The Joy Is in the Living

As Christmas approaches, I feel the urge to write...especially because a friend told me the other day that she misses reading these updates. I apologize, dear reader, for not posting here more often in the past few months. I have been responding to the siren's call of Facebook and using it to update so many people about our day-to-day lives, even though not everyone is on Facebook very often.

So, here's a brief (let's not kid ourselves--it's as brief as I can make anything) summary of our year:

Mike began a contract in November 2010 at Ball Corporation, and in May of 2011, they hired him full time. He, the new man on the team, was going to be relegated to working a lot of overtime while everyone went on vacation in the summer. That never let up. Since about July or August, he has been working 60- to 84-hour work "weeks." Understandably, much of the responsibility for the gardening and care of the house fell to me.

In the spring, a lovely neighborhood dog showed up at our house and seemed to adopt us. We loved her greatly and renamed her Princess from Snowball, because she really was a princess. She kept us company and brought us much joy throughout the summer. Around the beginning or middle of August, she showed up a little injured one day. Then she disappeared.

In July, we learned I was pregnant again. We were cautiously optimistic, but we didn't want to tell anyone until we made it out of the first trimester. In August, we lost that baby, as well. I was about 6 weeks pregnant. The good news was that the miscarriage went much more swiftly and effectively than the first. I still had to go to the ER because I lost so much blood, but it was over very quickly and I suffered no more than the "normal" ill effects of a miscarriage--almost all emotional, and only a few cramps physically. Overall, we were sad but hopeful. It took us less than two years to get pregnant this time, whereas it had taken us three or more years the first time, and this pregnancy progressed further, and we had a lot of emotional and physical support this time, in the form of very good friends, Becca Sparks Lowry, Christina James Chase, Dana Fischer Welborn, and Jill Bastian Truax chief among them.

In the late summer/early fall, Sir George, our older kitty, began to decline healthwise. I made an appointment to have him put to sleep, but either I waited too late or he decided he preferred to pass on at home. Becca was with me via text, and Tina was with me through the day. Both provided tremendous emotional support. George passed away at the ripe old age of 18. It wasn't as peaceful a death as I would have hoped for, but he died at home, with me right by his side. I was incredibly honored to be with him in his last few hours. I know, he was only a cat, but to share a natural death with another being you love is truly touching. George is "planted"--for whatever reason, that day, when I talked about trying to bury him, all I could say was "plant," go figure--in our front yard, under the maple tree and next to the boxwoods lining our driveway.

A very short time later, because Maury seemed to be very much missing George's company, we adopted Cali, a real sweetheart of a kitty. We were told she was a little more than a year old, but she is still very much a kitten, though she had already had a litter of kittens before we adopted her. She was not very keen on Maury at first, doing a lot of hissing and spitting and growling, but with patience and calm, he soon won her over. Within two weeks, they were almost as good of friends as Maury and George.

Our garden gave some good harvests this year, despite its neglect. Through the summer, we were on a night shift, so we didn't have long each day to really tend it. Even now, only three days from Christmas, we haven't removed the stakes or fencing from our garden, because we have so little time. In addition, this was the busiest summer *I* have ever had for my freelance work, and even though I had a full crew of people helping me, we were still swamped at maximum capacity with slow turnaround times for most of the summer...the summer I had wanted to use to go slowly so I could care for the house and garden while my husband worked insane amounts of overtime.

So, you ask, why aren't I mentioning my husband more? Well, because I barely see him. The only things I really know about him since August are that he is perpetually exhausted, he's trying to fix his Montero single-handedly, and he has a blood elf paladin that has partnered with my blood elf priest for the past two weekends in the world of Kalimdor while he has been too exhausted to do anything but sit in front of a computer and I've been too tired to care, as I'm in the first trimester of my third pregnancy.

