Summer Vacation, part 2

So we got off the train, drove to Mom's house in Sequim, Washington, and got a good night's sleep after a long day of travelling. We spent the next week hanging out with Mom and Dad, seeing Bob for a few days, working (Doc has a huge job right now and worked all day every day and half the nights too... when you own your own business, the work is unpredictable), taking the dog for long walks in the forest, snoozing on the patio in the 65 degree sunshine, picking strawberries (44 pounds, from Cameron Berry Farm!), going in to town, going to the beach with the dog, buying fireworks from the Indian reservation down the road and shooting them off on the driveway on the 4th of July, eating lots and lots of Mom's delicious cooking and Dad's smoked brisket, seeing aunts and uncles and cousins and old family friends, shopping (thanks, Mom, for the new maternity clothes!), playing endless fetch with the dog, watching Jonny Quest with Doc and Bob, sitting wrapped in a blanket in front of the fireplace (yes, in July!), enjoying the smell of fresh fir trees and sweet grasses, and generally having a wonderful, relaxing time.

The weather was absolutely fabulous. We had a few days of rain and/or mist but the rest of the time was sunshine almost all day long. The temperature stayed around 60 or so on the rainy days, and might have reached 70 on the sunny days. Cool enough to need long sleeves in the shade!

I discovered that nonalcoholic wine tastes like grape juice that something has gone terribly wrong with. Lesson learned.

We got home late last night, and it was great to see our kitties but I really didn't want to come home.  Why do I still live in Texas? Sigh.

Summer Vacation!

I have been on VACATION!

Yay, vacation!!

Doc and I flew to San Jose, where we stayed with Arushi and Shyamal for a few days at their place in Mountain View. The fires in Big Sur were still burning and there was a lot of smoke in the air. It hung like a pink-brown cloud over everything, and made our eyes sting. We visited the redwood forest in Big Basin State Park in the Santa Cruz Mountains, went into San Francisco one afternoon, swam in her pool, did a little shopping, and went out to Napa County and ate at a fantastic place called Greystone Restaurant, run by the Culinary Institute of America, where i had the best piece of fish I have ever eaten in my entire life. It was halibut, pan-fried in olive oil with just a bit of salt and pepper, and probably caught mere hours prior. It was the most amazingly perfect texture all the way through, and served on a bed of morel mushrooms and tiny baby squash, sauteed in butter.

The weather in northern California is fantastic in the summer. I'm afraid that I underpacked for this trip, bringing along mostly tank tops and capri pants, when what I apparently really needed was long pants and sweatshirts!

We hopped aboard an Amtrak train, the "Coast Starlight," to head up north to Seattle. Train travel is quite enjoyable. It takes longer to get to your destination, but is cheaper and much more scenic, relaxed, roomy, and social than flying. Doc and I rented a small sleeper cabin instead of coach seats, and it was a huge improvement over our last train trip ten years ago, when Doc had a severe case of the flu in coach. The room was tiny, barely wider than the width of a seat, but we could shut the doors and fold down two beds and the privacy was worth every penny. Plus, all meals are included in the price of the room, and although the food was not awful (certainly better than you might expect on a train), the a la carte meal prices were quite inflated. We would have easily spent more than the cost of the room upgrade on meals alone, had we traveled in coach!

The route along the coast is very scenic and beautiful, especially through Oregon. The train huffs and puffs its way along the side of mountains through all this gorgeous countryside. You really can't beat morning sunlight sparkling down on a glittering mountain stream hundreds of yards below, and rocky rapids surrounded by tall fir trees.

The train was three hours late getting into the station in Seattle (11:30 at night!) because, sadly, someone had a heart attack on board the night before and the train had to stop in the middle of nowhere in California to wait for the Careflight helicopters to arrive. We also had numerous electrical problems onboard that resulted in the lights going out every now and again -- this is especially inconvenient when you are using the tiny airplane-style bathroom, which has no windows.

A late train wouldn't normally be that big of a problem, except that my mom and dad had arranged to pick us up at the station and drive us back to their house... two and a half hours away. By the time we got to their place it was nearly 2 a.m. I was so tired from having barely slept on the train the night before, I just fell right into bed and don't even remember my head hitting the pillow.

I'm really tired now, in fact... I'm going to post some photos and then write more about the vacation later!

I don't like dreams about being dead.

Last night I dreamed I was dead.

I started out alive, which was the unsettling part. I was watching some guys dressed in green military garb in a helicopter on the ground. The whole side of the helicopter lifted up to open and reveal five men inside. They all had large guns, and they were definitely bad guys. They were talking to a Native American man sitting in a chair next to the helicopter with his friends, and he was also a very bad guy.

The military group wanted him to build them a lot more parts for some weapons they were producing, but I knew that each group of men actually had plans to kill the other group. The Native American man "agreed" and said he needed to get some paperwork out of his file cabinet, which was mysteriously now located in the helicopter. So he climbed in and opened the bottom drawer to get his gun, but when he turned around the military men opened fire and shot him hundreds of times. I was curious as to how they got their bullets to only hit their enemy, who was sitting at point blank range right in the middle of them all, but somehow none of them were hurt.

Then the dream shifted and I found myself inside a hotel room. There was no furniture or decorations in the room at all. I had invented in my head some sort of device or system that would quickly and nearly painlessly kill anyone inside a room: the walls would grow and thicken to 1-foot-thick super-strong metal, and a bomb in the center of the room would explode and vaporize the person in the room. I had thought of it, which was enough to make it become reality, and now I found myself inside one of these rooms. I knew what was about to happen, and I also knew that there was no way out. I was going to die. And I was oddly resigned to this fact, and at peace with it. Doc and I had some sort of psychic mental connection, and I was very connected to him at that moment. I could feel his love and energy, and he had no idea what was about to happen to me.

There were three objects in the room: the bomb, which was the size and shape of a small alarm clock, a bottle of oxygen, and a note. The note said to breathe in a lot of oxygen before the bomb exploded; it would be easier and less painful that way. So I took the bottle, lifted the cap off, crawled into a corner and laid down with the bottle near my nose, breathing in pure oxygen. I started to feel euphoric; my limbs and face were tingling pleasantly and I had this growing sensation of euphoria creeping down my body. Then the bomb went off. I didn't hear, see, or feel a thing.

I was dead... but somehow I was also still there. Now I was standing in the room, but I seemed to be invisible. I guess I was just my soul at that point, and my soul still thought it was inside a human-shaped body, so that's how I felt. When I had exploded, I'd vaporized into tiny yellow particles that were almost like feathers or foam, and they were still floating down all over the room. Three people were inside the room now -- a woman and two men -- and they were all laughing maniacally in the way that stereotypical movie crazy bad guys do.

I decided that I didn't want to hang around while these nuts were laughing their heads off and bits of me were floating around the room, so I thought I'd see if I could leave. And I was able to open the door and walk out, just as if I was a person, although living people didn't perceive the door as having opened at all. I felt GREAT. I was tingling all over, especially in my hands and the back of my jaw, and that sense of euphoria from the oxygen was still with me. I felt light as a feather, thin and wispy and gloriously naked, and I began to run down the hallway of this hotel. I knew that I could run forever and never get tired or lose this amazing feeling. I ran for a long time, all around the hotel, and then went down into the lobby and out one of the doors.

It was night, it was Seattle, and it was raining. I found myself on an enormous concrete patio surrounded by trees and shrubbery. A few people were out, standing at the edge, smoking and getting rained on, and a few more were coming and going between the hotel and the wet cobblestone streets and out to the waterfront. I watched people for a while, knowing that they couldn't see me.

And then it hit me: while I was running around, enjoying my euphoria and trying to get used to the idea that I was deceased, I'd lost my mental connection to Doc. He was nowhere. There was no way I would ever be able to contact him or see him again. I knew that he had no idea where I was, just that his connection to me had abruptly ended, and he was probably freaking out.

I began to panic.

Then I woke up.

Pain, times three

Last night when I got home from work, I was feeling pretty down about the huge hospital bill that we received in the mail (why is it so much more than the 20% that I am supposed to pay as per my insurance plan? Now I have to – ugh – CALL Blue Cross and try to get a comprehensible answer out of them). So Doc and I went for a nice long run/walk to try to improve my spirits. After we got back I was really tired but had already planned to cook dinner so I somehow managed to muster up the energy.

