It’s Real Now
For the past seven weeks, I’ve had moments where I wondered if this pregnancy thing is truly a reality. In the beginning, you feel so miserable and I did, trust me. But other than the green exterior, there are very few other physical signs to say “it’s real.” On Monday I had my first midwife appointment. Before it, I was nervous. When I was pregnant with Sassy, at my first appointment, they couldn’t find a heartbeat. It was a Friday so the earliest I could go for an ultrasound was the following Monday. I spent the weekend, entertaining weekend house guests and feeling miserable. I’d burst into tears frequently. It was a horrible wait. I worried the same thing would happen this time.
As soon as I saw my midwife, my nerves eased up. She always had such a calming affect on me. She was always so supportive and there for me whenever I had a question or was stressed out. During the birth, the other midwife who I didn’t even know that well, picked up where she left off. The birth experience with Sassy was amazing. It was hard and painful but yet relaxed. It was a completely different experience than when I brought Big I into the world.
The whole time I sat there on Monday, discussing my birth choices and how I’d really like to avoid induction and have a birth center birth this time, I was sort of in disbelief. Am I really doing this again? I was finished, or so I thought.
And then it was time to find the heartbeat. My own heart pounded. This is the moment you find out if it’s real or not. And there it was. . . instantly. . . 160 beats a minute. My midwife smiled and said that was one active and healthy baby in there. The relief that washed over me was instantaneous. The reality hit. Sassy heard her sister or brother’s heartbeat for the first time (and insisted there’s more than one in there). The midwife thinks there’s only one though (talk about more relief). In six weeks we’ll have an ultrasound and it will be even more real. I am getting so excited. . .
Goodbye to Bear
About a year ago, we were told that our cat, Bear, had cancer. They gave us all the options and none of them were any good. Radical surgery when your cat already has heart issues, isn't an option; and so we made the decision that we would try to treat him and keep his quality of life good by using some herbal medicine instead. The tumor on his back actually shrunk. We were so hopeful it was going away for good. Bear, the runt of his litter, but the only remaining brother still alive, had certainly had his nine lives. Born with more problems than most owners would tolerate, we nursed that cat through his life because he deserved nothing less. He was one of the sweetest animals on the planet. The vet told us last year that she gave him about 12 months to live.
On Sunday, Bear was put to sleep.
When this litter of kittens was born on Mr. BBM's family's deck, we were there within hours. We got to pet them and hold them on their very first day. We were in college at the time and the semester had just ended, so we spent as much time as possible at Mr. BBMs' family's home. There were four kittens and we knew that we wanted two of them. Bear was the first one chosen, because no one else wanted him. He was definitely the runt but he had a fighting spirit. I guess I've always been attracted to fighting spirits. We used to have to detatach him from the deck because his claws were so long and he would get stuck. Despite his black coat and killer claws, he was a sweetheart from the start.
I remember holding him like a baby, cradled in my arms while he would sleep and purr. He was in every way, really my very first baby.
When we were in college and newly married, pre-kids and pre-allergies, Bear would jump up into our bed, lift the covers with his little head, walk underneath the covers and then turn around and put his little head between ours. He would sleep like that all night. Colby, our other cat, who died on Christmas night in 2009 would usually curl around Mr. BBM's head.
They went through a lot with us: being snuck into apartments where we weren't supposed to have them, in laundry baskets; moving more times than we can even count now; and through a big adjustment from being our only babies to living in a house with two little girls who wanted to love them up endlessly. Bear used to curl himself around my very pregnant belly, place his paws on my stomach and purr loudly. He continued to keep up the same behavior after Big I was born. Instead of my belly, he cuddled with her. They always adjusted beautifully.
About two weeks ago, we noticed that Bear was eating unusually. He was taking the "bob for apples" approach to eating. He was thrusting his head into his food, and then shaking it off, leaving food everywhere. The floor around his bowl was a mess. Then he started to smell badly. Mr. BBM thought it was because he was pretty much bathing in his food. So, Mr. BBM gave him a bath every couple of days. And Bear would sit on Mr. BBM's lap when the bath was finished, purring, and patiently wait until he was finished blow-drying him.
This past week, I noticed that it seemed to be more than just food. It seemed like he was drooling. We began discussing with the girls, the fact that our time with Bear might be short. Yesterday morning, I went down to see him and noticed a lot of drool. I wiped his chin off and there was blood. I went to clean up his food and water and there was blood in his water dish too. We knew it was time.
The girls and I said goodbye to him and loved him up. We took some last pictures with him and Mr. BBM took him to the vet for the very last time. Sunday was an awful day.
Monday felt even worse. He's not there in the morning to zig zag walk in front of me and flop down so I'll pet him. He's not doing that crazy meow to wake the girls up that sounded like "MaGonk-ka." He wasn't there to follow me into Big I's room, wait for me to lay her clothes out for her, and then flop down on top of them and roll around while she giggled. For the first time in almost 15 years, this household is cat-less. My allergies may improve, but you couldn't tell because my face hurts and my eyes are swollen and I feel miserable.
