worry - HerPretty

Jan 10, 2013

Pregnancy Diary – 33 Weeks

** I started this post last week, but it has taken me several days to actually get it posted due to the stress of the situation. I am backdating it so that it flows properly.

So today I am 33 weeks pregnant! I woke up this morning in a fabulous mood and with hope in my heart. The first thing I did was take my weekly bump photo for posterity. Baby JJ is definitely making his presence known, and I was reasonably convinced that he’s finally changed positions from breech, as I am definitely hanging lower these days! See for yourself!

33 weeks pregnant

My morning was spent taking Dexter back to the pediatrician, as he had been diagnosed with Influenza B on Monday and has been taking Tamiflu to try and get rid of it. We were back to catch up on all of his injections since his UK ones weren’t enough. And since we were hoping to enroll him in daycare next week, we needed to make sure he was fully vaccinated as per Florida guidelines. Sadly for him, this meant a course of SIX separate shots. He may not have known what was coming, but I sure did!

Happily, though, as was the case with all of his previous injections, he took them like a trooper. The nurse was actually astounded, as she injected shot after shot and he didn’t cry or get upset. It was only on the very last one (which she warned was thicker and thus more likely to make him cry) that he gave a soft whimper and whispered, “Mama.” My heart melted.

Anyway, the astounded nurse started bragging to all the other staff and even the patients in the waiting room about how awesome my kid is, which was fun. After collecting our paperwork, we made our way home to await my afternoon appointment at the OB.

Fast forward a few hours, and we had driven into Orlando to see my high risk specialist. I was looking forward to the appointment, ready to see the baby on screen and expecting that everything was on course.

Sadly, this was not the case. And because I’m still not sure what it all means and how worried I should be, I have decided not to write too much about it until my appointment next week when I can ask questions of my regular Obstetrician.

But to put it all in a nutshell, here’s the stuff that’s going on.

1/ Baby JJ, while initially small, had finally caught up a few weeks ago and has been totally on track for growth. Unfortunately, he is now measuring two weeks behind schedule, which basically means he has not grown at all since our last scan.

2/ His abdomen is measuring much smaller than it should, a sign that he is not getting proper nutrition.

3/ My amniotic fluid is not as much as it should be.

4/ On a doppler test, my umbilical cord is showing a small backflow.

5/ The doctor used the term “failing to thrive” when discussing Baby JJ, though he didn’t really explain what this means for us.

Basically, I had to listen very carefully to what was being said BETWEEN the professionals (sonographer, trainee, nurse, and doctor) because no one specifically told ME what was going on.

When I turned to Dr Google (which I do NOT recommend, but I know we all do it), I found so many reasons to be terrified, and I am now just counting down the days until I get to see my normal doctor and ask her for clarification on everything. I also hope to be able to discuss a birth plan, as it seems likely that I will NOT be going full term, and I need to know what to expect.

I don’t have much else to report on this front. It’s been a stressful week, and I am exhausted from worry. What I DO know is that I am going to be taking my bed rest much more seriously, and I plan to eat as much as possible to try and get this baby back on track.

Filed Under: HerPregnancy · Tagged: baby measuring small, doctors, doppler, fear, OB/GYN, pregnancy diary, small abdomen in fetus, ultrasound, worry

Sep 3, 2012

Here We Go Again…

By Katie Vyktoriah · 6 Comments

It’s been a little while since my last real update, and I hope you’ll forgive me. We’ve had family staying with us for the last week or so, and my computer time has been really limited. But it feels good to have had a little break and reconnect with the people we love.

I have so many photos and stories from the last eight days, and I can’t wait to share them, but at the moment there are bigger issues weighing on my mind. Last Monday we had to go back to the doctor so I could be re-tested for the infection that they found during my last set of tests. Because I had been put on a quite dangerous medication, I was already quite nervous, and I was just really thankful that we got through it with no ill side effects. I was keeping my fingers crossed that the infection was eradicated so that I could move on from worrying about it and focus on worrying about the effects the meds may have had on our unborn baby!

On Tuesday, my phone rang, and the caller ID said it was my doctor’s office. I braced myself. But even though it wasn’t good news, it wasn’t the news I’d been worried about. Instead, I was told I had a bout of thrush, which came to light during the humiliating pap smear I had. Since I’d already realised this, I had already treated it myself, so it wasn’t that big of a deal.

On Wednesday, my phone rang, and the caller ID again said it was my doctor’s office. Again, I braced myself. And again, it was news which could have been better but wasn’t a big deal. This time, they were worried about my diabetes and wanted to make sure I had a glucometer to measure my blood sugars. They planned to call me in a prescription for one.

On Thursday, I prepared for another call. The last time had taken three days, so I figured if I was going to get the bad news, today would be the day. But there was no call. All seemed fine and dandy.