I cooked salmon fillets, sauteéd corn with red bell pepper and lemon butter, and Chinese long beans. I really like the salmon recipe (it's from my book) because it's so easy. Basically you put the fillets skin-side down in a skillet with a bit of oil in the bottom, and cook on the stove for about 5 minutes. Then put the whole pan in the oven for about 15 minutes to finish cooking, and voila, delicious fish is ready. I usually put a splatter screen on top of the pan to prevent the oil from splattering all over my oven.

Now, every single time I cook salmon like this, I burn my hands on the 450-degree metal skillet handle. Apparently my brain goes on autopilot and I reach out and grab it barehanded without thinking. But last night, I thought: I am NOT going to burn myself today. I'm going to use a oven mitt EVERY TIME I reach for that pan. 

And I did use that oven mitt on that pan, every time. Job well done!

Except that, after the fish was out of the oven, I reached out and grabbed the metal splatter screen instead. D'oh!

So now I have two painful blisters on two of my fingers, and a big red burned spot on my palm.

But I count myself lucky; at least I didn't cut off half of my thumb on a table saw like my dad did a couple of days ago. Poor dad, he's all drugged up on Percocet until he can get in to see the orthopaedic surgeon. Unfortunately they didn't find the missing piece in time; they had to get to the hospital post haste and couldn't stop to look for it. 

Speaking of PAIN, Doc got us an extremely comical new game for the Playstation yesterday. It is called "Pain." Essentially, you launch yourself off a giant slingshot into a city, aiming yourself for various landmarks and hitting things for fun. Extra points if you land in strange ways or rack yourself. Wash, rinse, repeat! I like the giant donut on top of one of the buildings. If you aim right you can sail right through the middle! 

I found myself laughing uncontrollably and feeling terrible about laughing at the terrible predicaments we put our little avatar in.

I know how to keep my man happy!

(Whirring mixer sounds coming from the kitchen)

Doc, from living room: What are you making?

Me: Cinnamon rolls!

Doc: You are SO SEXY right now.

The Surgery Is Done.

I had the D&C surgery this morning (or, as I like to call it, my appointment with Mr. Hoover). Ha!

Hey, just trying to find humor in all this. It helps me deal with it. I think it might make people uncomfortable that I'm trying to joke about this terrible situation, so soon after it happened. But as my friend Kim said, "Sometimes other people's expectations of how you're supposed to feel are as hard to deal with as how you actually feel." I couldn't have put it any better myself (and am flying high on Vicodin right now so I don't think I could come up with better words no matter how much I tried).

So anyway, I was supposed to be at the hospital at 10:30 a.m. to check in and get prepared for surgery. The phone rang at 7:15 this morning and the nurse asked me if I could come in at 9 instead because my doctor wanted to move it up if possible. I guess it worked better with his schedule that way, and as far as I was concerned, the sooner it was over, the better.

I couldn't have any food or water after midnight, and I sure wish I'd had a big glass of water before bed because I felt soooo thirsty when I woke up. Almost as thirsty as I'd felt in the emergency room last week, but I wasn't supposed to have anything to drink, even water. I started to feel sick to my stomach though, so in order to stave off fainting, I took about two tablespoons of water and figured I'd just deal with the consequences at the hospital.

I was really nervous and feeling nauseated, but did my best to keep it under control as I signed lots and lots of forms at the check-in desk, filled out medical histories, wrote a $1400 check (sigh... damned deductible), got my hospital bracelets, and then they took us back to the pre-op prep room.

I answered more questions about my allergies and told about ten different people that yes, my name and birthday were correct on my bracelet, then went to the bathroom and got into a lovely lovely hospital gown. They also made me wear some really tight white full-leg stockings, apparently to help avoid blood clots, and a pair of those cute blue anti-skid socks like the ones they gave me in the E.R. last week.

A very nice nurse took my blood pressure and pulse, and put in my I.V. This time she gave me a lidocaine injection in the back of my hand so the I.V. wouldn't hurt. They don't take those kinds of measures at the emergency room! The World's Nicest Anaesthesiologist came in to talk to us, to let us know exactly what they were going to do to me and what I could expect during recovery. He asked how I was feeling, and when I told him that I was prone to fainting and motion sickness (on my medical history form) and was currently feeling nauseous, he came back with something to put in my I.V. line that he said would help me feel better.

A few minutes later Dr. Burt came in and greeted us, and talked to Doc for a little bit about how long the surgery would take, where he should wait, and that he'd come out to talk to him as soon as it was over. I was really glad that they were including Doc in everything and treating him so well. I think that they could tell he was concerned and could see how much he loved me and was protecting and taking care of me. I think it makes their job easier when their patients have a good caretaker.

The anaesthesiologist gave me a sedative, I kissed my sweet Doc goodbye, and they wheeled me down the hall. I feel like I went in and out of consciousness during that ride, since I don't remember much of it. We ended up in a large brightly lit room with a lot of random stuff piled all over the place, and a giant flexible light hanging from the ceiling (kind of like the light on a dentist's chair) that they stopped me under. Definitely NOT like an operating theatre like you see on TV. The anaesthesiologist lightly placed an oxygen mask on my face and told me to breathe deeply. I remember taking about six nice breaths, and I guess then they put the general anaesthetic in my IV because the next thing I remember, someone spooned a few ice chips into my mouth and told me to chew. Things went fuzzy for a while after that.

I was definitely having a hard time waking up, as is to be expected. By the time I was lucid enough to realize that I was in the recovery room and that Doc was there with me, he said he'd been with me for 15 minutes already and that I'd been talking to him and the nurses and drinking water. It is very disconcerting to me that I have no idea what happened during that time. He had already called my mom to tell her that I'd come out of surgery just fine, and I asked him to call Kathryn and let her know too. He talked to her for a few minutes and then put the phone up to my ear. I know I talked to her but now I have absolutely no idea what I said. Like I said, I was having a tough time getting my clarity back. He also called Brittney to let her know, but I don't think I talked to her.

Doc told me that Dr. Burt said it was a really good thing that they did the surgery because there was a lot of tissue still in my uterus and it very likely would not have passed on its own. So I guess that made it worth it, right there. He also said that everything went very well and that I would probably feel some bad cramping for a day, and it would die off in less than a week. I am supposed to keep taking my antibiotic and my Vicodin as needed for pain, and take it easy for the rest of the week. I'm not sure if I'll try to go in to work at all; I might just see how I feel on Thursday or Friday but I really don't want to push it. I think they can manage without me if needed.

The anaesthesiologist had told me before surgery that when I woke up I might feel like I needed to pee, but I really wouldn't and the urge would just be the residual effects from the catheter. A catheter?! One more reason to be grateful for general anaesthesia. Of course I DID feel like I needed to pee, and tried to ignore it, but after a few minutes pushed my nurse's call button and asked if I could go try anyway. She walked me to the bathroom, and by god, I urinated. Take THAT, catheter!

I was feeling pretty good by this point, other than the fuzziness in my head, so they told me that I could get dressed if I felt like going home, or I could wait for a while in bed. Doc helped me to slowly get dressed and gather my things, and the nurse wheeled me out front while Doc brought the car around.

He drove me home and helped me change into my pajamas and get set up on the futon bed downstairs. Then he made me some tasty tasty chicken broth, complete with fresh grated carrots and tiny shredded chicken bits, and some crackers that the hospital had sent home with me. He also went across the street to 7-11 and bought me some Coke Zero, since I have decided for the time being that I am going to have as much diet soda as I want while I'm feeling crappy.

So that's pretty much it. I've been taking my painkillers, lying on the futon all day, doing some freelance work, talking to a few people by e-mail and IM, talking to Doc, crying a little bit here and there, laughing some too, and somehow now it's after midnight and I guess I'd probably ought to get to bed.

I'm glad the physical difficulties are (knock on wood) over and that I'm on the path to recovery. Having a concrete end to that part of it is helping me deal with the emotional side of it too. It's been tough at times over the past few days, and I know it's going to continue to be tough on both Doc and myself for a long while, but we have each other to lean on and laugh with and cry with, and I can't think of anything more comforting than to know that he's right here with me through all of this, protecting me and loving me. He's truly an amazing man in so many ways.

One more thing before I go. I read something yesterday that really hit me hard. And it was something that I KNEW already but just hadn't thought about so concretely. I read that the body miscarries because the fetus has just died. And I knew that of course.... but when I applied it to myself, to my own womb, lifting my shirt and looking down at my abdomen and thinking about my own little fetus right there a few inches under my skin, MY baby's little heartbeat stopping and my body going into action to deal with it... Just, wow. I busted out into tears for a long time over that. It stopped being ethereal and got very tangible then.

Sigh.

