOT PREGNANT, so I can do that.
Afternoon, hash out my miscarriage with my girls.
UPTAKE:
80 hours is just enough time to get excited about having a baby. Even if it’s possibly drugged and fried.
—–
Please send me something funny if you want to do something at all. Or booze. Or chocolate. But please don’t send me flowers. (I hope this doesn’t sound presumptuous.)
I’m sharing this with you, not for sympathy (although that can be nice (heh)), but because that’s what “mommy bloggers” do, right? And hey, it’s easier to tell everyone at once. I hope the more we share, the more normal “these things” become.
I’m also hoping this will quiet the questions in my mind.
(((HUGS)))
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