Heard from the backseat of my car, as we are pulling up to a friend's house for a playdate: "Mama, you know, sometimes I think my brother is everywhere." This from a kid who not so long ago (also from a backseat) declared that she thinks people made up God, since people say that God is in the sky and we know there is nothing in the sky but clouds, and planets, and stars, and comets.
What could I do but hug and kiss her after we got out of the car? She seems happy for the validation, and if I know her, she has been working on this thought for a while before deciding to voice it today. She talked a bit more about it on the way home, and then at home to JD. She is planning to tell her teachers tomorrow. The last bit is probably because after we mentioned her budding atheism to her teachers at the parent-teacher conference (in the context of asking how and what she is interested in doing during their class religious activities), the teachers encouraged us to encourage her to bring stuff like that up in school so they could start a discussion.*
*Before you ask, no, it's not so they can indoctrinate her. The school is Jewish, but intentionally pluralistic, and they take that seriously. When Monkey asked her teacher early in the year what God was, the teacher told her it was an important question that she couldn't answer for her. The school respects families and family beliefs and practices very much, something that was extremely important to us when deciding to send Monkey there. Inside Kindergarten they have created this inherently respectful atmosphere where kids feel safe and genuinely care for each other. So we trust them to have a classroom discussion of a weighty subject like that that won't put anyone down and can only lead to kids thinking in new and deeper ways. Yes, I am talking about six year olds. Some of them are still five, actually.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Sunday, March 30, 2008
The spring that isn't
Or at least not yet. Oh, it almost was, for a few days here and there. But in the latest go round, Friday we had cold rain that was snow in some parts of the state. Yesterday the plan was to walk circles around the pond, but once we emerged from the coffee shop, there were flakes. Honest to goodness flakes. So we wandered around the neighborhood instead. The effects of the just kidding approach to changing of the seasons were hard to miss.
These guys, though, seem to be doing alright.
We spotted this dude across the street from the flowers. While we were taking pictures of him, a lady walked by, said she was the manager of the store, and invited us inside to look at him sans the fuzzy window.
He was weird-looking anyway.
It was a paper goods store, so I had some fun with my new camera.
This is my camera, btw. We got a package with two lenses-- 18-55mm and 55-200mmVR. They just released a D60, so the package we got doesn't seem to be available anymore, at least not all in one place. I shot the pictures above with the 18-55mm lens. I did the moon pictures with the 55-200mmVR one. I swear, this is the best toy I got in years.
These guys, though, seem to be doing alright.
We spotted this dude across the street from the flowers. While we were taking pictures of him, a lady walked by, said she was the manager of the store, and invited us inside to look at him sans the fuzzy window.
He was weird-looking anyway.
It was a paper goods store, so I had some fun with my new camera.
This is my camera, btw. We got a package with two lenses-- 18-55mm and 55-200mmVR. They just released a D60, so the package we got doesn't seem to be available anymore, at least not all in one place. I shot the pictures above with the 18-55mm lens. I did the moon pictures with the 55-200mmVR one. I swear, this is the best toy I got in years.
Friday, March 28, 2008
An eventful day
Did anybody else's blogger go AWOL for a while? Together with gmail? How bloody inconsiderate of them! They really should know better than to cut off a woman's blog oxygen AND her email access. Anyway...
The ultrasound
Size. We caught up. In fact we are a few days ahead of the due date estimate now. So maybe it isn't my cells going all the very hungry caterpillar on my blood glucose. Apparently the little bugger has been getting in on the act a lot more than I thought. So new plan is to worry a little more about the content of my meals. I was rather lax on the carbs before thinking that I needed to make it easy for the occupant to get some. Now we have to worry about too big, so it's back to careful meal planning. The big scan is in three weeks, so we will get a good idea of the rate of growth by then.
Sex. Male. My reaction was to tell Dr. Best "Neurotic patient, round two." But really, I am not freaking out. I didn't get the terrible sinking feeling I got with A, so that's a good thing. The last little bit I have started to prepare myself to assume the fuck the universe posture if the news was thus. It seems to have helped. As, I think, did the starting to let myself love this baby part. See? I just called him "baby." I was all euphemisms and "fetus" before.
We are buckling in for what we expect will be a very bumpy ride. JD seems to be more freaked out than I am, actually. But we talked about one day at a time, and he observed that we are in for a lot of days. Hopefully we are. We are also in for Name That Baby, round three. Wish us luck.
News of the heartbreakingly beautiful
Monkey was having an acute grief reaction tonight. She asked to light a candle. She wanted to touch me to touch A. Then she sat on the floor directing herself downward, underground. She finally said that she will never get to see him alive. I think what she actually meant was she never got to see him in her real life, but also the whole certainty of never getting it in the future either.
She brought her fancy birthday candles to put on the table next to the candle we were lighting. She rummaged for the booklet containing the mourner's kaddish. After we lit the candle, she did more sitting, laying on the floor, more of this honest deep grief. JD came over and pulled her into his lap. She wanted me. So I moved close to them too. We sat that way for a while, and then Monkey touched my belly in a deliberately different way and said "No, nobody living there yet." I asked her what and how was she trying to ascertain, and upon receiving the expected answer explained that babies don't kick in a way that can be felt from the outside for a while. That made her sad, because clearly, she has thought about figuring things out this way, possibly for a little while.