We've shared the news of the pregnancy this time. Not telling most people last time turned out to be a little too emotionally stressful for me, especially trying to work out getting to doctor appointments and the like with Mike's very limited free time. Plus, I believe strongly in the power of prayer and positive thoughts and know that when two people get together to pool their "spiritual resources," they create benefits greater than two working individually. So, I'm telling anyone and everyone and unabashedly asking for prayers, energies, positive thoughts, whatever, to keep this pregnancy going in the right direction. So far, it seems to be working well. I've had some spotting in this pregnancy, as I did in both the others. The thing is, we don't know if the spotting in those other pregnancies were precursors to my miscarriage or if it's just normal for me to spot. With all the prayers and positive thoughts for us, however, the spotting has been minimal this time and has tapered away. Now, if it appears, it's once, maybe twice, a day, right before bedtime and right when I get up in the morning. I'm amazingly calm this time around. Even though I have yet to find an OB. Even though I have a history of miscarriage. Even though hormones are doing their damnedest to make me anxious. It's partly because I know that if I'm going to miscarry in the first trimester, there's not much I can do about it, so I take the best care of myself that I can, getting plenty of sleep, not overexerting myself, but still staying active, and eating the best I can with random nausea spikes and food aversions. With every new "pregnancy woe," as one of my friends called them, I cheer. I smile. And I share. And my friends on Facebook cheer with me. And smile with me. And offer words of encouragement. And so that's another reason I'm amazingly calm--because I know that, no matter what happens, I have amazing friends and family supporting me, cheering with me, crying with me. And that makes a HUGE difference.

I just keep hoping and praying for the best and telling the baby that he or she is very, very loved and will be fortunate to be born into such a loving circle. In addition, the baby will have a grandpa (we haven't yet worked out if he wants to be Pappaw, Grandpa, Gramps, Geezer, etc.) with a new lease on life. My dad had bariatric surgery not long after our miscarriage in August. My mother tells me I won't recognize him, as he's lost more than 100 pounds. I'm looking forward to seeing him tomorrow to see him at the lightest I've ever seen him. Hell, he might even be lighter than me now...I have no idea!


We miss Mike's friends and family in Oregon, but our friends have really stepped up to help lighten the sadness a bit this year. Though we didn't get to travel to share Thanksgiving with my parents or his, and though none of our family members could share that holiday with us, we did get to host Becca and her husband, Shaun, and we had a great day.

And so, as Chanukkah has begun, people all over the world are celebrating Yule, and Christmas approaches, we are happy and hopeful. Mike is researching options for starting his own business. He's also trying to study so he can take a test for another certification. And he's enduring the incredibly long hours at work, getting whatever experience he can as he sorts out when he will leave if he wants to leave, and what he will do when he leaves. He's got two (nonconsecutive) weeks of vacation coming to him in May if he's still at Ball then--the first vacation he will have ever received. That's right, EVER. Since leaving grad school, he's been unemployed or employed in seasonal jobs or working as a contractor and in jobs that don't award vacations or that give vacations only after a full year of employment. So, May is when we have our sights set on him taking more than two days off. He may be taking a week-long certification class, but who knows?

2011 has been a challenge for us, but it has also been rewarding. We've had sorrow, and we've had joy. And I'm sure we have more of both to come, but we look to 2012 [even the coming return of Nibiru/release of Becca 2.0/end of the Mayan calendar/shift of the magnetic poles/return of Cthulu/galactic alignment/return of Jesus/Armageddon/cosmic shift in consciousness/zombie apocalypse (well, *I* can never look forward to a zombie apocalypse. We all know my fear.)] with hope. It's the only thing that keeps us going--aside from each other...and all of you.

So, to all of you, I wish you the happiest of whatever holidays you are celebrating, and the rosiest of new years. Thank you for being there for us, and for loving us. We appreciate all you do for us.

* Stringham high: Life is beautiful.
* Stringham low: Separation from loved ones for far too long.
* Stringham super-high: Our blessings, including loved ones, are too numerous to count!

(Remember that if you view the post on my blog, the title links to a video specially chosen for the day.)

Life's Purpose, in Context

Last night, a little wistfully, I was going through the children's books that I have "waiting" in the guest room, which will eventually become the kid's room when we have a kid. I came across a book from my childhood, "Prayers for Children," a Little Golden Book. In it, I found a prayer that must have had a huge effect on me, because what it requests is what I've always striven for my life to be, even when I hadn't read the book in years and had forgotten completely about it while it was tucked away in a closet.

A Child's Prayer

God, make my life a little light
Within the world to glow;
A little flame that burneth bright
Wherever I may go.

God, make my life a little flower
That giveth joy to all,
Content to bloom in native bower,
Although the place be small.

God, make my life a little song
That comforteth the sad,
That helpeth others to be strong
And makes the singer glad.