The Pea Has Exited The Pod

This is a really long post, so grab a cup of coffee and sit back.

You still with me? Cool.

I haven't been writing a lot of personal stuff on my blog in the past few months, and there is a reason for that. I wasn't quite ready to announce to the world the news that I was pregnant!

It's been pretty hard to keep from writing about it, since it's such huge news and it's hard to think about much of anything else when your whole world, including your own body, is transforming. Although we told our families and close friends, we didn't want the world to know in case something went wrong in that delicate first trimester, when you're beginning to get really excited but still not too attached yet since you can't really FEEL a baby inside you yet...

...But something did go wrong, and I had a miscarriage last night.

Nobody ever talks about miscarriage, other than to say that it happens frequently and it's usually not your fault. But never anywhere did I read what it was actually like to experience one. Knowing in advance what I might expect would have been very helpful. As it happened, the chain of events seemed so incredibly severe and unexpected that I truly thought I was dying. It was one of the most painful and frightening experiences of my life, tempered only by the fact that my amazing wonderful loving husband was by my side the whole time, stroking my hair and whispering love notes and reassurances that everything would be OK, although I think he was very frightened as well and having to keep it together for the both of us. I don't mention him in every single paragraph below, but he was right there the entire time, this force of warmth, calmness, and love that was keeping me from losing my mind.

Just a warning to the squeamish, I am about to go into DETAIL about my experience, and I really mean detail about my private bits and blood and all kinds of stuff. This may be Too Much Information and if you don't want to read about it I won't be insulted. You can skip ahead to near the end where you see the asterisks ***, then it's safe to keep reading. On the other hand, maybe this can help someone out there going through a similar experience.

If you want the short nondetailed version, here it is: I began to bleed badly, went to the ER, passed out a couple of times, spent about nine hours there being tested and observed and, frankly, miscarrying; eventually I went home and then to my regular ob/gyn, who has now scheduled me for surgery on Monday. I feel like crap, but am on drugs, and the emotional impact hasn't hit me yet.

But if you want the long version.... this is what my miscarriage felt like.

Some background: As of this past Monday, January 21, I was 11 weeks pregnant and due August 11. I've been having a lot of the classic pregnancy symptoms, including larger, tender breasts (larger! woot!), mood swings such as crying for no reason every few days, forgetfulness and an inability to focus, extreme exhauastion most of the time, and the need to pee a LOT. Thankfully my morning sickness was very mild, and usually quite easy for me to handle.

On Wednesday afternoon, I started feeling little twinges of what felt like menstrual cramps. I've had little twinges before that simply indicate a growing uterus, and so I didn't put too much thought into it. On Thursday morning the twinges were still with me, and a little more frequent. When I used the bathroom at work I discovered that I was spotting blood a little bit. I freaked out at this and called my doctor, who told me not to worry, that cramping and spotting were fairly normal, but to go home early and rest if I could. I had an appointment the next morning for my 12 week ultrasound, so I tried not to stress out... but I was anyway. I called Doc; I think he was frightened about what might be going on, but he offered to meet me for lunch and seeing him helped me to calm down a lot. I left work at 3 p.m. to go home and lie down.

The cramping began to intensify a bit during the afternoon, and I noticed a little more blood. Around 9 p.m. the cramps were getting quite painful, not letting up even for a few minutes' reprieve, and there was even more blood. Doc and I tried to watch a movie on DVD and I was curled up around my heating pad with Doc rubbing my back and stroking my hair, trying to calm down and ignore the cramps, but I couldn't concentrate and kept getting up to pee and see if the bleeding had subsided yet.

At 11:00 as I was using the toilet, it was like somebody turned on a faucet inside me and the blood began flowing out nonstop -- fresh red blood. By this point the cramping was almost too much to handle. Holding my panic in check by sheer force of will, I called Doc into the bathroom and we decided that I needed to go to the emergency room immediately. The amount of blood was scary. We didn't have any pads (since I started using the Diva Cup I don't buy them anymore) so he grabbed me a towel. I got up, shoved the towel between my legs and went to my closet for sneakers. Every time I moved it felt like a warm gush came out of me. Doc ran around locking doors and gathering his phone and coat and my purse, and helped me downstairs and out into the car (the Saturn; I didn't want to bleed all over the brand new Prius!!). I was wearing old paint-covered sweatpants and sneakers (breaking two of my personal cardinal rules: sneakers are only for exercising and sweatpants do not leave the house) and my hair was a mess and I forgot my phone and my coat but I didn't care.

I was in such pain on the car ride over but trying to be calm and hold my panic in check. Doc was driving and I did not want to give him any acute reasons to worry; I needed him to get me safely and quickly to the ER. My legs started shaking uncontrollably in the car, but I kept smiling and saying that I was OK, not to worry, just keep driving. The truth was, I WAS worried, but not that much. I figured that once I got to the ER, it would be like on the TV show "Scrubs": A cute intern would whisk me away on a stretcher and take a look up the old VaJayJay (or was it "bajingo"?), do a little procedure or something, and send me on my merry way home.

Not so.

Doc pulled into the emergency room driveway, hopped out and ran inside to get someone to come get me out of the car since I was sure if I stood up that a river would pour out down my legs. A nurse came out with a wheelchair, and she and Doc helped me out of the car and wheeled me inside. I think that the valet guy took Doc's car key and drove our car off to the parking lot. Don't ask me why the ER only has valet parking, maybe because of all the nutty construction going on at the hospital, but it came in handy for us.

I filled out a small form at the checkin desk giving my name, SS#, vital statistics, and reason why I was there. There were a LOT of people in the ER waiting room and they told me that it might be a little while before anyone could see me. I thought, ok, I am BLEEDING profusely out my VAGINA, should someone not see me NOW before I die from blood loss in the waiting room?? Nobody but the two of us seemed concerned though, so I sat tight in my wheelchair hoping that they would hurry the fuck up because I was in severe pain. I asked Doc to get me some water; I suddenly felt extremely thirsty, but the paramedics said that I couldn't have anything before they measured my vital signs. Which apparently might have been hours away, from how things were going so far.

They probably should have let me have some water because a few minutes later I began to see spots. I felt like the whole world was floating away from me, and I remember saying to Doc "I am going to pass out now." From a distance, I felt myself slump off to the side towards him and everything went dark. The next thing I knew, it felt like I was waking up from a long, wonderful dream, until the reality slowly hit me that I was indeed in a wheelchair in the ER, that THAT was not part of my dream. I was being wheeled along a corridor and someone had ahold of my shoulders to keep me from falling forward. People were saying my name. I was having a hard time responding. I don't know if I was actually saying anything out loud or making any sense if I was. Doc said that I had passed out in the waiting room and began convulsing. He yelled for help and THAT prompted the ER people into action. I guess I was only out for about 15-20 seconds but it was enough to push me up to the top of the list.

They got me into an exam room and onto the table, and people in scrubs were buzzing all around me, putting IV lines in and taking blood samples, hooking me up to a heart monitor (interesting tidbit: the little sticky pads they apply to your chest are made by 3M, the post-it-note people!), blood pressure cuff, and a little clamp on my finger to keep track of my pulse. I felt like I was in a complete fog, not sure what was going on but in serious serious pain, and people I didn't know were doing strange things to me and I couldn't see Doc. They'd sent him out of the room for a few minutes while they got me all hooked up to the monitors, but I asked 3 or 4 times where he was, that I needed him, and so a few minutes later they brought him back in. It was such a relief to see him; immediately I felt calmer and more grounded.

I'm already starting to forget the sequence of events that occurred over the next couple of hours, probably because I was in that weird foggy haze. Doc was by my side through all of it, whispering that he loved me, holding my hand, calming me down. I was very worried that I was dying, bleeding internally and they wouldn't be able to stop it.

I found it awfully strange that no one wanted to get a peek at the area in question; the nurses initially pulled my sweatshirt off and got me into a hospital gown, but left my blood-soaked sweatpants on. I remember my abdomen just convulsing in pain nonstop, and my entire body shaking uncontrollably again. I think that someone threw some blankets over me, hot out of the blanket heater (did you know hospitals keep blankets heated? I didn't! I remember telling a nurse that now I knew why my cats liked to hop in a basket of laundry freshly pulled from the dryer), but despite the warmth I could not stop the shaking. I remember at one point raising my head up and actually looking at my body, and the movements were so violent that it must have looked like I was having convulsions again. I tried to calm myself down and stop shaking but I simply couldn't.