We encouraged her to ask what she actually wanted to ask, and we answered that question. The first thing she says? The very first thing, before asking us about the sex, the first thing was "I hope this one doesn't die." Yes, we all very much do. So we talked about the sex ("Again?"-- amused and clearly somewhat surprised. She had been drawing our next baby as a girl for a while. Ahem...), about the time frame (she is no fool, and wanted the live baby ASAP. April sounded good to her. Luckily she is not yet aware of all the ways this goes to shit and prematurity isn't something she knows to fear), and about names (unsurprisingly, some silliness ensued, listing Boots of the Dora fame and a number of inanimate objects, followed by pretty much every boy name in her class. She finally singled out one name that actually isn't out of the realm of possibilities. Go figure).
I am, however, blown away by the emotional maturity on this kid. She never for a second considered conflating this baby with A, and it wasn't too long until she was talking about the two different brothers. She is trying to figure out how to relate to them. For tonight, she settled on saying goodnight to everyone-- papa, mama, A, and the new little brother.
The ultrasound
Size. We caught up. In fact we are a few days ahead of the due date estimate now. So maybe it isn't my cells going all the very hungry caterpillar on my blood glucose. Apparently the little bugger has been getting in on the act a lot more than I thought. So new plan is to worry a little more about the content of my meals. I was rather lax on the carbs before thinking that I needed to make it easy for the occupant to get some. Now we have to worry about too big, so it's back to careful meal planning. The big scan is in three weeks, so we will get a good idea of the rate of growth by then.
Sex. Male. My reaction was to tell Dr. Best "Neurotic patient, round two." But really, I am not freaking out. I didn't get the terrible sinking feeling I got with A, so that's a good thing. The last little bit I have started to prepare myself to assume the fuck the universe posture if the news was thus. It seems to have helped. As, I think, did the starting to let myself love this baby part. See? I just called him "baby." I was all euphemisms and "fetus" before.
We are buckling in for what we expect will be a very bumpy ride. JD seems to be more freaked out than I am, actually. But we talked about one day at a time, and he observed that we are in for a lot of days. Hopefully we are. We are also in for Name That Baby, round three. Wish us luck.
News of the heartbreakingly beautiful
Monkey was having an acute grief reaction tonight. She asked to light a candle. She wanted to touch me to touch A. Then she sat on the floor directing herself downward, underground. She finally said that she will never get to see him alive. I think what she actually meant was she never got to see him in her real life, but also the whole certainty of never getting it in the future either.
She brought her fancy birthday candles to put on the table next to the candle we were lighting. She rummaged for the booklet containing the mourner's kaddish. After we lit the candle, she did more sitting, laying on the floor, more of this honest deep grief. JD came over and pulled her into his lap. She wanted me. So I moved close to them too. We sat that way for a while, and then Monkey touched my belly in a deliberately different way and said "No, nobody living there yet." I asked her what and how was she trying to ascertain, and upon receiving the expected answer explained that babies don't kick in a way that can be felt from the outside for a while. That made her sad, because clearly, she has thought about figuring things out this way, possibly for a little while.
We encouraged her to ask what she actually wanted to ask, and we answered that question. The first thing she says? The very first thing, before asking us about the sex, the first thing was "I hope this one doesn't die." Yes, we all very much do. So we talked about the sex ("Again?"-- amused and clearly somewhat surprised. She had been drawing our next baby as a girl for a while. Ahem...), about the time frame (she is no fool, and wanted the live baby ASAP. April sounded good to her. Luckily she is not yet aware of all the ways this goes to shit and prematurity isn't something she knows to fear), and about names (unsurprisingly, some silliness ensued, listing Boots of the Dora fame and a number of inanimate objects, followed by pretty much every boy name in her class. She finally singled out one name that actually isn't out of the realm of possibilities. Go figure).
I am, however, blown away by the emotional maturity on this kid. She never for a second considered conflating this baby with A, and it wasn't too long until she was talking about the two different brothers. She is trying to figure out how to relate to them. For tonight, she settled on saying goodnight to everyone-- papa, mama, A, and the new little brother.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
wherein I come clean, come out, fess up, and spill my guts
"Do you think you know more than other people?"
I just finished telling her why I was freaked out following our perfect anatomical scan ultrasound with A, and this was Nurse Kind's question in response. I hesitated for a second. At that particular moment I really didn't want it to be true. Not to mention that it would probably get me a this one is coo-coo label on my chart. So I said "No. But I will probably be the most neurotic patient you have ever had from now on." "Neurotic is ok. We can handle neurotic" answered she.
I didn't want it to be true. I wanted to be just another neurotic pregnant woman. Since A's death, though, I have thought back to that conversation with a bit of regret. It didn't change anything, so I should've just said it, owned it. The thing is, I do. I do know more than other people. Or I did.
There, I said it. I won't bore you with the stories of the other times I knew things, or the things I can do. Not relevant. Let me just tell you about the childbearing related stuff.
***********************
My mother was the older of two daughters. So am I. For some reason, from very early on, I have thought that I would have two daughters too. At some point in my early adulthood I realized I wanted three children. JD is an only child, and at the time he was fine with one (I feel it would be relevant to note that this lasted exactly until Monkey was born), but was not opposed to more. What I told JD I saw when I thought about us as a family was that the older two would be girls, and that I had no information on the younger one. That was almost what I saw. There was in fact haziness in what I saw, and I chose to interpret it as above. But to be perfectly honest what I did see was the two girls and some haze around them. I chose to believe that the haze hid the identity of my youngest child. I can't discount the possibility now that it also hid my second-born.