God, make my life a little staff
Whereon the weak may rest,
And so what health and strength I have
May serve my neighbors best.

God, make my life a little hymn
Of tenderness and praise;
Of faith, that never waxeth dim,
In all His wondrous ways.

--M. Betham-Edwards

This prayer/poem sums up my life's goal succinctly, to make a difference in the world through small ways, through living and being me, always conscientious of others and of the effect that my behavior has on others.

* Stringham high: Quick recovery
* Stringham low: Second miscarriage, and Mike's job woes
* Stringham super-high: We're more fertile than we once were!

Joy to the World!

The past few days have been really good. I have felt better and had more energy than I can recall having in months.

On Friday, M and I spent 14 hours out and about, running errands and enjoying one another's company. Among other things, we finally got my handicap placard (just in time for icky parking lots), bought several of the tool's he's required to have for his job, and had a fantastic sushi lunch.

Sunday, I had an entire day free from editing and used it all to tackle house chores that have been sadly abandoned or undermanaged since M started working back in March/April. I scrubbed the walls and showers and sink in the main bathroom, where mold and hard water stains accrue. I folded laundry. I cooked several meals, I did dishes. Oh, the things I did in all my day! I only sat down and played WoW for 30 minutes or so. The entire rest of the day was spent cleaning and organizing.

On top of all this, since M's been at his new job and I've been on MY sleep schedule and not HIS work schedule, I've been able to have a hot dinner ready for him and his lunch packed almost as soon as he walks in the door, in addition to washing a load of dishes nearly every day. With the load M did on Saturday, the pile of dishes that was threatening to swallow our kitchen whole (it's a large kitchn with a lot of counter space, and I'm NOT exaggerating) is down to just one dishwasher full. And it will be destroyed tomorrow.

What does it matter that what should be routine housekeeping tasks are actually, well, routine housekeeping tasks? It matters because I've had the ENERGY and the INTEREST and the STAMINA to do them in addition to my editing work. Finally! More than a year since the miscarriage and my near-blindness and my diagnosis with IIH, I am regaining stamina! I no longer put in a "lot" of physical activity (read: normal activity for most people) one day then have to sleep 14 hours that night to make up for it!

Today, I woke in a good mood, with plenty of energy, despite being awakened by the alarm clock. I immediately started at the day. It still takes me a while to build up my head of steam, but I was soon chugging along and kept up the pace for a full 9 hours. Woohoo!

When M got home from work this evening, he said he was given an application today by the company he works at, "now that he's already doing the job." Almost as soon as the words left his mouth, though, he realized what he was saying. The application was from the company he works AT, not the one he works FOR as a temp. Then he realized this is probably a good thing--that the company wants to have the application complete so they can hire him directly as soon as they can (most likely about mid-February, if I've done my math correctly, as they usually wait 3 months to hire their temp-to-hire folks so the temp agency can get whatever money they have been promised).

* Stringham high: Christmas is coming soon!
* Stringham low: Cold. Brr!
* Stringham super-high: Strength! Stamina! Good-paying employment!

Revisiting Autumn

After a bumpy start to my evening, I finally managed to be calm, even cheerful, for most of the night. I've had a crockpot meal cooking, and several windows open to let in the fresh (and cold!--49 degrees) air. It smells like fall in our house, with the combination of fresh cold air and cooking pork, onions, and green chiles. That's great, the smell of fall, and it makes me happy.

But then I got a headache spike a little after 2 AM. It wasn't terrible, and it resolved after a few minutes, so I attributed it to the weather, as we've got a couple squall lines moving through. But then I felt anxious out of the blue. I was working--editing--and felt anxious, then started thinking about the hospital and going in for my D&C last fall. (It was a warm and rainy night when we went to the hospital with my heavy bleeding, but the next afternoon when they wheeled me down for surgery, they had the doors to the basement open and I talked with one of the doctors about how great the new first cold air of fall is, because it had just arrived that morning.) My feelings of anxiety, like my pain spike, went away fairly quickly and are mostly gone now, but a trace of them lingers, in the way that the feel of a particularly peculiar dream hangs around for a few hours after you wake up.