On Friday, I told Mark I was sure everything was fine because if they didn’t call, it must mean the infection was gone. He had his doubts, and more than that, he was kind of annoyed. Given all the drama surrounding the infection/meds, he wanted them to call me even if the infection WAS gone, just so we had peace of mind.

Unfortunately, later on Friday afternoon, the phone rang again. And it was the doctor. I braced myself but really really hoped that it was them calling to say all was well.

It wasn’t.

The infection is still there, and I must go on ANOTHER course of the scary antibiotics to ensure that we get rid of it. They said that it wasn’t as strong this time, so hopefully the meds would do the trick.

I admit that I cried. Last time, the doctor called me herself and told me that it was scary, but all would be well. This time, I knew the REAL risks to me and to the baby, and I knew enough to be really scared. The longer you are on this medicine, the worse the risks.

Since we had big plans for the weekend which included lots of time in the sunshine (completely out of the question when on the medicine!), I decided to wait until our guests had left before starting it up.

Which brings me to today. I’ve got a bottle of pills, and I am scared to death to take them. But I am scared to death not to take them. I am worried about the fact that I’ve got a heart condition which SHOULD mean I can’t take these pills. I’m worried about what might happen to the baby short term and long term if I take them. I worry about what will happen to the baby if I DON’T take them.

Last time, even though I was afraid, I felt I was doing the right thing. But this time, I can’t help but be terrified….

I just hit the second trimester. I’ll be 15 weeks on Thursday, and I can’t stop thinking about what will happen if I lose the baby. Can I handle it? Or what if we have our 20 week scan and find out that the baby is malformed or disabled or something? Our whole lives will change significantly. Or what if we think everything is okay and don’t find out until the baby is born that something is wrong?

All those normal pregnancy fears have quadrupled just because of the three little pills in this bottle.

And I feel utterly alone.

Filed Under: HerFeelings, HerPregnancy · Tagged: doctors, fear, levofloxacin, medicine, pills, worry

Jun 7, 2012

7 Suitcases, 2 Boxes, a Pillow and Me

By Katie Vyktoriah · 8 Comments

Today was hard. I ain’t gonna lie… since we moved to Florida, there have been a lot of hard days. It’s been two weeks today.

The first three days were pretty awesome. The weather was gorgeous, it was all new and exciting, and I really was feeling good. But so many stresses made themselves known in that first week that it pushed Mark’s and my relationship to the limits. A lot of it was put down to me being on my period (which thankfully came a couple days late this month, meaning I didn’t have to deal with it during the long transition from UK to US) and jet lag.

But…. BUT BUT BUT!

There was so much upset, I started to really worry. From finding and buying a car, sorting out our licenses, reclaiming our US residency, dealing with a cranky toddler, finding out our pre-approval for our mortgage was flawed and we’d have to RE-apply for it… The list goes on and on.

If you have spent even a few minutes with me at any point, you’ll know that I HATE waiting. I hate not knowing. I like to be in control, have a plan, know where I stand. I also HAVE to be able to create. I need to draw or paint or craft or cook or change things up. And I can’t do ANY of that right now. I can’t really do anything to this house as we are renting it (and only for a month!). I can’t draw or paint, as all of my supplies are in boxes being held hostage by our moving company (that’s a whole other story!). Same with my craft supplies. And as far as cooking, besides the fact that our kitchen is the size of a matchbox and has the WORST setup in history, we also have to be really careful with money right now, meaning I don’t want to go and buy loads of ingredients for fancy meals we can’t really afford.

Mark is working from home. He bought himself a desk and set up shop in one of the spare rooms. All day long, five days a week, he sits up, listening to internet radio and does his job. He takes calls, skypes with colleagues and comes down every so often to have a quick play with Dexter or get himself coffee or a snack. He starts work at 6 AM each day and is finished by 2 or 3 PM. He works hard and keeps a positive attitude. Once he’s done with his work, he spends most of his time making calls, searching online and trying to sort out the best move for us. Should we rent a place for six months while we find a house to buy? Should we just buy whatever we can get and move in? Should we go stay in Utah for a bit while we wait for the perfect house? Should we put things in storage? Do we fly or drive if we leave? Mark is the one doing all the research and figuring it all out while I…

Well, what do I do? On days like today, I survive on far too little sleep because even when Dexter doesn’t wake up and come in our bed during the night, I find myself in constant pain, waking up often to check the house for signs of break-in, checking that Dexter is warm enough/cool enough, constantly using the toilet, and generally just being unable to relax.

I can’t really keep Dexter to any sort of schedule during the day because often when I’m winding him down, Mark will wake him up by speaking too loudly or coming down for a break. A flushing toilet will be heard throughout the house. There’s just NO down time!