***********************
The start of Monkey's pregnancy was rocky. The miscarriage was only two months before, and we had no idea whether the progesterone falling in the miscarried pregnancy was due to the pregnancy being doomed (hCG wasn't doubling properly either, although we did make it to the heartbeat ultrasound, only to miscarry the next day) or due to my progesterone defect. Early blood tests in the new pregnancy showed nicely rising and doubling hCG, but progesterone started falling again. I needed suppositories. It was the 4th of July weekend. I didn't know it when I raced out of my apartment to try to fill the script, but because of who the script was written by, I could only fill it at the campus health center pharmacy. Which, say it with me, was closed for the long weekend. Driving back from the regular city pharmacy where they explained to me that they can't fill the script, traffic was miserable, people were doing stupid things in front of me on the four way Stop sign intersection, and I was on edge. Suddenly, I heard her. Clear as a bell in my head. "I will be ok. And, by the way, I am a girl."
I made it through the next couple of days to when the pharmacy opened, and the next blood test showed us catching the progesterone levels before they hit the floor entirely. There were scary parts to that pregnancy afterwards too. There was a cramping episode that reminded me of the feeling the day before I miscarried. There was brown spotting at 14+ weeks. And then there was red, bright red flow. In the mall restroom, the day after my thesis defence. Placenta previa, partial, as it turned out later. At 31 weeks 1 day. By which point we already knew she was a girl. That first ride to the hospital was very scary, but the bleeding stopped quickly, and from then on I was fairly sure she would be ok.
***********************
Finding a name for Monkey was very hard going. We had a set of conditions that were very hard to satisfy, and for a long time we worried that we wouldn't find the name that fit all of them. At some point, JD suggested a name that shared the first letter with his grandmother's name, and thus would honor her, as a middle name. I liked it too much. I said let's not. That will be our second daughter's first name. We had a middle name to go with it too, but we changed it after the first ultrasound with A, when we still thought he was her.
***********************
I think I have actually admitted before to knowing we would conceive A right after we did. I then spent the next seventeen weeks convincing myself it was a girl. Because see, if it was a girl, I could believe she would make it. But something wasn't exactly right. As I recently told my sister, in response I stuck my fingers in my ears and went la-la-la-la. I needed that baby to be a girl. A girl would live.
We took Monkey to the anatomical scan. She wanted to see the baby, but she really wanted to know whether it was a sister or a brother. She wanted a sister, and was honest about it. Before that day we talked about what if it's a boy? Well, then he will be our baby, your brother.
They needed to measure the vital organs first. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Are you ready to find out the sex? Yes, yes we are. It took her a bit to find the anatomy, and in that gap I knew. I desperately needed her to say it was a girl, and I knew she wasn't going to. And she didn't.
Monkey was all about honesty. "I wanted them to say 'girl.'" I know, honey, I know. That lasted all of twenty seconds, I think. "That's my brother!" said the proud big sister pointing at the screen, obviously working hard to pick the right English words and put them in the correct order. Her mother, however, was not so easy to sooth. Holding JD's hand, with my stomach many feet below me, I said "I don't see this ending well."
***********************
And this brings us back to Nurse Kind and her question. I told her about the ultrasound, and I told her I was afraid. And she asked me that question. I will be your most neurotic patient ever, I promised. I just don't have the belief, the surety that this will work out. She also asked what my biggest fear was, and I said preeclampsia. I was at the edge of the age difference between the pregnancies that increases the odds for it, and for some reason that was what I thought would do us in. A failure of the imagination, clearly.
A few of my IRL friends knew of my premonition, and to them I talked about my new fears. One of them, Irene, the friend who was four weeks behind me in her pregnancy, said look, you will have your second daughter, she will just be your youngest child. Irene knew I wanted three. She also later confessed to thinking this was all hormones. I am grateful for that line, though. This is what I eventually used to calm myself down, to talk myself into thinking it was going to be ok.
Not that I was serene and assured or anything. In the next month my blood pressure jumped, not dramatically, but noticeably. I felt like shit. Here it comes, thought I. JD bought me a monitor, and I watched the blood pressure like a hawk. I worried so much, Dr.Best ordered a 24 hour urine collection on me even though he didn't think I was going preeclamtic. I still worried. But by 34 weeks even I had to admit it didn't look that scary anymore. If he came then, we would be looking at a couple of weeks in the NICU, but the chance that he wouldn't make it was minuscule. Like I said, failure of imagination.
***********************
We had a great deal of trouble finding a name for A as well. The night of the day A died, I was sitting on the couch trying to do my kick counts, which never came. But while I was at it, we talked about names and some other stuff. JD started to suggest a middle name in honor of his grandfather, the same grandfather our next girl's middle name is supposed to honor. He said after the way this pregnancy was going, he wasn't sure we would be up for another one ever. So I spilled it. Look, I said. I know that girl. In fact in this pregnancy she has been more real to me than the boy we are having. We can't not do this again.
Later that night, in the hospital room, I told JD that maybe that is why I knew that girl so well-- to know that we have to survive this, to know that one day she will come.