I remember whispering crazy nonsensical things over and over, like "stop it stop it stop it stop it stop it" and "calm down calm down calm down" -- which actually aren't too crazy, but the repetition must have seemed a little crazy. I know I was saying other things too, that made a whole lot less sense. And the nutty part of all this was, I was completely conscious of the fact that I wasn't making any sense, that I was probably acting like an insane person, and yet I had no ability to control it.

After what seemed like hours of being completely out of my head and waiting, shivering, shaking, whispering, cramping, making "ouch goddamit motherfuck that hurts" faces, a doctor finally came in to see me. The nurses got my pants off, put some fresh absorbent pads under me (actually this was probably the third or fourth time they'd replaced them), and the doctor took a look at my business. His conclusion? "Oh yes, she's definitely bleeding." Wow, Sherlock, ya think?! He was in the room for probably a total of 90 seconds before he ordered a sonogram and left.

The crazy shaking continued but began to abate somewhat, and maybe 15 minutes later a nurse came in with an injection of some wonderful wonderful medication into my IV line. A minute or two later I stopped shivering and began to feel wonderfully light and floaty but at the same time very very heavy, like all my limbs weighed a ton.

They turned out most of the lights in the room and left us alone for a while before the sonogram was ready. A woman came in with a clipboard and had Doc fill out some paperwork for insurance. He asked me questions about various things on the forms and I remember trying to speak very clearly out of my pain medication floaty haze. Things seemed really funny for some reason and I think I was talking veeery slowly.

We were both exhausted — he hadn't slept much the night before either — but nobody left us alone long enough to drift off to sleep for a bit. Nurses came in every few minutes to check my vitals or change my padding, which was getting thoroughly soaked by warm trickles of blood every few minutes. I remember at one point telling the main nurse, I think her name was Jennifer, that she was SO nice and I really appreciated everything and she was making me feel so much better. I think I was kind of high from the pain meds but the sentiment was heartfelt.

I asked Doc to go get her before the sonogram was ready, because I had to pee. There was a little pink bedpan waiting in one corner so I figured that was probably my fate (thank god my fate didn't lie with a catheter; another nurse had poked her head into our room a while earlier asking if I was the one who needed the catheter! I said "Good god, I hope not," and she laughed and left).

Nurse Jennifer asked if I wanted to use the bedpan or the bathroom. I had a choice!! Hallelujah! I asked to be wheeled out to the bathroom in the hallway, although I think that Doc would rather I have kept to my bed and just used the bedpan instead. But I'd been stripped and poked and prodded, my bloody bits seen by god only knows how many people already, and I wanted to preserve this one little modicum of modesty. I remember laughing at one point as I was lying on my side, as I said to Nurse Jennifer "I cannot believe I am lying here mostly naked, door open to the hallway, with a nurse washing my butt with a towel. All sense of modesty is gone!"

Nurse Jennifer handed me the world's largest maxipad (really and truly, it was ENORMOUS), a pair of blue socks with nonskid soles, and a pair of stretchy mesh disposable undies to pull on over the giant diaper. She wheeled me into the bathroom and thankfully did not insist on staying with me as I went. As I was going, eight or ten large chunks of tissue and blood came out of me too. I guess this was all the uterine material that I was finally expelling. It was kind of gross but also fascinating at the same time. And I instantly felt better; the cramping that the pain meds hadn't taken care of began to die off.

Another nurse wheeled me back to my room, and as I passsed the nurses' station I told Nurse Jennifer that I thought I'd expelled it all. She asked me if I flushed, which I thought was a very weird question — of course I'd flushed, I'd just gone to the bathroom! It didn't occur to me until later that they might have wanted to collect the expelled material for testing. A gross thought, actually.

A few minutes later they came and got me for the sonogram. This time they didn't put me in the wheelchair; they just rolled my bed down the hallways to the radiology lab. Just like in "Scrubs!" I finally got wheeled down a hallway on a bed! The sonogram went quickly; the nurse was young and businesslike and very very fast. She did both the jelly-on-the-belly kind (the first I've had like that) and the internal kind, then wheeled me back to the room. By this time it was 3:30 in the morning and we realized that we probably wouldn't get much sleep before we had to go to Dr. Burt's office at 9:30.

The doctor came in about 2o minutes later with the sonogram results (a nice suprise for two reasons; one, they told us it might be up to an hour before the results were ready, and two, this was a different doctor, a woman who was very very nice and seemed like she actually cared about what was going on with me, unlike businesslike Dr. Butterfield from before.) Dr. Way said that the sonogram showed that it was an incomplete miscarriage, meaning that there was still some material in the uterus to be expelled. I would need to watch for that and follow up with my own doctor within the next 48 hours. She went out to write a prescription for some pain medications for me and collect up my discharge information.

I asked Nurse Jennifer if I could go pee again, and this time she gave me a pair of gigantic cotton underpants (really, they were size 14, and I wear size 8!) and a pair of gray sweatpants so I wouldn't have to wear my old ones home. I expelled a little more of the uterine material again, and again felt a lot better afterwards. I wasn't bleeding profusely now.

I got back to the room and they brought in the discharge paperwork, took out my IV line and taped me up, got me into the wheelchair, and Doc put my old pants and towel, shoes, and purse on my lap. They wheeled us out to the payment area, and I sat right outside the door while Doc sat right inside the door talking to the nurse and paying the co-pay. I started feeling absolutely awful -- nauseated, lightheaded, and the severe cramps came back. I began to see spots again. I tapped on the door frame and said "Doc, I'm passing out again. Here I go." I slumped forward to try to get some blood to my head, but to no avail. I felt my arms go limp and then nothing.

I woke up — again, as if from a very long, wonderful dream — to hear Doc saying my name trying to wake me up as they wheeled me back down the corridor towards a room. I couldn't say anything, I felt sick to my stomach and dry heaved most of the way to the room. He looked so scared; I don't think I have ever seen him look that frightened in his life. He was so pale. I didn't want to get out of the wheelchair because I was bent over and it felt like if I straightened up I would faint again.

The nurse was about to put an IV line into the back of my hand, when I realized I really would rather by lying down. She and Doc got me up onto the table, got me hooked into the IV (it hurts a lot more in the hand than it does in the elbow), and hooked back up to the heart monitor and everything else. They took some more blood to check my counts. I was really cold and starting to shake again so they brought me some blankets. Dr. Way came back again to see me and said "Didn't quite make it out the door, did you?" and told me she had a call in to the OB/GYN on call for advice.

She came back a while later and said that the OB/GYN wasn't being as helpful as she hoped, and they wanted to keep me for a few more hours for observation. If I passed out again then they were going to admit me to the hospital. She turned out the lights and left us alone for a while (well, nurses were coming in every so often to check up on me), but Doc and I were able to get maybe 30 minutes of uninterupted sleep before yet another doctor came to wake me up, and told me that he wanted to see if I could get up and walk around.

A nurse came in and unhooked me and slowly I got up and walked the corridor. It was tough but I tried really hard to ignore my nausea and stave off the lightheadedness. I was desperate to get out of the hospital and home. I really did feel a lot better than the last time they tried to discharge me. Yet another doctor came by to remove my IV port from my hand and he brought me and Doc back to the discharge area. I did not pass out this time. We did not have to pay another co-pay; Doc's theory is that it's because they didn't want it to seem like they discharged me before they should have. Which is fine with me!

He went and got the car from the valet and helped me into it, and we headed home. He got me settled in bed and went out to the drugstore to get me some giant absorbent pads, Motrin, and some apple juice. When Dr. Burt's office opened at 8:30, I called to see what they wanted me to do, and they said that I definitely needed to come in as scheduled. With Doc's help I took a shower and got dressed (in my fancy Presbyterian sweatpants again!) and we headed up to Presby Plano.

I began crying for the first time since this started when I asked the doctor if he knew what might have caused it. He said that almost all first trimester miscarriages are due to chromosomal abnormalities; the fetus is simply not viable. I asked if it was anything I might have done, and began to cry. He said absolutely not, nothing like caffeine or exercise could have caused it, and that all women struggle with the guilt of this question even when rationally they know the truth.

Doc described my fainting episodes to him, and he said that it was due to the abdominal contractions. When the belly cramps up like that, it signals the heart to slow way down and blood pressure plummets, triggering fainting. I'm not sure quite why this happens, it sure doesn't seem like an evolutionary advantage.

We told him that we'd been told it was an incomplete miscarriage but that I'd passed some tissue after that diagnosis. He sent me in for a sonogram, which showed that there was still some tissue left (RPOC, or "retained products of conception"). He took a look inside me with the speculum and was able to pull out what he thought was that remaining tissue (NOT a pleasant procedure; it's like that little *cramp* you get during a pap smear when the tester touches your cervix, but a lot worse and a lot longer in duration), then sent me back for a second sonogram. Unfortunately it showed that he didn't get that tissue.