I wonder if these ups and downs are going to be common for the next few weeks, over the anniversary of...well, anniversaries, I guess...of the hospitalization for the miscarriage, the D&C, the beginning of my vision loss, my weeks of pain, and my eye surgery. It's been nearly a year since I've driven a car. Nearly a year since I've been able to look at my husband's face and see all its details all at once without having to shift my gaze just so.

Normally, I love fall. This year, I'm not sure how it's going to go. The next month promises to be an interesting revisit to an...interesting combination of bad and good.

Normally, I might expound upon the thought that's been chasing around in my head about autumn being the death of things preparing for rest and rebirth, and the cycle of life and healing, but tonight, I think I'll leave that for another time.

*Stringham high: autumn
*Stringham low: not-so-happy anniversaries (see above)
*Stringham super high: happy anniversaries (my parents' 36th year of marriage, my friend B's 1st year of marriage, my and Mike's 7th year of being together)

**Title links to a song that I'd like to "dedicate" in honor of those happy anniversaries and to our child, whom we never got to meet.

A Stroll down Memory Lane (part I)

WARNING: Contents may be graphic. They are straight from my journal. Do not read if you are easily disgusted or upset.

Okay, here’s the story of what has happened in the past couple of days (or at least the first part of it). Details may be a little out of order, given the nature of things.

On Sunday evening, around 9 PM, I decided to take a break from work to get in my exercise for the day. I was about 10 minutes in to the exercise routine when I felt that all-too-familiar rush of fluid between my legs that signaled that I needed to get to the restroom and change my pads. When I got to the toilet, I discovered that my pad hadn’t been soaked yet, but I felt a blood clot pass. And blood started dripping. It just wouldn’t stop. I could hear it dripping steadily, a little stream, into the toilet bowl. It wasn’t reminiscent of a river, like the doc told me to keep an eye out for, but it was steady and unceasing. I sat there, wiping, dabbing, daubing, until my legs went numb. I worked my way through a full roll of toilet paper.

Finally, I realized I had to stand, or I wouldn’t be able to. I hurriedly stood, making sure to get the pad in place so I could walk around and wash my hands (which were, of course, pretty messy by this time). I flushed the toilet and saw something that looked different from all the other blood clots I had passed, plus the red in the bowl was darker than any I’d seen since the first night of big bleeding I had…maybe even darker than that first night’s. At first, I thought that the bit of slightly different color I saw was the one or two pieces of toilet paper that I had accidentally dropped in the bowl earlier, but on second glance, I realized it was too large (about the size of a sheet of notebook paper) and slightly gray. I realized I had passed the placenta. I flushed the toilet and washed my hands and felt that familiar gush…yup, blood clots that would surely flood my pad and panties.

So I spun around to the toilet again. And the trickling continued. But at least my leg was awake again. I asked M to bring me my glass of water, because I knew I would need to stay hydrated. This had the feel of a long one. My lips started to kind of tingle, like they do when I’m donating red blood cells and the plasma and saline is almost ready to be pumped back into me. I finished that glass of water and asked for a refill. The tingling in my lips stopped. I was starting to feel nauseous off and on, but I didn’t know if that was because of the blood loss, the water I had basically chugged, the distress I was feeling (C’mon, can’t we be done with this, already? It’s been weeks! I’m tired of bleeding, and I want to move on. I’ve already prayed for healing and a “clean out.”). Realizing that this may be the very “clean out” I had prayed for, I calmed down and continued cleaning.

The bag in the trash can was full. I had gone through another roll of toilet paper. M brought more TP and gave me another bag to put in the trash can. I started getting dizzy and felt filthy. The smell of everything reminded me of a wet dog…not at all pleasant. I wanted to shower. I had tried getting up a couple of other times, but each time, I felt the surge of a clot and had to sit down almost immediately. Finally, I decided to try to shower to clean myself up. I walked around long enough to get some towels and some fresh clothes, then got into the shower. I discovered that standing in the shower made me feel a little less dizzy…at least for a while. I rinsed off but discovered that the mess was only getting worse because, although things were now draining into a drain, they were also falling onto a hard surface and splattering. And, if anything, I was bleeding more rather than less.