***********************
I tried to not get attached to A. For a long time there I didn't think we were going to get to keep him. And if that was the case, I needed to protect myself. Fat lot of good it did me. Not until after he died did I know how much I loved him, really. I had glimpses before. But the full knowledge only came with grief, was only illuminated by it.
Thinking about that I decided that "next time" I would give my heart without apprehension. Not right away, of course, for I told myself I was no fool. My biggest fear in the early days was one of those not really early miscarriages, the 10-13 week one. The mindfuck of oh, I am sorry, were you starting to believe things would work out this time?, the feeling of so much wasted time.
When I did get pregnant this time, I found myself doing the denial thing much more than I anticipated. And yet, it is cracking, my ice queen facade. I am starting to live up to the name of my blog. And it is a scary, scary thing to let myself do. And yet, since experience shows that for me the other option is futile, I am letting myself do it. Not necessarily hope, but love. Anyway. Either way.
***********************
I went into this pregnancy not wanting to know more than other people know. So I did my best to shut it down-- I can do that too to some extent. Not knowing has been hard. I think I heard her once. But I don't know whether it was from within this time, or from without, like with A. I don't know whether it's finally her.
Tomorrow we may find out the sex. It's no guarantee, of course. A girl may not make it either. A boy might make it anyway, and prove me wrong. But I do think I would feel better if it was a girl. Ok, understatement of the year. I may freak out if it is a boy. And that is exactly why I am finally telling you this-- so that I don't look like a complete ungrateful bitch if I do freak out about the sex. I hope if it's a girl, I will feel more secure. And even if I don't, at the very least the name thing will be in the bag, and in this household that is noting to sneeze at.
***********************
Two things left to say. One, early on when I thought back to that question from Nurse Kind, and I answered it in my mind with evermore firm "Yes, yes I do," I tended to add "I wish I didn't." I don't think I think that anymore. I watch so many bereaved parents struggle with guilt, and it makes me so very sad for them. I have none of it, and this is still so freaking hard that I can't help thinking they must have it so much worse. To be fair, there are probably multiple reasons for my lack of guilt (like the autopsy results, for example, or the fact that I was that paranoid in that pregnancy). But I can't discount this one too-- I couldn't make him stay. He wasn't staying, and I know it now.
This takes me nicely to the philosophical point two. Nothing I said here makes what happened meant to be, part of the plan, for the better, for a reason, or something I needed. Seeing something coming doesn't make it a good thing, a necessary thing, or even a pre-planned thing. What I know now is that A wasn't staying. But observing a phenomena doesn't make it happen, and seeing it before others do doesn't prove its origins. Oh, and by the way, knowing it didn't cause it either. I promise.
***********************
I am going to go to sleep now, and hope that I didn't just become "that weirdo" for you. I know what I say sounds crazy. Why do you think I put off writing this for almost a year? I have a PhD in hard science for crying out loud, so what business do I have writing this at all? The thing is, though, I still know what I know. And tomorrow we may know a little more.
I just finished telling her why I was freaked out following our perfect anatomical scan ultrasound with A, and this was Nurse Kind's question in response. I hesitated for a second. At that particular moment I really didn't want it to be true. Not to mention that it would probably get me a this one is coo-coo label on my chart. So I said "No. But I will probably be the most neurotic patient you have ever had from now on." "Neurotic is ok. We can handle neurotic" answered she.
I didn't want it to be true. I wanted to be just another neurotic pregnant woman. Since A's death, though, I have thought back to that conversation with a bit of regret. It didn't change anything, so I should've just said it, owned it. The thing is, I do. I do know more than other people. Or I did.
There, I said it. I won't bore you with the stories of the other times I knew things, or the things I can do. Not relevant. Let me just tell you about the childbearing related stuff.
***********************
My mother was the older of two daughters. So am I. For some reason, from very early on, I have thought that I would have two daughters too. At some point in my early adulthood I realized I wanted three children. JD is an only child, and at the time he was fine with one (I feel it would be relevant to note that this lasted exactly until Monkey was born), but was not opposed to more. What I told JD I saw when I thought about us as a family was that the older two would be girls, and that I had no information on the younger one. That was almost what I saw. There was in fact haziness in what I saw, and I chose to interpret it as above. But to be perfectly honest what I did see was the two girls and some haze around them. I chose to believe that the haze hid the identity of my youngest child. I can't discount the possibility now that it also hid my second-born.
***********************
The start of Monkey's pregnancy was rocky. The miscarriage was only two months before, and we had no idea whether the progesterone falling in the miscarried pregnancy was due to the pregnancy being doomed (hCG wasn't doubling properly either, although we did make it to the heartbeat ultrasound, only to miscarry the next day) or due to my progesterone defect. Early blood tests in the new pregnancy showed nicely rising and doubling hCG, but progesterone started falling again. I needed suppositories. It was the 4th of July weekend. I didn't know it when I raced out of my apartment to try to fill the script, but because of who the script was written by, I could only fill it at the campus health center pharmacy. Which, say it with me, was closed for the long weekend. Driving back from the regular city pharmacy where they explained to me that they can't fill the script, traffic was miserable, people were doing stupid things in front of me on the four way Stop sign intersection, and I was on edge. Suddenly, I heard her. Clear as a bell in my head. "I will be ok. And, by the way, I am a girl."