He said at this point we had three options. We could wait for it to pass naturally, although it may not actually expel itself, in which case I'd be at high risk for a very serious infection; we could get me in for a D&C surgery right away, which involves putting me under anaesthesia and manually cleaning out the uterus; or the middle ground, which would be to wait a few days and see if it passes on its own, and if not, schedule me for surgery. We decided on option #3. So I'm scheduled for surgery Monday at 11:45 a.m., unless something happens in the meantime. I really hope it does because I do not want to have that surgery done.

*** OKAY, the yucky part is over. If you've skipped ahead, you can start reading againg! ***

Dr. Burt didn't charge me a co-pay for today's visit, which I think was really very nice of them. Maybe it's a matter of policy not to burden people who have just had a miscarriage with a bunch of paperwork. Fantastic policy! It was a relief just to get to go home. I called my boss on the way home and told him what had happened and that I wouldn't be in for a few days at least. I broke down on the phone with him and I was trying so desperately not to. The one person I wanted to be calm on the phone with, I just couldn't.

We went to Target to fill my prescription for Vicodin for pain, and for Doc to pick up some quick-fix groceries for the next few days, and FINALLY we got home. My wonderful wonderful husband, who has had maybe 3 hours of sleep in the past 48, then went back out AGAIN and got me a grilled cheese sandwich and Dr. Pepper from Sonic. I didn't feel like eating but can't take Vicodin on an empty stomach, so I sucked it up and ate what I could.

We've each managed to sleep for a couple of hours this afternoon, and we've told a few people what's happened. I don't think I can talk to anyone in person about it right now, it's just too hard and I know I'll break down. Maybe in a few days.

Right now we're resting in bed and watching Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea. I'm eating a few leftover roasted potatoes from last night with my evening Vicodin, and Doc is having a chicken salad sandwich.

I guess that I can have a glass of wine this week if I want! Ha. One good thing about all this.

We don't know what exactly we're going to do once this is all over. We need to think about whether we want to try again. I know it's not even a question for some couples, but it's more of a complex issue with us. There's a lot of things we're going to need to talk about. I'm so glad our marriage is rock solid. I feel like this situation has pulled us even closer together. I still feel numb emotionally, although I've cried a few times today. I think that the full impact just hasn't hit me yet. I'm sure once I see tangible things like the maternity clothes I've started to collect or the tiny socks that Mom Kerry got us for Christmas or the little stuffed animals from Brittney, it's going to feel a lot more real. There were so many things that we had begun to think about and do in preparation that I think are going to startle me when I come across them and realize that maybe we just don't need to do them anymore.

As Doc said earlier today, this sucks donkey ovaries. But we'll get through it.

Long catch-up post

December has been an eventful month but I haven't been posting much. I extend my apologies to my two readers (who perhaps didn't even notice that I've been MIA, or perhaps were waiting with baited breath for my next genius missive).

In early December Doc and I went to Boston so I could go to the Web Design World conference (which turned out to be about 70% fantastic, which is a great ratio for a conference) and spend a couple of days with my brother Bob. We had a great time, in part because it was so cold and snowy. The city was decked out in twinkly colored Christmas lights that looked so pretty with the snowy scenery.

The first day that we spent with Bob, we'd planned to go to the science museum and aquarium but they both closed early because it was snowing. I thought that northerners could still function in the snow, but apparently not! We spent a long afternoon riding the subway around to our various destinations only to find out that they'd already closed down. Then when we got back to the car at the train stop a mile from Bob's apartment in Somerville, it took us about 90 minutes to get home due to incredible non-moving traffic. We ate pizza for dinner and Bob and Doc played Rock Band for a while.

Luckily Boston has a great snowplow system, so by the next morning the streets were clear enough that we were able to get ourselves down to the aquarium.

I wish we'd had more time to spend with Bob, but we had to leave the next morning. It was a lot of fun, though.

Over Christmas, we visited Doc's mom and grandmother and great-aunt and brother and sisters and their families in Derby (near Wichita), Kansas. That was a heck of a lot more people than I'm used to being around, but it was a lot of fun nonetheless. Doc's grandma Rose and great-aunt Pat are in their late 80s but sharp as tacks and very up-to-date on what's going on in the world. It was great seeing them again, and we plan to come visit more often now that they're closer to us than they were in Idaho for all those years. All our nieces and nephews (most of whom are in their teens, and there's about ten or so of them) got into a snowball fight on Christmas day with some of the moms and dads in the backyard. Doc got some great photography of people in mid-throw or mid-being-hit. He avoided getting into the fight until the very end by claiming "hey, don't hit the guy with the camera, please"... but then threw a snowball at his sister on the way in. Sigh... brothers!

It snowed throughout the midwest the night before we drove to Kansas so by the time we reached the Kansas border everything was pretty well blanketed with snow. The residential streets in Derby hadn't been cleared and so the driving was a bit iffy. On the way home on the 26th it had started snowing again but we didn't have any trouble driving this time. We stopped at a restaurant in Arcadia, Oklahoma, called Pops 66. It has really interesting future-modern architecture and 500+ different types of bottled soda. Neato.

For Christmas Doc and I went a little lighter than normal with the gifts, by choice. He gave me some really nice things though, including some balsamic vinegar, bamboo cooking spoons, and this gorgeous Le Creuset cast-iron skillet. I adore it. I can barely lift it, it's so heavy!! And the enamel is droolworthy bright beautiful red.

I've had the whole week of Christmas off, and I don't go back to work until January 3. This week I'm taking it easy, trying to get a little exercise in, watching movies, hanging out with Doc. Saturday we went to Six Flags with Brittney and Chris. I could only go on two rollercoasters this year; I just didn't feel up to going on some of the bigger rides. It was really crowded at the park, much moreso than in previous years. Wait times in line for the rides seemed about as long as they are in the summer. We had a nasty dinner experience too: we waited in line at a little kiosk with the "Papa John's Pizza" label on it, but I can tell you definitively that the pizza was NOT Papa John's quality. It was some of the nastiest pizza I have had in recent memory. For $7 per slice I would at least expect the cheese to be completely melted, but it wasn't. I could only eat half of it. I complained at the guest services desk that they were misleading people by putting a brand name label on disgusting sub-par crappy foodservice pizza.

But, that icky food experience got made up for a little while later. We ran across a kiosk run by some grandmotherly type ladies with crockpots who sold baked potatoes, sweet potatoes, roasted corn, cocoa, hot cider, and OMIGOD cinnamon rolls fresh out of the oven with frosting ladled on out of a crockpot. I loves me a grandma with a crockpot of warm icing!!

Tonight is New Year's Eve and I am perfectly content that we are staying in tonight and maybe watching some movies and ordering pizza. I'm not sure that any of our friends are having parties this year, and we're not either. We've hosted NYE parties in the past, but after hosting Halloween and Thanksgiving and then being out of town so much in December, we just didn't feel up to it this year.

Happy 2008 to everyone! It's going to be an exciting year!

Scenes from Boston

Doc and I went to Boston for a conference (Web Design World, which was really a fantastic conference) and to visit Bob for a few days. Boston is a beautiful city, especially in winter. It's been really cold and wet and snowy here, and I love it.

The churches in Boston are so beautiful that they almost make me want to actually GO to church!


We took a self portrait on the street.


This is the Christian Science Church.


The Boston Public Library is one of the most beautiful buildings I have ever seen. This is part of the main entrance hall and stairs.


The library had an exhibit of intricately detailed dioramas.








I love Johnny Cupcakes!! Especially the cupcake-and-crossbones logo.


Me and Doc next to a subway station.


I love wearing my scarf and coat.


Not the Old North Church, but the Old South Church.


A big pile of icy snow.


Today we ate breakfast at a place down the street from Bob, then hopped on the subway to go to the Aquarium and the Science Museum. By the time we started off to the train station, the snow was coming down pretty heavily.



Bob and I at the Aquarium. It had closed 2 hours before we got there, due to heavy snow.


This is the snowstorm that seemed to be shutting down the whole city.

8 Years of Hitched Bliss!

Yesterday Doc and I celebrated our 8-year anniversary! Yay, us!!! It really hasn't felt like 8 years (well, 12 if you count the time we were dating), and I know that's a Very Good Thing. We've made a point over the last few months of spending more time together in the evenings, and on evenings when we do our own things in our respective studios, I feel lonely.