I turned off the shower and stood there, trying to figure out what to do next. I began trying to wash the streams of blood off my legs by using the sink. I stood in the shower and leaned against the countertop while rinsing the washcloth, but I soon wondered if that yellow washcloth would ever be yellow again. I asked M to bring more washcloths. I filled the sink basin with water and rinsed the first washcloth in it, then realized that that wasn’t helping. I alternately stood and leaned, rinsed and cleaned, making no progress. Finally, I told M we needed to go to the hospital. I told him he needed to get a trash bag and two towels for me to sit on when we went because I knew I would bleed through pad, panties, and pants. He gathered those while I tried to figure out how the hell to get myself cleaned up enough to walk through the house without tracking blood everywhere. Already, the toilet had blood spots all over it, the floor had a few, the sink was filled with bloody water, and the shower had spatters and a pile of blood clots that I had pulled off the washcloth to better rinse it. While I kind of panicked, trying to figure out what the hell to do, M threw some clothes in a duffel bag, along with some pads, some extra towels, a couple cans of Coke, and some saltines. I asked him to make sure to grab my planner because it had all the dates of all my bleeds and doctors’ visits and such. Finally, I had him get me a new pair of panties, and I threw them on with a new pad, then tried to wipe the blood streaks off my legs as much as possible. I didn’t even try to clean my feet. I knew that would be pointless.

Finally, we were off. We got to the hospital right before 11:30. I had started bleeding around 9:30. I started giving the admissions people my information, and then they started the process to get me a quick check-in, and I had to visit the restroom. M gave them information and I went to the public restroom and then made a mess there. If cleaning up massive amounts of blood is difficult with super-absorbent Charmin, it’s damn near impossible with the tissue-paper-like stuff they put in public restrooms. I had bled through my pants, but there was nothing I could do about that. I changed pads and tried to wipe the excess blood and blood clots from my thighs. I flushed the toilet three or four times to try to flush down all the paper I had used.

I heard a knock on the door and, “Stephie? You almost done?” I tried to wash up and clean the blood off the toilet seat as best I could, washed my hands, closed up the duffel bag, and stepped out. I was led to an interview room of sorts and asked to sit down. I gave some information, all the while feeling horribly uncomfortable because I could feel blood clots and blood passing alarmingly fast. After getting the immediate information from me, the admissions nurse led M to the desk to get me completely admitted and then led me to a room.

As she led me to a room, I saw a little boy on a bed, attached to monitors, while his dad sat next to him. I prayed for that little boy. And I prayed for M to have the strength to deal with all this. People and stress has never been his peak operating situations. I was led into my room and given a gown and sheet, and a couple of bed pads were laid out for me. The nurse left, telling me to change there and lie down and relax, and asked if I needed anything. I asked if I could have something to drink because I was very, very thirsty. She said we’d better hold off, in case they wanted to do a D&C that night, because they didn’t want me to have something and then aspirate. As soon as she left, I felt another huge clot pass, and I said, “Shit.” I knew it was going to be bad when I took my pants off. Sure enough, as soon as the pants came down, a huge clot fell, and blood splattered all over the floor. I felt terrible, but there was nothing I could do about it. I just hurried to get onto the bed and onto those pads as quickly as I could.

A few moments later, the ER nurse came in. I warned her as soon as she opened the door that there was a mess. I apologized, of course, knowing it was stupid to apologize, but she understood. She got everything cleaned up and told me that she wouldn’t need chemicals like on CSI: to know that blood had been there. I laughed a little. She introduced herself as Pam and talked to me to help me kind of calm down. I was upset more by all the mess than the situation, honestly. Crazy what we focus on when we’re upset. She told me that she had had a miscarriage, too, and said, “Guess how many daughters I have now?” Then she raised a hand with all fingers spread wide and mouthed, “Five.” The whole time we talked, she kept telling me she was glad she was there for me, glad that God had sent her to help me that night. I was, too.

Finally, M came in, and we talked. All the while, I felt blood and clots passing and filling up the area between my legs. Pam told us the doctor would be in in a bit. All the while, bleeding. Some of the first blood I had passed once I had laid on the bed started to dry, and it was becoming uncomfortable. The ER doc came in and chatted with me and said he didn’t feel we were in a big hurry to have a D&C, and I agreed, because we all pretty much thought this was my body’s final push to get everything out and wrap up this miscarriage. He was going to call my doc, he said, and would have someone from the lab come in and draw some blood. He saw no reason for me to not have some water, because if a D&C was going to be done, it wouldn’t be until the next morning. He stepped out, then walked back in a minute later with a glass of water and a straw. Bless him.