I made it through the next couple of days to when the pharmacy opened, and the next blood test showed us catching the progesterone levels before they hit the floor entirely. There were scary parts to that pregnancy afterwards too. There was a cramping episode that reminded me of the feeling the day before I miscarried. There was brown spotting at 14+ weeks. And then there was red, bright red flow. In the mall restroom, the day after my thesis defence. Placenta previa, partial, as it turned out later. At 31 weeks 1 day. By which point we already knew she was a girl. That first ride to the hospital was very scary, but the bleeding stopped quickly, and from then on I was fairly sure she would be ok.
***********************
Finding a name for Monkey was very hard going. We had a set of conditions that were very hard to satisfy, and for a long time we worried that we wouldn't find the name that fit all of them. At some point, JD suggested a name that shared the first letter with his grandmother's name, and thus would honor her, as a middle name. I liked it too much. I said let's not. That will be our second daughter's first name. We had a middle name to go with it too, but we changed it after the first ultrasound with A, when we still thought he was her.
***********************
I think I have actually admitted before to knowing we would conceive A right after we did. I then spent the next seventeen weeks convincing myself it was a girl. Because see, if it was a girl, I could believe she would make it. But something wasn't exactly right. As I recently told my sister, in response I stuck my fingers in my ears and went la-la-la-la. I needed that baby to be a girl. A girl would live.
We took Monkey to the anatomical scan. She wanted to see the baby, but she really wanted to know whether it was a sister or a brother. She wanted a sister, and was honest about it. Before that day we talked about what if it's a boy? Well, then he will be our baby, your brother.
They needed to measure the vital organs first. Perfect, perfect, perfect. Are you ready to find out the sex? Yes, yes we are. It took her a bit to find the anatomy, and in that gap I knew. I desperately needed her to say it was a girl, and I knew she wasn't going to. And she didn't.
Monkey was all about honesty. "I wanted them to say 'girl.'" I know, honey, I know. That lasted all of twenty seconds, I think. "That's my brother!" said the proud big sister pointing at the screen, obviously working hard to pick the right English words and put them in the correct order. Her mother, however, was not so easy to sooth. Holding JD's hand, with my stomach many feet below me, I said "I don't see this ending well."
***********************
And this brings us back to Nurse Kind and her question. I told her about the ultrasound, and I told her I was afraid. And she asked me that question. I will be your most neurotic patient ever, I promised. I just don't have the belief, the surety that this will work out. She also asked what my biggest fear was, and I said preeclampsia. I was at the edge of the age difference between the pregnancies that increases the odds for it, and for some reason that was what I thought would do us in. A failure of the imagination, clearly.
A few of my IRL friends knew of my premonition, and to them I talked about my new fears. One of them, Irene, the friend who was four weeks behind me in her pregnancy, said look, you will have your second daughter, she will just be your youngest child. Irene knew I wanted three. She also later confessed to thinking this was all hormones. I am grateful for that line, though. This is what I eventually used to calm myself down, to talk myself into thinking it was going to be ok.
Not that I was serene and assured or anything. In the next month my blood pressure jumped, not dramatically, but noticeably. I felt like shit. Here it comes, thought I. JD bought me a monitor, and I watched the blood pressure like a hawk. I worried so much, Dr.Best ordered a 24 hour urine collection on me even though he didn't think I was going preeclamtic. I still worried. But by 34 weeks even I had to admit it didn't look that scary anymore. If he came then, we would be looking at a couple of weeks in the NICU, but the chance that he wouldn't make it was minuscule. Like I said, failure of imagination.
***********************
We had a great deal of trouble finding a name for A as well. The night of the day A died, I was sitting on the couch trying to do my kick counts, which never came. But while I was at it, we talked about names and some other stuff. JD started to suggest a middle name in honor of his grandfather, the same grandfather our next girl's middle name is supposed to honor. He said after the way this pregnancy was going, he wasn't sure we would be up for another one ever. So I spilled it. Look, I said. I know that girl. In fact in this pregnancy she has been more real to me than the boy we are having. We can't not do this again.
Later that night, in the hospital room, I told JD that maybe that is why I knew that girl so well-- to know that we have to survive this, to know that one day she will come.
***********************
I tried to not get attached to A. For a long time there I didn't think we were going to get to keep him. And if that was the case, I needed to protect myself. Fat lot of good it did me. Not until after he died did I know how much I loved him, really. I had glimpses before. But the full knowledge only came with grief, was only illuminated by it.
Thinking about that I decided that "next time" I would give my heart without apprehension. Not right away, of course, for I told myself I was no fool. My biggest fear in the early days was one of those not really early miscarriages, the 10-13 week one. The mindfuck of oh, I am sorry, were you starting to believe things would work out this time?, the feeling of so much wasted time.
When I did get pregnant this time, I found myself doing the denial thing much more than I anticipated. And yet, it is cracking, my ice queen facade. I am starting to live up to the name of my blog. And it is a scary, scary thing to let myself do. And yet, since experience shows that for me the other option is futile, I am letting myself do it. Not necessarily hope, but love. Anyway. Either way.
***********************
I went into this pregnancy not wanting to know more than other people know. So I did my best to shut it down-- I can do that too to some extent. Not knowing has been hard. I think I heard her once. But I don't know whether it was from within this time, or from without, like with A. I don't know whether it's finally her.
