kvetch me if you can.

Black-Baby-Crying
Suck it up, buttercup. You wanted this. 

It’s 5:37am, and I’m up because I’m wholly uncomfortable.

Today is 33 weeks. Peanut is the size of a pineapple (another one of my least-liked fruits/veggies) and I read someplace that this is around the time that she will settle into her final position before birth. She’s always been active, but lately her movements are bigger – stop-me-in-my-tracks shocking – as if she’s a rabbit burrowing a den for the winter. I’m feeling her feet (hands? elbows? heels?) dig into parts of my body she never bothered with before. I’m pretty sure my ribs are bruised from the inside.

Pelvic Girdle Pain has set in, making it near-impossible at times to walk with my legs together. I look like I just got off a horse, or as though someone gave me a good, hard boot to the crotch. I alternate between pain that keeps me awake, and pain (mostly from the back) that knocks me out. I’ve also developed Restless Legs Syndrome, which hits me hard at night. I literally feel as though I have ants in my pants (or under my skin) and constantly have kick and rub my legs and frequently change positions to get the sensations to stop. Continue reading

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the codeine conundrum.

Painkillers
Mother’s little helper ain’t what it used to be.

Any relief I get from taking codeine and morphine is superseded by the guilt about the real or perceived damage I’m inflicting on my little one.

But I’m simply in too much pain to function, think, or even breathe. The halfway mark is approaching, and I don’t want to spend the next 20 weeks on narcotics. For the most part I try to hold off for as long as possible before I pop a pill, but I’m this ( – ) close to admitting myself back into hospital so I can get a dose of morphine to lower the volume on the pain from nerve-jangling throbbing to something a little less crazy-making.

When I’m playing superwoman (and opting out of downing a tab), my coping methods involve Lamaze-inspired breathing techniques and pacing. These don’t lessen the pain by any means, but they certainly distract.

There’s also the worry about the prolonged damage to my liver. Dr. Freedman assures me that it would take more than the occasional Tylenol 3 to ruin me, but it’s still a concern. No matter how beneficial these drugs are in the short term, the long-term implications weigh on my mind.

pity-party.

tissues
We’ll return to our regularly-scheduled happy person tomorrow.

Pardon me for a moment. I’ve been trying so hard to stay upbeat, and today the façade just cracked. I’ve spent the better part of two days breathing through pain. The only things that provide relief are hot showers or hot sex. And I’m not getting nearly enough of the latter right now to make me feel better.

Having this kind of unabated pain is isolating. I mean, my parents and the boy know that I’m not doing so well, I just don’t think they understand what it is I’m dealing with. Most of my day is spent willing myself to make it through another 30 seconds. One minute. Five. Ten minutes. Half-hour. Hour. It’s certainly a test of endurance – I mean, how much longer can I do this? How much longer until I can take another Codeine? How long can I make it without one?

Tonight, while in the shower – and for the first time since this whole ordeal started – I cried. Everything just hurts so much. I know that this will pass, but I’m just frazzled. Exhausted and scared. What are all these drugs going to do to my baby? How long am I going to have to continue taking them? How will I manage without them?

Speaking of my baby, while I am a total basket-case, she (she! heh) has been a little trooper. She’s active in there, rolling and flailing about, seemingly unaffected by the hardcore drugs filtering through my system. Feeling her move reassures me that I’ve not ruined her health or turned her into a vegetable with my pill-popping.

I’ll keep holding on for now.

For her.

the un-baby.

Pregnant tummy laid down on a hammock
Don’t get too attached to that bump, lady…That ain’t yer baby!

I met Dr. Freedman today.

I really had no pre-conceptions of what she looked like, however I found myself surprised that she was young. Mid-40s, tops. Tall. Brunette. Plain – but pretty. She has a straightforward manner that I like. I can tell she’s not a candy-coater, and delivers the news you need to hear, as you need to hear it.

I learned this as she had me lie back on the examination table so she could feel my uterus. Starting with my left side, she immediately stopped and made a face. “That doesn’t feel right,” she said. “Do you have time today to go for an ultrasound?”

“Sure,” I replied. She waved her hand, indicating that I could sit up. “What’s wrong?”

“Well, I wouldn’t say anything is ‘wrong’ until I get more evidence, but have you noticed the firm lump on the left side of your abdomen?”

“Yes.” I put my hand over the spot as I answered. “I just thought it was the baby.Continue reading