I told the girls that Bear and Colby are probably sitting on my Grammom's lap. These girls, Mr. BBM and I have had too much loss lately. Colby on December 25, 2009. My Grammom on April 26, 2010. And now Bear, January 30, 2011. I've spent the week looking like I've been punched in the face, but I feel like I've been punched in the gut.
After looking up drooling and blood, it became apparent to Mr. BBM and me that Bear may have had more than just one type of cancer. During his last two weeks, he was exhibiting signs of mouth cancer. The "bobbing for apples" approach to his food is a symptom. Cats pick up their food and let it drop out of their mouths because it is painful. I feel horrible that he is no longer here; but I feel even worse thinking after the fact, that maybe we waited too long to send him off with his brother. Up until his last minutes, he was still behaving wonderfully, purring and wanting to snuggle with us, even though you could tell he was a little uncomfortable when held close.
Today, I read the "Rainbow Bridge" poem until I couldn't see anymore from the continual tears. I hope that he's there now, happy, pain free, and that he's having a fabulous reunion with his brother.
We miss you SO much Bear. Rest in peace.
Facebook and Mustard: The Answer Revealed
Today I got a call from a student on my cell phone, given to him by the registrar, I assume. First of all, he called me by my first name. He doesn't know me. He doesn't know what I normally go by in the classroom. Sure, there are plenty of people who use their first names in the classroom. However, I don't. Maybe it's the few years of teaching high school, but my students call me "Mrs. B." He should have assumed the more formal alternative. Right away, he went to the first name. Dude, we are not on a first name basis.
He then proceeded to tell me that he will miss the first week of class because he is going on vacation. He wanted to know, and I quote, if "I'll miss anything." Um, yeah, buddy, you're going to miss the first week of class. The first week of class is crucial. It's where I lay down the law, drive all that info on the syllabus into your head and then we get down to business and start working on first speeches. Yes, the first week. That's how I roll.
This reminds me of the student I had last year. In the middle of discussing my strict attendance policy, she shot her hand up in the air and said, "Um, yeah, I'm from far away. And if someone in my family gets sick or dies or something, I might not be here for like a whole week."
I'm not a fan of people who interrupt me to tell me their personal business, business that can be taken care of AFTER class, not during when it's wasting everyone's time including my own. I asked her if she had any sick and/or dying family members or friends. She said, "no." And then I told her that we should just go on and assume that everyone is going to stay healthy for now and that we'll deal with it, if and when that time comes.
I am fully aware that college students experience the death of a grandparent at least once per semester, every semester throughout their time at the university. But let's just deal with that when it happens. I can also now add that on the morning of my Grammon's funeral, I came and taught my class before going to the funeral.
Needless to say, I am a bit concerned about my students this semester. Each year I am a bit older and less tolerable. I always have some awesome kids; but the non-awesome ones can really overshadow those bright and shiny ones sometimes.
But, I've left you hanging enough. Here is how Facebook is like mustard. . .
"Yet it is paramount to understand that everything has its own pros and cons. Take mustard, for instance. It has barely any calories but that doesn't mean every dieter will find it delectable. While mustard is almost completely different from Facebook, my point remains solid. Facebook isn't for everyone."
I can't even begin to tell you how badly I want this student in my class. It is out of the box thinking like this that makes me think that there is hope. Bright, shiny, mustard-colored Facebooky hope.
How close were you to the right answer? I have to say, those ketchup responses were pretty funny.
A Newbie Gets Her Feet Wet
I didn't sleep much at all on Thursday night. After my drink ordeal, I was a bit frazzled. I tried to go to sleep thinking about the Naked Cowboy instead of my social awkwardness. This photo marks what will probably be the first and last time Mr. BBM will ever ask me if I want to pose with a ripped guy in his undies (more pictures of this funny dude and my NYC adventures on my Flickr page here).
I woke up and told myself it was a new day and that the newbie breakfast would be my salvation. Plus, I didn't have to walk in alone. Somer was meeting me in the lobby. . . sweet relief (How do I not have a picture of me with Somer!?!?).
I was shocked to see an entire ballroom packed with newbies like myself. I felt so alone only hours before. Our table filled up with people and we started talking. I met Jonna, a cool NYC blogger, and we really hit it off. I could do this; I could actually meet people instead of trying to blend in with the wallpaper.
The keynote started and then Megan spotted me and we spent the break talking about kicking things (She's a muay thai martial artist). The coolest thing about her is that she didn't even blink when I asked if I could see her shins. There is one word that comes to mind when I think about hanging out with Megan, and it's probably not the word you imagine when you hear that she's a muay thai boxer. Megan, in a word: calming.