He is truly the light of my life, and my best friend. He is so funny and intelligent and sexy and cute and caring and generous and honest and faithful and loyal and entertaining. I am so glad that we managed to cross paths in life.

Sometimes it just hits me how much a simple thing like one simple decision can be so fragile, so fleeting, so life-changing. If either of us had made any number of other decisions prior to the moment that we met, we might never have met or married at all.

What if he hadn't been able to come to that party we had where he discovered my CD collection and realized that we had the same semi-obscure interests? What if I'd gotten more involved with the person I was casually seeing at the time that we met? What if he had already grown distant from Tommy when Tommy and Ginger were dating? What if he and I had decided to date a few years earlier when we were first introduced, when neither of us were ready and it wouldn't have worked out?

It's weird to try to tally up all the things that had to go absolutely right to lead us to this point. I think this is where some people like to imagine that God, or whichever higher power they ascribe to, had a hand in things. I don't think so, personally. This world is so complex that crazy things like this happen all the time, and the times when things work out either really well or really badly is when we start to question the events that led up to that point.

Anyway, back to the anniversary. We did not give each other big gifts, as is our tradition, but I did get him a few bars of fancy soap that he likes, and he got me some rosemary seedlings (since I managed to kill the two large plants he got me last Christmas), because, he says, it reminds him of when we got married. How sweet is that??!

He was working onsite at a client's all day yesterday, and when he came home we spent some quality time together (wink wink) and went out to stuff ourselves at Texas de Brazil (and if you're planning on eating at a churrascarria and having sex in the same evening—two ways of getting stuffed, har-de-har-har—I'd highly recommend having sex FIRST).

I do love that place but lord have mercy, is it ever expensive. We had a buy one/get one free coupon (they send those out to their mailing list for birthdays and anniversaries), and that's about the only way that I'd be comfortable eating there. At $45 prix fixe per person, you're looking at $100+, more if you have anything to drink besides water.

They offer a dessert menu, but I have no idea how anyone could possibly fit dessert in after partaking of the orgy of meat and salad. The 5-inch-tall slice of cheesecake with an inch of fudge on the bottom and caramel on top looked pretty appealing, even so.

And I think I mentioned this last time I posted about Texas de Brazil, but I swear I could eat my weight in goat cheese. Just give me their rice, black beans, and goat cheese, and I'm a happy girl.

The weekend

I think that Doc's classic cluster cycle has returned. Twice daily bad cluster attacks.

I'm convinced that Depakote he's taking isn't doing jack shit. It may even be making it worse. It's definitely making the headaches different, and with these things, sometimes the devil you know is better than the devil you don't.

Friday (his birthday) was simply awful in terms of pain. Saturday was better; he had a short attack in the afternoon but only hovered around a 1 or 1.5 for the rest of the day. This was good because Kathryn threw him a surprise party Saturday night at her house (I know, how sweet!!), so I'm glad he was able to go and participate and not be in too much pain. I had a great deal of fun. I haven't laughed that hard in a long time. The dinner was awesome too, courtesy of Brett's fantastic culinary skills: homemade burgers, homemade fries and onion rings, roasted pepper salad, and ice cream with blueberry-pomegranete sauce. Humor occasionally regressed to the 5th grade level, which I think is totally necessary for adults sometimes!!

Yesterday he woke up with annoying level 1 or 1.5 pain, and tried sleeping it off, despite this never having worked before. He proved, once and for all, that sleeping does not fix the pain, and it usually in fact makes it worse. He finally got up around 3 p.m. Later in the evening we went to Trinity Hall to play trivia again like last Sunday. I really like having a regularly scheduled activity with friends. I think that next week Doc and I and Kathryn and hopefully Brittney and Chris, and perhaps some other people (?) will form our own team. We did kind of kick ass in the "computers" category, getting 10 out of 10 answers correct.

Doc's not had a good week

His post from yesterday...

Nice Birthday so far...

The pain is out of control today...

I started waking up around 5 am for short periods as the waves of pain reached a level I couldn't sleep through (1-2) I would then pass out and go back to the nightmares I was having. During one of these short periods of being awake I made note that the pain seemed to be switching sides although I don't know if I was cognitive enough to judge if it was a "wrong side cluster" or migraine-like in nature.

When I got up I had a throbbing pain in the cluster area that was well into the 1-2 level. I tried to relax and ride it out but around 9:15 it started to ramp up and became a full on attack that had rapid waves of 6-7 and a baseline of about a 5. This is a bit unusual, most of my clusters don't seem to "throb" as bad as this one did.

So here is the real sucky part... when it "broke" it never fully went away, it only dropped to around a 2 with waves approaching 3 for like the last 2 hours.

I am hoping for some relief soon...

4:45pm
The level 1-2 cluster pain has been pretty much constant since the last time I posted. Now on top of that I feel like I have a pretty intense "migraine" layered with it, it I feel it mostly on the cluster side but its more spread out and often throbs on the other side as well. Light sensitivity, feeling queasy, wanting to lie down and rest...all the things associated with migraines... along with the pin point cluster pain that makes you want to move and such.

its very tiring.

2:05am
The pain continued the rest of the evening. eventually the cluster "layer" faded mostly leaving the migraine "layer" (still on the wrong side). The migraine became a bit worse and I also started getting sharp stabbing pains in the back of my head that would make me wince and flinch. I still feel pretty crappy. But I guess I am going to try yo go to bed anyway.

This has been a simply horrible day for the most part. Thank god for my wife, she gave me presents, got me a tasty diner, rubbed my head and generally made me have a little joy amidst the pain.

Photoshop World Las Vegas

Doc and I spent a couple of days last week in Las Vegas for the Photoshop World conference. The conference was really good and I learned a lot about a lot of things, and came home with "The Phone Book," the name everyone was calling the 2-1/2-inch-thick conference workbook. That thing is amazing; it's got all the instructors' notes and presentations from all the sessions, so if you weren't able to attend a class you still have the materials from it.

Despite both of us being sick in various ways (see last post), we still managed to have fun. Neither of us really wanted to "Vegas it up" this time, so we didn't feel pressured to go to expensive shows or drink or gamble. We did a lot of walking around, taking photos. On our last day, I gave Doc $3 to put into a slot machine and 2 minutes later he cashed out with $43. Not bad! We bought a nice lunch.

A few interesting observations: In Las Vegas, it's sometimes hard to tell the real whores from the regular tourists that are just dressed that way. Everything in Las Vegas is about double the cost that it would be almost anywhere else. "But it's a dry heat" is bullshit. Adequately padded shoes may not look fashionable, but they're crucial.

I estimate that I may have walked close to 5 miles each day of the conference (in flat sandals.... owwwww my feet). I think it was about 1/2 mile between our hotel room and the convention center, and this was in the same freaking hotel. All the restaurants except for one in the Land of Foodcourtia in the convention center were closed. The one that was open had only greasy fried food, hot dogs, and $9.50 hamburgers. We ate there only once, and then trekked 1-1/2 miles over to the Luxor hotel for lunch on the other days.

This is a good representation of what it feels like in the casinos. Imagine sucking in a lungful of stale smoky air to complete the picture.


The sunset was quite lovely. These colors are fairly accurate.


The castle at cheesy Excalibur.


Mandalay Bay had a really nice "beach" area with a wave pool filled with showoffy 17 year old boys, and a couple of regular pools filled with fat women of questionable sexuality on inner tubes. I spent a little time soaking up the sun, covered in sunscreen of course, reading and making vitamin D.


Paris was lovely, as usual, with the painted ceiling and cobblestone "streets." As a side note, Paris and Aladdin used to be connected.... but now Aladdin is the Planet Hollywood Hotel. They're taking down all the beautiful Middle Eastern decor and replacing it with flat "glam" Hollywood looking stuff. No more sandstone arches, painted ceiling, or fake thunderstorms.


We paused for a self portrait on a bench in Planet Hollywood. 1 a.m., our feet hurt and we were exhausted from walking.


A fake crystal chandelier.

Coming Back Up from Rock Bottom!!

After Doc's visit to the emergency room three weeks ago, his migraine has gradually been getting less intense, one little baby step at a time. Actually it's been more like 3 steps forward, one step back. Monday night he still had his buddy Mr. Migraine hanging out with him, and then their asshole next door neighbor Mr. Cluster came by for a drop-in visit, and surely overstayed his welcome, partying all night with Mr. Migraine and refusing to go home.