Tomorrow we may find out the sex. It's no guarantee, of course. A girl may not make it either. A boy might make it anyway, and prove me wrong. But I do think I would feel better if it was a girl. Ok, understatement of the year. I may freak out if it is a boy. And that is exactly why I am finally telling you this-- so that I don't look like a complete ungrateful bitch if I do freak out about the sex. I hope if it's a girl, I will feel more secure. And even if I don't, at the very least the name thing will be in the bag, and in this household that is noting to sneeze at.
***********************
Two things left to say. One, early on when I thought back to that question from Nurse Kind, and I answered it in my mind with evermore firm "Yes, yes I do," I tended to add "I wish I didn't." I don't think I think that anymore. I watch so many bereaved parents struggle with guilt, and it makes me so very sad for them. I have none of it, and this is still so freaking hard that I can't help thinking they must have it so much worse. To be fair, there are probably multiple reasons for my lack of guilt (like the autopsy results, for example, or the fact that I was that paranoid in that pregnancy). But I can't discount this one too-- I couldn't make him stay. He wasn't staying, and I know it now.
This takes me nicely to the philosophical point two. Nothing I said here makes what happened meant to be, part of the plan, for the better, for a reason, or something I needed. Seeing something coming doesn't make it a good thing, a necessary thing, or even a pre-planned thing. What I know now is that A wasn't staying. But observing a phenomena doesn't make it happen, and seeing it before others do doesn't prove its origins. Oh, and by the way, knowing it didn't cause it either. I promise.
***********************
I am going to go to sleep now, and hope that I didn't just become "that weirdo" for you. I know what I say sounds crazy. Why do you think I put off writing this for almost a year? I have a PhD in hard science for crying out loud, so what business do I have writing this at all? The thing is, though, I still know what I know. And tomorrow we may know a little more.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
If little knowledge is a dangerous thing...
...then what can we conclude about the relative danger level of medium amount of knowledge? I know I am completely showing my geekiness here, but I actually spent some amount of time north of five minutes trying to figure this one out. I decided that since we have no closed form for the danger as f(knowledge), I have to give up on trying to solve this theoretically and await empirical resolution of the particular instance at hand.
See, I haven't gained any weight. Since I was rather seriously overweight due to losing almost none of the weight from A's pregnancy (thank you, thyroiditis, thank you PCOS), I would be happy to be happy with this. If I knew this is ok. I have failed a few glucose readings in the past couple of weeks. Only a few, here and there. But the times I am not failing, I am on the low side. Too low, I think.
It's not helping that the last couple of weeks at work I have been writing problems for the midterm and answer keys for same. Yes, I have been staring at the various aspects of glucose metabolism for work. And somehow, while I wassleeping working, a hypothesis has formed in my addled brain. I am worried that I am not playing well with others, that I am not sharing enough of my calories, that I am burning up energy paying for converting what I eat from glucose to glycogen and fat and back to glucose.
[Brief diversion for hand-wavy explanation. All the food we can absorb can be described as fat, protein, or carbohydrates. We like to send the protein we consume straight to be chopped into amino acids and incorporated into our own proteins, and we build different proteins in our cells all the time. If we have enough carbs, we can send fat straight to storage. If not, we'll burn it for energy. We break complex carbs down into simple sugars. And the preferred, easy to use fuel for the cells in our bodies is glucose. Fuel for dummies, so to speak. So we break our carbs down, and we dump glucose into the blood, for easy distribution to all cell types in need. Now, all cells have glucose transporters on their surface, and they take glucose from blood as needed. Neurons have greedy transporters, for example, so they get first dibs even if we haven't eaten in a while.
But after a meal, our blood glucose spikes. Our pancreas is watching this, and the beta cells therein have this special type of glucose transporter on them that only trips when there is a lot of glucose to deal with. So beta cells make and dump insulin, and insulin goes in the blood stream to all these needy cell types, namely muscle and fat, and trips the insulin receptor on the cells, and that trips a somewhat long cascade reaction inside the cells that results in the cells putting more glucose transporters on the surface. Now the party can start-- the cells can take in more glucose than they need to use for basic metabolic functions, i.e. just for survival. High times.
So you know how there could be too much of the good thing? Yeah. So if these cells take up more glucose from the blood, and they pay a certain energy premium to convert it into storage form for later use-- muscle as glycogen, and fat cells as well, fat. The storage form is so that when we haven't eaten in a while, but decide to say take a walk, our muscle cells don't have to go begging to blood for that glucose they need to work, but can instead again pay a premium to get it back out of glycogen. Our liver also stores glycogen, a lot of it. This is so that when other cell types need glucose, and suck it out of the blood, liver can replenish that supply by breaking down glycogen. Again, for a fee.
If your insulin regulation is screwed up, like mine is, it may take too long to shut off production of insulin, resulting in too much glucose being cleared out of the blood stream after a meal, resulting in those reactive lows that I blabbered about a little while ago. Eventually the cells demand glucose, and if you don't react to that by feeding the beast, your liver has to give up the goods.
Um... not so brief with the explanation, I guess.]