She washed over me like a BlogHer anti-anxiety medication and I realized that my BlogHer experience was entirely up to me. I took advantage of my new-found attitude and plugged along throughout the day.
I spent a ton of time in the Writing Lab, scribbling down notes with a pen and paper, shocking I know. Many people were toting around technology to take their notes, technology that my poor beat-up laptop (the one I left at home for fear it couldn't survive the trip) couldn't even dream about. I found inspiration from Rita in the Writing Lab session. My notepad practically reads like a Rita Arens monologue.
And then I was introduced to Faiqa. I left this weekend wondering how I could possibly not have read this woman's blog. That's her in the white, me in the middle, and we'll get to that other awesome lady soon enough.
Faiqa is one of those people you meet and you're just instantly friends. We spent our lunch break wandering around the sponsor floors, trying out comfy new Tempur-pedic beds and having an absolute blast. I heard about the free swag but I had absolutely no idea how many wonderful connections you could make, just by talking to the sponsors. For the local ladies in my hometown, if Black House/White Market moves into the local shops, you all owe me one. I will gladly accept your appreciation in the form of clothing and cute accessories.
And there's also this. . . That's me and children's book author Todd Parr. . .
Here I am with the Jimmy Dean "Sun". . . He really does radiate happiness.
And here I am on a cooking show with the Sun and celebrity chef Catherine Diorio (whose name I'm probably not spelling correctly). I had heard that when at BlogHer, you need to eat whenever you can, so I figured there was no better way to get my food intake and still have fun than by having "The Sun" cook for me.
At one point, Faiqa needed to go rest up for her Voices of the Year speaking role later in the day, so I became Wonder Woman. When in Rome. . .
After attending some afternoon sessions, it was time for a break. I was without the comfort of any familiar faces once again, so I decided I would sit myself down at a table alone and see what happened. What happened was Mrs. Smith and MollyinMinn. Newbies as well, we instantly hit it off, shared horror stories of the first day and about feeling like insignificant nothings, and exchanged cards. Thank God, two less "Black Belt Mama" pens I had to work into the suitcase to bring back home.
We listened to the Voices of the Year keynote and it made me want to be a better writer. It also made me laugh out loud, thanks to this guy. New goal for the blog and this year: have someone think I'm a "Voice of the Year" and work on raising my writing to that level.
For some, BlogHer was about hanging out and partying college-style with blogging friends they only get to see a couple times a year. For others, it was a platform on which to great crazy (and even naked, and no, that part is not a lie). For me, it was about stepping outside of my comfort zone to put myself in a position to become better at what I love to do. . . write.
Stay tuned for Saturday! It gets even better!
The Unveiling of the Leg. . .
This morning I arrived at my plastic surgeon's office with my entourage. Because the staff in his office don't wear uniforms, I was surprised when the woman who took me to my room started unwrapping my leg. I was about to tell her "hands off woman," when I realized that she was a nurse. She helped me unstrap the immobilizer, took off the ace bandage and then started cutting away layers of gauze. Finally, only once small piece of gauze remained over top of the incision area. I held my breath.
She slowly pulled it back and away and what was left underneath was nothing like what I expected. . .
I exhaled and choked back tears. My leg looks normal again.
The scars from the previous two surgeries are completely gone. The scar and all that crazy discolored skin, blood vessels so easily seen before right through the skin. . . gone. Instead, one half moon shaped incision line, thin and tight. The only bruising that remains was one the size of a pinky fingertip pad, right near the incision. When I tentatively touched the area, it didn't even hurt. The best part? The tissue there actually bounced back. You can't feel the bone anymore. For the first time, in two and a half years, the skin around that area doesn't hurt when touched.
I sat there in disbelief as my girls leaned over and admired my new leg. "Wow Mommy, your leg looks so much better!" they both said. I couldn't help holding up my right leg and making the comparison. They're now almost exactly the same.
My surgeon came in then and went through the dirty details of the surgery as he carefully took out the stitches. It pinched a bit (getting stitches out is always my least favorite part of the whole ordeal), but it was nothing major. He then placed some steri-strips over the incision and wrapped my leg up again in gauze wrap and tape. He wants me to keep a little compression on it for another week. The immobilizer needs to stick around through Friday. But I can start showering normally now. I can start FEELING normal now.
He discussed with me the importance of not doing any exercising for the next couple of weeks. The hole left in my tibia is substantial and it needs time to heal and close. I have a much greater risk right now of breaking my leg if I'm not careful.
I go back to see him in a month and I'll see my orthopedic surgeon in a couple of weeks. He's going to be surprised too I'll bet. I was expecting better; I wasn't expecting this good.
My plastic surgeon also told me he'll do whatever he can to help me get compensated for the alloderm. It was simply not an option to not use it and clearly it is doing what it's supposed to do. It's working and it's absolutely wonderful.
I am hoping this is the final chapter of this almost three-year ordeal. I still can't believe it.
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