Tuesday afternoon, Doc went to see a neurologist, Dr. Maureen Watts of the Dallas Headache Association. She works in the same clinic as Dr. Stuart Black, who is supposed to be one of the world's leading specialists in headaches. He couldn't get in to see Dr. Black, of course, as he seems to be booked up through the summer of 2008.

From what Doc told me about his visit, Dr. Watts seemed to actually take an interest in helping him feel better long-term, rather than acting dismissive and throwing drugs at him. He’s had so many bad experiences with doctors who don’t seem interested in getting to the bottom of what is causing his many and varied problems, and who don’t seem to want to deal with him because he’s not an “easy” patient.

Doc wrote up several pages of history, detailing his health issues, that he gave to Dr. Watts. She read it while he sat there, and then asked him specific questions about things in his report. (I think that doctors love it when you come to them with a well-thought-out detailed list like that.)

She said that from what he described, he definitely has both cluster headaches and migraine headaches (which is rare, but it can happen), and although she’s not a sleep specialist, probably some form of narcolepsy as well.

And this was really the most important thing, I think, to me at least: She believed him. She understands what he is going through. She doesn’t think he’s crazy or making it up. She is on his side, a partner in helping him get well again.

He now has some anti-seizure medication (I believe it’s called Depakote) to try. Theoretically it can break the headache cycle, although will be more effective on clusters than the migraines. If it works, he’ll be on it daily for the rest of his life. And that kind of sucks, but if that’s the trade off for not getting headaches, so be it.

Next steps include another visit with Dr. Becker, the sleep doctor, some bloodwork, possibly an MRI, and some additional follow up visits to check progress.

I generally hate to feel optimistic about this kind of thing, because invariably that eventually leads to disappointment... but I can't help it. I have hope that this doctor is going to be the one that's finally going to help pull him out of his pain.

I'm feeling a bit better

Everyone has been so nice to me for the past few days (not that you aren't usually :) I really appreciate it. I realize that this is going to sound completely cheeseball, but it means so much to me that you guys have been so concerned about Doc (and me) and have been so quick to help us out in so many ways. I know that's what friends do: we get each other through the tough times, providing an ear, a shoulder and a kleenex when we can't figure out how to cope with the shit that life has thrown at us. And sometimes, when we haven't seen each other in way too long, we pick up like it was only yesterday. I just hope that I can return the favor someday.

I've felt rather wiped out, mentally and physically... I guess it was a cumulative effect, culminating on Wednesday with the emergency room visit and all. I'm definitely feeling better now than I was last week. Stopping my Project 365 was a surprisingly huge relief, and once I beat it into my own thick head that it was OK to just go out to eat if I don't feel like cooking, I suddenly felt like cooking again. Go figure.

My boss let me take the day off on Thursday, Kathryn came over that evening to hang out, and Brett showed up with a cubic meter of Italian food. I saw Debbie and Rachel, neither of whom I've seen in ages, on Saturday at Ginger's wedding shower, then on Saturday night Brittney, Yvonne and Nate came over for margaritas and dinner. I had a great time playing with Zoe, and she smiled and laughed a lot (Yvonne said it was real smiling, not just gas :)

Enough about me. Doc has been up and down since I last wrote. The hydrocodone prescription from the E.R. has run out, but I think those pills were causing him not to be able to sleep (even moreso than usual). And also, did you know that those pills cost thirteen cents each? Crazy. I was expecting multiple dozens of dollars for the 5-pill prescription, as seems to be our fate with the medications that we need, and it was all of 65 cents. Embarrassingly enough, I did not have exact change and had to break a $20. The pharmacist looked like she wanted to roll her eyes at me, and I don't blame her. Who doesn't have 65 cents at the bottom of their purse?! (Me, apparently).

Anyway, Saturday was a pretty good day: Doc felt better than he had in a long time. Today was not so good. His head hurt pretty bad and he's been falling asleep randomly all day. About 9 p.m. he said that he felt awake for the first time today.

I'm hoping that he'll at least start having more good days than bad ones, if he can't be pain free.

My amazing husband.

You know what my dear sweet wonderful husband told me today? Even in the midst of one of his worst days of pain, the day we ended up in the emergency room, his plan for today was to go out and buy me flowers to thank me for being there for him.

How amazingly sweet is that? He's truly one of a kind. I am the luckiest person in the world.

Things I'm letting go.

Been thinking a lot about what to let go, to cut down on my stress. I need to be as healthy as I can to support Doc while he's having a rough go of it, and to make it through all the extra work I have committed to.

So I've decided to put one thing on hiatus, and stopping worrying so much about a second thing.

As of 2 days ago, Project 365 is on officially on summer vacation. Hopefully only for a few weeks, but eliminating the stress of "oh fuck, it's almost time to go to bed and I still haven't taken a photo" is going to make a difference. It's not like I'm doing it for anyone except myself, anyway, and I need to learn how not to feel guilty about failing to achieve personal goals, so this is a good start.

And the thing I'm going to quit worrying about is cooking vs. eating out. The stupid spaghetti incident from last night made me realize that not wanting to cook, and getting takeout instead, is not the end of the world. I routinely worry about what to pack for my breakfast and lunch for work, and about cooking when I get home at night, WAY more than most people probably think I do. Planning all that is so prevalent in my mind that it's probably adding more to my stress levels than I ever realized. So if I'm tired, I'm going to go out and just not worry about it.

For a while.

Until my August and September freelance hell months are over.

Until Doc starts feeling better.

Back from the E.R.

Too exhausted to write much, but the CAT scan came back clear. No tumors.

Hydrocodone definitely dulls his pain but he's totally stoned at the same time, so it's not much of a solution.

Good news is, going to the ER got him some sort of emergency referral to Dr. Black, the headache neurologist who's "booked up" until 2008. Going to call him tomorrow and see when he can see Doc.

Had good experiences at the hospital. Doc felt like this time (his 4th time in the ER for headaches, the other 3 were before I met him) people were taking him seriously and not just saying "you have a headache, take some tylenol" and sending him home. Doctors seemed concerned, wanted CAT scan done. Several different people asked him who his neurologist was and seemed surprised that he didn't have one, so rather than a "do you want to see a neurologist about your problem?" attitude, it was more like "um, sir, someone in your condition NEEDS to be seeing a neurologist." That was definitely a positive experience for him. The nurse who gave Doc the pain shot and who checked us out at the end was so nice and so concerned about him, she seemed very sincere and caring. I didn't get her name. When we initially got to the hospital and had to park a few blocks from the ER in the only parking we could find, a hospital worker pulled alongside us in his truck and offered us a ride up to the ER, which we took. VERY good hospital experiences this time.

Of course, we haven't yet gotten the bill.

A little broken.

Tonight it got to me a little.

I was doing okay today, mostly, until just now. I went to work, talked to Doc a couple times about the headache stuff (and he's having a really bad day, which is emotionally stressful for us both), we went to see our new financial guy who is going to make it so we don't have to expend frustrated brain power on our investment strategies, and then I promised Doc I'd cook spaghetti tonight when we got home.

After fighting traffic across town at 5, we talked on the phone to Dr. Aronoff's nurse, who told us that the options were to take a different painkiller or, if it was worrying Doc, to go to the ER. Can someone please tell me exactly how WE are supposed to know if we should be worried? Isn't that what the doctor is supposed to use his years of medical training to determine?! I think an eleven day long headache is pretty fucking worrisome, but for a doctor to tell us to go to the ER to get a brain scan if WE think it's something to worry about... I just don't understand that reasoning.

Anyway, that was extremely frustrating, and then I had a conference call with Arushi and the book author about the book cover designs (which went well, by the way), and after spending another hour searching fruitlessly for the perfect stock photography image that the client wants for the book cover, I realized that I was just Completely. Out. Of. Energy.

And when I told Doc that I didn't think I could follow through on my promise to make spaghetti for dinner, I broke down and started crying.

And then Arushi read my previous blog post and called to check on me, and I couldn't keep it together. She was so sweet and understanding, but I hate crying on the phone. I feel a little better now, but we still haven't eaten and that is all my fault.

I'm the kind of person who feels like she's supposed to be on top of everything at all times, and I don't know how to deal with not being able to do that. How do you let things go?

Reached the breaking point.

I'm extremely worried about Doc. He's had a rather intense headache (not sure if it's cluster, he says it's on the wrong side and feels more like a migraine with light sensitivity and all that) for eleven days straight with no break. For the past couple of days it was slowly getting less intense, but as of yesterday it's getting worse again. Last night he came to bed at 3:30 a.m. and, as he said, barely felt human. He was whimpering in pain, he couldn't go completely to sleep yet he couldn't stay completely awake. I could barely understand his speech.