Not long after, Pam and a lady from the lab came in. I think I had just remarked to M that my lips were tingling again. The lady from the lab started telling me what she was going to do, Pam, about the blood pressure measurements they were about to take. I started feeling really hot, and I couldn’t breathe right while I was trying to talk to them. Everything went out. I think I heard someone say I was passing out. The next thing I know, I was being wheeled across the hallway into a room and they were getting me hooked up to saline. M was standing beside me, looking very freaked out. I kept telling him I was okay, I was all right. I looked at the clock. It was about 12:15, I think.

They got me stabilized, and I kept telling M I was okay. But I was covered in sweat, I was burning up. M had to calm down, signaled for me to not say anything. His adrenaline had kicked in when he saw me pass out, and now he was coming down from the high, feeling a little nauseous. The doc came in to make sure everything was okay, then he and Pam stepped out for a bit.

A couple of minutes later, after M was mostly calm, Pam stepped back in to do my three BP measurements and said the ER doc was going to do a vaginal exam. They started getting things set up, and I told M not to look, because I knew there was so much blood and clots that he would be upset and worried. The doc had come in, and M made a comment about the blood clots looking like Jell-o jigglers, and I told him at least he didn’t have to eat the placenta. Then we heard Pam say, “WHAT did you just say?” The doc was kind of laughing, and so was I. I told Pam that a lot of cultures eat the placenta after it’s passed because it’s a good way to regain nutrients lost in childbirth. She said we had nearly made her vomit. M, the doc, and I were all laughing. This woman had barely batted an eye when she saw my blood all over the floor, and she had told me a couple of disgusting things she’s seen in the ER after I had kept apologizing for all the mess I was making, and then she nearly vomited at hearing about something like eating a placenta. Yup, I have to cause trouble wherever I go.

After the exam, the doc said it looked like there was just a little more blood left and that I could go home or stay the night up in OB before my doc checked me out the next morning. M and I decided we’d rather I stay, just to be on the safe side. We had quite a bit of time alone while they made the arrangements to have me moved. I had M call my mom and dad to let them know what was going on, and then he called his mom. Then we had a little while longer to talk. He said he thought he had lost me…said one minute I was there, and then I just “wasn’t there anymore.” I promised him I hadn’t gone anywhere, I had been praying for the little boy across the way and for M. He told me I should have been praying for myself. I assured him that I had been. In all my short moments alone in every room, I had prayed my thanks and prayed for help. I told him God was taking care of me and that I hadn’t gone anywhere…I had just passed out. I told him that, to save his feelings, I wouldn’t even make a joke about how I was disappointed that I hadn’t had an OBE.

Pam came in and put me in another gown, cleaned up the bed, took me off the saline, etc. Around 1:30, they finally started wheeling me up to the third floor, to OB. As she wheeled me around, Pam kept telling me that she thought M was a keeper. I told her we’d been together long enough that I was pretty sure I was going to keep him around.

We got up to my room and then the OB nurses helped me to the toilet, gave me a lovely set of fishnet panties and a gi-normous “mommy pad.” As I sat there, they cleaned my legs and feet up with washcloths and showed me how to use the squirt bottle to clean myself. They put me in bed and started the procedures, asking me all sorts of questions about my health. After about 20 minutes, I started feeling a little nauseous. I was hot and had M turn on the fan. My lips started tingling. But I was lying down. I asked if I could use the restroom, so one of the nurses helped me. I was really starting to not feel good again, so I asked if that new batch of saline was coming anytime soon. It was about 2:00 AM, about the time M and I had been going to bed. I was yawning, in addition to starting to dim. I needed fluids, and I wasn’t allowed to drink. I kept dropping hints. Finally, they got me hooked up to saline and finished asking me questions. They took my vitals and told me I had to push the call button anytime I had to use the restroom. M was not allowed to help me, because I “like to pass out.” I jokingly said that was only one time and I wouldn’t do it again. One of the nurses said her son likes to tell her he won’t do things again and then he always does, so she didn’t trust me. I laughed a little and said, “But it was the first time, the only time, in my life that I’ve passed out, I promise.” Then they left us alone. It was about 20 minutes to 3.