Later, when Dex has had a nap and is in a better mood, I might get a few minutes to sit on the most uncomfortable kitchen chair to read a blog or update my Facebook. My Klout score has plunged rapidly since we arrived here. Woe is me.

I’m grouchy. I’m stressy. I fantasize about running far away. I want to be in Pennsylvania with my family, but I can’t bear the thought of being without Mark. I’ve offered to give up the Florida dream and just move back to Utah, as then we’d at least be around HIS family and friends, and we could move into one of the houses he owns…

Late this afternoon, it all got to be too much. Mark DARED to offer to take us all out to dinner, and I blatantly refused. When he sweetly tried to persuade me, I stomped off barefoot into the incessant rain (yes, another let down of Florida – other than the first three days, it has been nothing but pouring rain!) and got drenched. When I came to my senses and returned home, I ran up the stairs, into the spare room, grabbed a pillow and locked myself into the closet.

I closed my eyes, huddled in a corner, surrounded by suitcases and boxes, and I CRIED. I RAGED. I SCREAMED (all silently, of course). And I PRAYED.

For the first time in a LONG time, I prayed. I begged for help. I truly wanted god to hear my heart and find a way to help me. Because right now, I feel incapable of helping myself.

After that, I don’t remember. I woke up a while later, and as I made my escape from the closet, I met Mark coming up the stairs. He asked where I’d been, and I admitted I’d been holed up in the closet.

A few minutes later, the three of us were in the car on our way out to dinner. And I felt a little bit lighter.

I know that tomorrow will be more of the same. I’ll find stress in every situation and I will keep all that rage inside until the next opportunity to let it out quietly. Maybe this time I can let it escape a little at a time, like a leaky balloon… Surely that would be better than the giant POP when the balloon can’t take any more?

I feel so lost right now, and all I can hope is that something comes along soon to help us make a decision one way or another. I just want to know…

Filed Under: Blog, HerFeelings · Tagged: advice, family, fear, florida, hiding, home, mommy, moving to florida, rage, stress, worry

May 13, 2012

Memory is Private Literature

By Katie Vyktoriah · 2 Comments

Day 13 of the 31 Day Blog Challenge deals with memory. That tenuous string that holds us to the truth as we see it.

What Is Your Earliest Memory?

my mother and me

Memory is a funny thing. Time takes its toll on our minds, forcing our imaginations to change tiny details that we can’t quite figure out. Instead of accepting that we just don’t remember, we will take some other nugget of information, real or not, and place it into the memory to make it complete. Or, in an effort to save us from torment, our subconscious minds might replace the worst details with sunshine and roses. And suddenly, that bad relationship we spent years running away from feels like a genuinely happy experience we are keen to repeat. It’s how ex-partners end up rekindling romances.

Memory can also play at us when we are forced to try and put pieces together that just don’t fit. Like when you are COMPLETELY convinced that you used to be able to fly, but you know that that just isn’t possible. So you start trying to remember a situation when you were flying – where you were, what you were doing, etc. And then suddenly a bubble-burster comes along and shares some shitty suggestion that makes you want to punch them in the face: “It was probably just a dream…”

PUNCH!

In reality, my toddler-aged “flying” sessions were more likely me misinterpreting what I was doing when I jumped off the fourth stair from the bottom into a pile of dirty laundry my mother was collecting. To a three year old with no real understanding that there is a difference between “flying” and “falling for a marginally longer than usual time,” the memory becomes one of utter conviction in one’s inherent super powers.

Ahem.

There’s an amazing quote from Edward De Bono which says,

A memory is what is left when something happens and does not completely unhappen.

How great is that!?

I love the idea of ever second of our lives happening on a constant repetitive loop where our alternate selves from that time and place do get to enjoy each memory forever and always, never changing.

Of course, there is a downside. There are some memories that we’d like to forget but forever haunt us, dogging our steps and forcing us to face our demons whether we like it or not.

Which brings me to my first memory. I know that it seems impossible, but the circumstances of the memory (which have been discussed with my parents for verification) mean that I was pre-two years old when it took place, though how far back, I am uncertain. I know I was sat in my car seat at the time, and I am assured that I was no longer in a car seat after two years old.

I was sitting there looking up into the eyes of my parents and grandparents, who were sitting on a green plaid couch. I was sucking my thumb – I remember that vividly. And I was comfortable and ready to fall asleep. And as the faces above me began to blur, someone (not me) began to cry.

Who was it? Why was it? Was it a sad cry or a happy one? Was it because something had happened, or was it because something never happened?

The memory follows me around. I dream it. I remember it. All the time. I wonder. I have asked, but no one else seems to know either. Perhaps to them it was a passing hormone shift. Maybe it was the TV?

I don’t imagine I’ll EVER know the answer. But it remains my very first memory.