I'm worried that something has happened, physically, in his brain. I don't know what exactly, but I think someone needs to take some scans or something to see if they can figure out what's going on. In addition to the 24-hours-a-day pain, he's been experiencing double vision and light sensitivity. The thought that something might be growing/breaking/bursting in there is freaking me right the fuck out.

His doctor was out of town last week and his office called in a prescription for him, which of course did almost nothing, and certainly didn't treat the CAUSE of the headaches, whatever it may be. It was basically just Tylenol with barbituates, so it dulled the pain a little but made him feel "stupid" and zombie like.

His sleep doctor recommended he call a local neurologist, who turned out to be Stuart Black, a world renowned headache specialist. Of course, Dr. Black doesn't have any appointments until August 2008 (yes, that is a year from now) and the other doctor in his practice is booked up for the next 3 weeks.

What is a person who is in acute chronic pain like this supposed to do in the meantime? What if something horrible is happening? We're just supposed to wait? Doc's had bad experiences in emergency rooms before, where they tell him he has a headache and to take some painkillers and go home. I'm not sure it would be any different this time, but I'm at the point where I'm seriously considering taking him in anyway, despite his protests of "they won't do anything, so why bother?".

I don't know what to do. He's reached the end of his very frayed rope, both physically and emotionally. I'm close to that point. I'm trying to hold it together for both of us but it's hard.

Finding an all-night drugstore isn't easy

Last night Doc and I spent nearly an hour driving around after midnight attempting to find a drugstore that was still open. We were looking for some sort of over-the-counter medication for his raging migraine headache.

Yes, he's now getting migraines in addition to clusters, sometimes at the same time. It's unbelievably sucky. Seriously, can the man be in any more pain? Pain piled on top of pain on top of pain.

I would not let him drive himself around at the level of hurting he was at, so I pulled on some pants and my glasses and hopped in the driver's seat. We went to six places before we found one that was open (note to self: Remember, CVS at Walnut Hill and 75 is open 24 hours).

Next task: to find out if Excedrin really IS "the headache medicine."

Roadtrip Day 6: Seattle

Not a whole lot to report for today. We came out to my Uncle John's house this morning and hung out here all day, talking, having cheese and diet Pepsi on their patio, running errands. Brittney calls him "the flip off uncle" because I have a photo of me and my brothers and my mom and him on the sofa in my house on the night before my wedding, and he has a huge grin on his face and he's flipping off the camera.

Late afternoon I took Tilly and went running up and down the HUGE hill on the main road near their house. We didn't go very far, partly because there was not much of a shoulder to the road and I was afraid she would get into the street, but mostly because I don't do 20% grades very well. Texas is FLAT and that's what I'm used to!

This evening my cousin John Evan and his wife and kids came for dinner, along with family friend Yasuko, whose kids my mom used to babysit for in the early 1960s. The Richardson kids seemed to get all the energy in the family while the McCormack kids are much calmer. It took a lot out of me, to be "on" for that long. John seems a lot calmer than he used to; not as much angry energy. I think being a dad has helped him a lot.

Tomorrow we go back to the property in Sequim for Mom to meet with the plumber. She was hoping that would happen today but he needed to meet tomorrow instead. Hopefully we will also be able to take Tilly to the beach to play in the water.

I know I've only been gone six days, but I feel a little homesick for Doc and the cats and my own bed. Actually I am VERY homesick for Doc... it's really hard to not be with him for this long. I've loved spending a lot of time with my mom but I really wish he was here too.

Doc's photography

Doc is in the process of putting his photography online. I spent several hours yesterday updating his website and creating a photography section for him. Bookmark this page; there will be more to come in the next few days!! I'm so jealous of his talent. He has an amazing way with light and composition.

11-Eleven! at the 500 Cafe

Doc is in the middle of a huge project, converting our VHS tapes to DVD. This is 11-Eleven (consisting of Doc, Dave, and a Mac 512K) at the 500 Cafe in Dallas. The show was this wonderful mix of music and performance art, complete with smoke, hairspray, and Baby Bleeds-A-Lot.

Breathing is a good thing

Doc had a sleep study performed last week. He went to a sleep clinic, got hooked up to a bunch of equipment ("all my tubes and wires!"), and did his best to have a crappy night's sleep, as is the norm for him.

Turns out that he stops breathing an average of 34 times per hour. Also, he rarely enters REM sleep.

So now he has this nifty machine called a CPAP (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure) that gives him a constant stream of air that helps keep his nose and throat open while he sleeps. It's pretty small and quiet (I can barely hear it) and he no longer snores.

Wednesday morning I got out of the shower and found him awake, cleaning the bathroom sink, singing. Had they replaced my regular husband with Folger's Crystals?! He remembered the dreams he'd had, which rarely happens, and he said he felt, and I quote, "pretty good," which I don't believe I have ever heard him say upon awakening.

I have great expectations and high hopes for this treatment. I know it's going to take a while for him to recover from years of exhaustion and sleep deprivation, but it's looking good so far. And there's no telling what kind of impact that it may have on other areas of his life.

I text messaged him the other day with a CPAP smiley:

:@)---[]

Doc

Doc and I met at least twice over a span of several years, before we became friends or started dating. I think that if we had tried dating earlier than we did, it likely would not have worked out. Both of us — but especially me — had personal issues to work out, and I had some growing up to do and hard lessons yet to learn.

The first time was during my junior year in college. G. and I went to a concert in Dallas one weekend at a club, and I can't remember who the headline act was but one of the opening bands was a local act called Au du Voir. After the show, we went to Denny's, as was our tradition, along with Au du Voir, G.'s boyfriend TM, and a friend of TM's who had long pretty brown hair and a goatee, little round glasses, a long coat, and was walking with a cane. I remember thinking he was attractive and very sweet but I was dating someone at the time so I didn't give it a whole lot more thought.

The second time was when I was home for the weekend from school, and G. invited me over to her mom's house one night to watch "Barton Fink" with her and TM and TM's friend Doc. Once I met him I remembered him as the nice guy from that night at Denny's. I was too dense, apparently, to realize that it was sort of a set-up. I don't remember too much about the evening other than I was extremely tired and I fell asleep on the sofa during the movie.

In February of 1995, well after TM had achieved "asshole ex-boyfriend" status, G. and I moved into our first apartment as roommates. We had a housewarming party shortly thereafter, and G. asked me if she should invite Doc (sans TM, of course). I remembered him from our previous meetings and said sure, he seemed nice. He came to our party, dressed sharply, smelling fantastic, and he brought us a gift: three paper bags containing tiny dried rose buds, frankincense, and little orange suction dart guns. I thought he was cute, and very nice, but he was seeing someone at the time and I was still casually involved with PCN.

We had several more parties that year and invited him to all of them. During a party over Memorial Day weekend, he was perusing the shelf of CDs in the living room, and turned around and asked us, "Whose 'Lamb Lies Down on Broadway' is this?!" I had been talking to someone else but immediately my focus shifted to Doc. It's as if all other sound and people in the room faded away and he was the only person standing there. I had never met anyone before who had even heard of that record, let alone liked it. I have always felt like somewhat of a loner with my love for 70s progressive art-rock (Genesis, Yes, U.K.), and now someone who shared my obscure interest was standing in my living room! I was suddenly interested in nothing else but talking to Doc.

We discussed music all night, even hijacking the TV in the middle of the party to watch a VHS tape of early Genesis history that I had, which he had never seen. We talked about a lot of things in addition to music, and I was finding him more and more intriguing. He was extremely intelligent, clever, funny, a great storyteller, and exactly my type, physically -- long hair, eyes that crinkled up when he smiles, strong, gentle, pretty. We'd both had a little to drink, and as we were sitting on the floor in front of the TV, I found myself reaching over to brush a strand of hair out of his eyes. Automatically, without even thinking. Of course, the minute I did that I felt incredibly self-conscious: I had crossed an intimacy line and I hardly even knew him yet. I was hoping that he'd interpret it as just plain flirting, and not think that I was out of bounds.

He already had a girlfriend (yet he never brought his girlfriends to any of our parties...) and I tried not to let myself get my hopes up too high. I was still feeling some of the trauma from my breakup with Eeyore less than a year before, and I wasn't too interested in rushing into another serious relationship, because at that point it didn't feel like I could survive another crash-and-burn ending. I felt fragile, and not yet trusting enough.

From then on, we invited him to every single party we had, as well as some parties that were not par