So this hypothetical energy waste on paying storing and un-storing/usage fees would all be fine and good, of course, if not for the concern I have developed about whether these reactive lows mean that I am stiffing the creature behind the placenta of the glucose it needs to, you know, grow. If my cells are doing this last call run on the bar thing every time I eat, what gets to the other side? Adding in that at our early risk assessment ultrasound, the measurement was four days behind the due date, and that is the due date they have, which is two days behind the date I know to be correct, well... paranoia is my middle name these days.
Dr.Best is not convinced. Looking at my glucose measurement numbers he said that they look great, except he thinks I may need to up my intake. Ha! How is he to know that I am certainly not skimping? If anything, I stuff myself. Well, I told him, so now he knows. And of course, in my pregnancy with A, I started gaining weight and fast after I stopped taking the insulin-sensitizing meds. This time, I stopped those almost two weeks ago now. And still reactive lows galore, with a few failed readings in spots. Those usually have some inauspicious balance of carbs/fats/protein, although I can't always predict what is likely to bump me over. A cupcake might not, for example. By its lonesome, it is actually more likely to send me to a reactive low.
So Dr.Best is not convinced, but since he knows that I calm the hell down on any particular issue in the face of actual observable data, he is willing to employ modern medical technology to resolve this one. Thus, we have a previously unplanned ultrasound scheduled for Friday morning. Not the big anatomy scan-- that will be another three weeks later, provided things keep going well. This is a quick peak to assess growth. But I am also planning to ask for a check on the placenta, position of said placenta (low-lying I am willing to bet, as I had a little brown spotting episode about ten days ago), and cervix length (because of the selfsame spotting thing).
I will also ask to see whether sex of the occupant can be determined. That last one is not for vanity, I assure you. So tomorrow: the post that explains it, one I have been putting off writing since almost the start of this blog.
See, I haven't gained any weight. Since I was rather seriously overweight due to losing almost none of the weight from A's pregnancy (thank you, thyroiditis, thank you PCOS), I would be happy to be happy with this. If I knew this is ok. I have failed a few glucose readings in the past couple of weeks. Only a few, here and there. But the times I am not failing, I am on the low side. Too low, I think.
It's not helping that the last couple of weeks at work I have been writing problems for the midterm and answer keys for same. Yes, I have been staring at the various aspects of glucose metabolism for work. And somehow, while I was
[Brief diversion for hand-wavy explanation. All the food we can absorb can be described as fat, protein, or carbohydrates. We like to send the protein we consume straight to be chopped into amino acids and incorporated into our own proteins, and we build different proteins in our cells all the time. If we have enough carbs, we can send fat straight to storage. If not, we'll burn it for energy. We break complex carbs down into simple sugars. And the preferred, easy to use fuel for the cells in our bodies is glucose. Fuel for dummies, so to speak. So we break our carbs down, and we dump glucose into the blood, for easy distribution to all cell types in need. Now, all cells have glucose transporters on their surface, and they take glucose from blood as needed. Neurons have greedy transporters, for example, so they get first dibs even if we haven't eaten in a while.
But after a meal, our blood glucose spikes. Our pancreas is watching this, and the beta cells therein have this special type of glucose transporter on them that only trips when there is a lot of glucose to deal with. So beta cells make and dump insulin, and insulin goes in the blood stream to all these needy cell types, namely muscle and fat, and trips the insulin receptor on the cells, and that trips a somewhat long cascade reaction inside the cells that results in the cells putting more glucose transporters on the surface. Now the party can start-- the cells can take in more glucose than they need to use for basic metabolic functions, i.e. just for survival. High times.
So you know how there could be too much of the good thing? Yeah. So if these cells take up more glucose from the blood, and they pay a certain energy premium to convert it into storage form for later use-- muscle as glycogen, and fat cells as well, fat. The storage form is so that when we haven't eaten in a while, but decide to say take a walk, our muscle cells don't have to go begging to blood for that glucose they need to work, but can instead again pay a premium to get it back out of glycogen. Our liver also stores glycogen, a lot of it. This is so that when other cell types need glucose, and suck it out of the blood, liver can replenish that supply by breaking down glycogen. Again, for a fee.
If your insulin regulation is screwed up, like mine is, it may take too long to shut off production of insulin, resulting in too much glucose being cleared out of the blood stream after a meal, resulting in those reactive lows that I blabbered about a little while ago. Eventually the cells demand glucose, and if you don't react to that by feeding the beast, your liver has to give up the goods.
Um... not so brief with the explanation, I guess.]
So this hypothetical energy waste on paying storing and un-storing/usage fees would all be fine and good, of course, if not for the concern I have developed about whether these reactive lows mean that I am stiffing the creature behind the placenta of the glucose it needs to, you know, grow. If my cells are doing this last call run on the bar thing every time I eat, what gets to the other side? Adding in that at our early risk assessment ultrasound, the measurement was four days behind the due date, and that is the due date they have, which is two days behind the date I know to be correct, well... paranoia is my middle name these days.
Dr.Best is not convinced. Looking at my glucose measurement numbers he said that they look great, except he thinks I may need to up my intake. Ha! How is he to know that I am certainly not skimping? If anything, I stuff myself. Well, I told him, so now he knows. And of course, in my pregnancy with A, I started gaining weight and fast after I stopped taking the insulin-sensitizing meds. This time, I stopped those almost two weeks ago now. And still reactive lows galore, with a few failed readings in spots. Those usually have some inauspicious balance of carbs/fats/protein, although I can't always predict what is likely to bump me over. A cupcake might not, for example. By its lonesome, it is actually more likely to send me to a reactive low.