I was still hot, so the fan stayed on me. Everyone else was freezing. M stretched out on the chair/bed next to my bed, and he nearly froze. Every time I drifted off to sleep, I had a bit of trouble breathing and woke up. I was a little freaked out. I was worried about passing out again. Finally, around 4:30, I was able to breathe normally and sleep for 10 or 15 minutes at a time. Then a truck going by on the highway or the wind blowing or the ambulance would wake me. I woke up every time they came in for my vitals and used the chance to be assisted to the restroom.

Around 5:00, I woke up for my next set of vitals. The nurse, as she was helping me to the restroom, said that they had been down to the ER and that Pam and the doc had been asking about me and talking about Mike, saying that he was a real keeper. I laughed, and the nurse told me that they see a lot of people in the ER, a lot of different types, and M had impressed them, as much as he had doted on me. Yeah, he’s a sweetie.

I got back in bed, fully alert and awake. M woke up, too, and we talked a bit, and I asked him to turn on the TV, because my bedside controls for the TV didn’t work. We watched TV for about an hour. One of the nurses came in to check on me. It was clear that she didn’t approve of me being awake. She said if she were us, she’d be sleeping and resting. I told her that I’ve learned long ago that my body decides when it wants to sleep and when it doesn’t and there’s not a whole hell of a lot I can do about it. She walked out, still kind of disapprovingly. Turns out it was a good thing I was awake, because about 5 minutes after that, a lady from the lab came in to take some samples that they hadn’t been able to get while I was in the ER. She was there until about 20 after 6, and then I was exhausted and went back to sleep.

Speaking of sleep…I’m exhausted again. Going to sign off and write more later.

You're the Reason God Made...Anesthesia

I just got back from my very own little 19-hour mini-vacation to the fabulous, luxurious St. Clare Crawfordsville! Yes, that's right, yours truly was hospitalized. My very first (other than birth) overnight hospital stay. I even fainted (another first!). This is just the quick version. I'll provide more details later, but right now I'm pooped and wanted everyone to know how this baby thing has turned out.

I had yet another bout of heavy bleeding last night that started while I was exercising. After about an hour of bleeding that was not stopping, I told M to take me to the hospital. While I was in the ER, they were preparing to take some blood for tests, and I passed out because I had lost so much blood and my BP dropped so low. M nearly lost his shit with worry at that one, but he was a trooper. Anyway, I'm okay, but they asked me after stabilizing me if I wanted to stay or go home, and I said I'd feel more comfortable staying the night, so they moved me to the OB ward. This morning, my doc came in and asked if a D&C was what I wanted to do to get this over with, so they fit me in. After I spent about an hour in recovery, I got moved up back to my room and was allowed to rest until I could pee and eat (yum! I hadn't been allowed to eat or drink in about 14 hours) and then they let me go.

Like I said, more later, 'cause I'm freaking sleepy.

Ciao!

* Stringham high: It was a night of firsts.
* Stringham wierd: The whole time I was sleeping in the hospital, I had classic country songs running through my head. I like them, but all I kept hearing were "You're the Reason God Made Oklahoma," "One of a Kind (Pair of Fools)." Oh, and then there was also (not country) "Good night, Sweetheart, well, it's time to go..." while I was TRYING to fall asleep.
* Stringham super-high: Yay, Medicaid!

Sad News: The M Word

I have miscarried. We were alerted by our ultrasound a little over a week ago that it was possible I had miscarried or that we were several weeks further behind in pregnancy than we had thought. But we miscarried. Had a couple of messy nights. We're taking it okay, with some ups and downs, as well as can be expected, probably better than some would expect.

I've had lots of support and consoling news from women who are friends and family who have experienced miscarriage, and I've taken comfort from that.

Anyway, I don't want to dwell here, because if I'm on too long, I'll start telling you about every emotional up and down we've been through, and I don't really think that's necessary.

We are--well, I am--eternally optimistic, so though we have fears (which are only natural, given the circumstances), we will keep moving on and trying again. Hey, at least now we know we CAN get pregnant. We didn't know that before early July.

* Stringham high: We're alive and healthy, the weather's beautiful, and we still love each other
* Stringham low: We've had to say goodbye to our baby for now.
* Stringham super-high: Got a new workout program for the Wii. M's loving it. (I haven't had a chance to try more than 10 minutes of it yet.)