So Dr.Best is not convinced, but since he knows that I calm the hell down on any particular issue in the face of actual observable data, he is willing to employ modern medical technology to resolve this one. Thus, we have a previously unplanned ultrasound scheduled for Friday morning. Not the big anatomy scan-- that will be another three weeks later, provided things keep going well. This is a quick peak to assess growth. But I am also planning to ask for a check on the placenta, position of said placenta (low-lying I am willing to bet, as I had a little brown spotting episode about ten days ago), and cervix length (because of the selfsame spotting thing).
I will also ask to see whether sex of the occupant can be determined. That last one is not for vanity, I assure you. So tomorrow: the post that explains it, one I have been putting off writing since almost the start of this blog.
Monday, March 24, 2008
Point of view
Still playing around with the moon shots.
This is what the camera captured:
The lines on the surface are from tree brunches in my side yard and neighbors' yards. With the naked eye I could see trees and see where the branches were coming from. But the built-in flash was not strong enough to get the trees with the exposure it was set to, so all we get are the lines on the surface. Kinda cool, I think.
If I crop it, though...
A bit creepy, no?
This is what the camera captured:
The lines on the surface are from tree brunches in my side yard and neighbors' yards. With the naked eye I could see trees and see where the branches were coming from. But the built-in flash was not strong enough to get the trees with the exposure it was set to, so all we get are the lines on the surface. Kinda cool, I think.
If I crop it, though...
A bit creepy, no?
Friday, March 21, 2008
Cycles
I didn't get what you would call a formal Jewish education. In fact very little beyond screw the antisemites before I got to the US, and only elective stuff since then. Frankly, it shows. I filled in many holes, but many remain. Customs, for example, or some synagogue practices. One other glaring one is the calendar. I just never cared too much for it. I alway just checked online for when the holidays fall, and moved on.
I left the synagogue a little before the end of Purim reading to make sure that the chicken noodle soup was warm by the time JD and one overtired Monkey made it home. A magnificent full moon hung in the sky. Bright, shining. I was surprised but glad to see it. If you, unlike me, have half a clue about the Jewish calendar, you must be slapping your knee right about now. A full moon on Purim, imagine that!
I pondered the moon as I drove. I was wondering whether I would get a chance to sneak outside to try to get a few shots of it. That is when it occurred to me that I had recently gone outside trying to take a picture of a full moon. On A's yahrtzeit. The wheels, they started turning. His yahrtzeit, I remembered, falls on the 13th day of a month the name of which I would recognize but can't replicate (see-- I could've used some education). Purim, as we were just reminded
After I got home and started up heating the soup, I googled the Jewish calendar thing, and found this helpful page. Yes-- full moon in the middle of the lunar month. Who would've think it?
How is it possible, though, that I never noticed the full moon on Purim before? And why don't I remember it from that drive I took to the hospital, the day A died? Last year I was not in the mood for Purim. Monkey, though, lives for Purim. When she can wear her Queen Esther costume. My sister took her last year, while I stayed cooped up in the house. But all the years before-- how is it possible that I paid no attention to the
When Monkey was turning three, she invited her playground posse to her birthday. One little boy showed up with a gift of a biggish plastic box with a dressup ansamble for an unspecified princess, in unspecified princess pink with a few nice purple accents. The kid's mom must've wanted a girl very much is all I could figure about that gift. I was, to put it mildly, displeased. Pink? Princess pink for my daughter? For a kid who already has a grandmother who, shall we say, overemphasizes the fake sugary aspects of princess life? Yeah. And that is to say nothing of the horrid plastic shoes that came in the box, the ones that are plain dangerous on the stairs or any uncarpeted surface. My friend Sam fixed the situation somewhat by telling Monkey that it was in fact Queen Esther costume that she would be able to wear to the synagogue for Purim, only weeks away. And this is how the love affair with Purim was born.
Of course Monkey also wears it at home to play dress up, but since it's a designated Purim costume, not as much as I'd feared. And since it was recast as a costume of a strong female character, I am cool with it anyway. She has worn that costume to four Purims. She has had this thing for half of her life. Three years ago, I had to take the skirt in severely. A little less two years ago, and only a bit last year. But this year she is tall, and the top of the costume is still the same exact length. Oh, and the skirt was ripped in the back, near the seam. I fixed that. I also sewed her pink turtleneck to the skirt to ensure structural integrity and full coverage. The top went on over the turtleneck. She looked very cute. Very. It is, though, self-evident that next year we shall need a new costume. I am cool with that.
What I want to know, still, is how is it possible that over all these years that I have taken Monkey in her repurposed Esther costume to celebrate Purim, or the many years before, how is it possible that I never made that moon connection before? I must've seen it, just not paid attention. Maybe I even smiled at it, year after year-- I do love a good full moon. It is possible that my brain needed a second data point, something to make the click sound. The strangest role for A's yahrtzeit I believe I have ever contemplated, that.
It's a weird feeling-- I feel like I have discovered something profound. I know, though, that I simply noticed something that I should've known all along.
P.S. The pictures were taken with our new Nikon D40 with a long-distance lens and vibration reduction. How did we ever live without this thing?
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