The Avalanche Continues....

(I'd prefer to title this My Life is a Shitstorm, but to avoid being moderated I decided to use some filter)
There are not enough martinis or lattes to help me through the hardships that has fallen upon my family.   
      Trust me, I'm not a 'woes me' kind of girl and am one to tend to see the glass as half full but there's just a point in your life where you have to say ENOUGH. I'm waving the red flag now, unfortunately, my surrender will have to wait a bit longer.
     My mom has been hospitalized with a long-term illness since March 7th- nearly two months of daily hospital visits and holding my breath whenever the phone rings. For the most part the journey has been emotionally taxing, not to mention one that took a toll on my job, my home-based business, my husband, my daughter, my friendships and even my health.  It's been a roller-coaster ride that I would very much NOT like to repeat in this lifetime; unfortunately it's getting worse. 
      I underwent my very first invasive surgery last week (the same day mom had a tracheotomy!)- had to have a cholecystectomy- a fancy medical term for gall bladder removal. Okay, so I wasn't even quite sure what a gall bladder did until it kicked me in the ass, er, rib cage a few weeks ago.  I was leaving the hospital after visiting with Mom and had the inclination to walk myself into the ER on my way to the parking lot, but that hospital wasn't my provider. After agonizing at home for a few hours, and a call to the advice nurse, we dropped Mini off at the grandparents and went to the ER.  The nurse called it on the spot- I guess fluffy (not so much anymore) white females of childbearing age present for gall bladder disease quite commonly. I thought I was going to give birth again. Quite painful. After a five hour stint, I was released with pain meds and a follow-up appointment for an ultrasound. The ultrasound did in fact determine that I had gall stones and would need a surgical follow-up. Fortunately, I wasn't harboring an infection and didn't need emergency surgery, but would have to watch my diet.
      This is something that is normally caused by a fat-laden diet, which mine is not. I am not a fast-food junkie- my idea of fast food is in fact Subway.... well there is that pregnancy craving of an occasional crumb cake donut- so what if I've had 32 months to do so.  I suspect that it was a rapid weight loss with the stress of my Mom's medical situation that caused my gall bladder to produce enough stones to fill up more than half of its capacity. Meanwhile, I've been off of my feet to recover and Anti-latte had to fill in my spot to go visit my mom, and his step-dad and take care of Mini and take care of me. I swear that I was as low maintenance as possible. Even after the second 11-hour ER visit (long story- I'm fine, but a bit pissed at said hospital's lack of ultrasound techs during the night shift). I'm recovering although a bit slower than I had hoped- I suspect an inordinate amount of stress has been a factor.  What's more stressful than a loved one being hospitalized and undergoing the knife yourself? Oh just a the fact that I hate CANCER.
    My father-in-law has been battling a very nasty bout of pneumonia, well, since my mom was hospitalized, actually, and an infection on top of that. He visited my mom at the hospital when she was on her deathbed and it prompted him to quit smoking cold turkey. Between being ill and the smoking cessation patch, he has been really miserable and after several weeks and numerous doctors appointments, he has been diagnosed with lung cancer.  After his initial diagnosis he had to wait for almost two weeks to meet with an oncologist to find out that it was Stage 4, and that is had spread to his liver, lymph nodes and more. As I write, Anti-latte and his mom and other family members are awaiting a visit from the hospital chaplain to discuss the plan to discharge his to hospice to live out his final days. We thought it would be months, but there's a chance that it could be just hours..... so fast. It was like he was playing with Mini one day and unable to walk the next. Now he is suffering and everyone sits by to support him.  It's torturous. I love this man and know how the family feels- the waiting and pleading is all too fresh in my memory from seven weeks ago. Now we just hope that with enough medical intervention, they can keep him comfortable. We'll surround him with all the love that he needs while we await him earning his wings.  I know that Mini will miss him dearly and we'll ensure that she won't forget the man who claims that she has his eyes.... (um, no, but it was always a source of laughs at family get togethers.)
     This presents an additional problem with child care as they were my main providers- we can wing it for the next week while I'm on medical leave and then have to figure out what to do next. Mini's grandmas' #1 priority should be caring for her husband... I think I have it figured out, but it's yet another stressor to deal with.
     And if that isn't quite enough to make anyone crazy, there's more.  We've had two other family members who had to make ER visits within the last 12 hours; and my mom was moved to another care facility that is a 40-minute drive away. It's a step-down rehab unit to prepare her for surgery, still a hospital, but the drive is going to be so very inconvenient. I used to work out that way and don't look forward to the daily commute, but we do what we have to do. It's just another wrinkle.... as usual, I'll iron it out..... your good vibes and prayers are much appreciated.
    

Day 42: Guilt

I smiled my ass of on Sunday; despite all of the medical drama going on with our family, I painted my face all up and trekked to the city- sans-MiniLatte to enjoy dinner and a concert with my hubby. It was a blast, and I feel guilty as shit. I know I shouldn't, however, according to my therapist, it's a very common emotional response to an experience such as mine.  It's called survivor's guilt and is actually a form of PTSD. Even though there wasn't a shared event between us that landed my mom in the hospital and not me, this extended hospitalization is a traumatic event that is dramatically shaping our lives and I have to cope with the fall out and the emotions that go with this. Trust me, I've been doing my share of bargaining to wish my mom healthy again.
    Back in February, with just a little under a week to go until Mom came for her visit; I had one of those red-letter days- work was fantastic; the weather was summer-like and I came home to two e-mails; one congratulating me for getting picked for a Meet & Greet with Blake Shelton at his upcoming concert, and the other with pre-sale tickets for one of my favorite bands- Train- for their San Francisco tour. I was beyond excited.  I frantically called my mom until she picked up the phone because I was so excited to share all of the good news. Not that any of it benefited her, but because she is always so supportive of me. As usual our phone conversation was uplifting and filled with laughter- we could do that, make each other laugh over nearly anything, our sense of humor are very similar (is that genetic??!!). 
    There have been so many celebratory events since she went in the hospital- St. Patrick's Day, our ten year anniversary; her 62nd birthday, Easter that have been low key and glazed over.  All-out celebrating just doesn't feel right, nor do I have the energy. We've also managed to go to two concerts and a basketball game during this time.  The outings are much needed distractions and although fun, I spent most of the time feeling guilty for attempting to have a good time while my incredible mother is bed-ridden, a prisoner in her own body..... I'm somewhat rational and realize that my presence either in the hospital or elsewhere isn't going to change the outcome of her prognosis for that day. It just doesn't feel right to be having a good time either; it also doesn't feel right to wallow in negative emotions. There isn't a happy medium right now- if there was, I'd give anything to find it- I'd give so much more to wave a magic wand and make her instantly better.
   I also know that if she could talk, my mom would tell me to laugh, smile and play.  She wouldn't want me to be missing out on living and in fact is probably feeling like shit herself for thinking that I'm sacrificing for her. I am, but that is just something that you do for someone that you love so very much.  I know that if this situation  instead was myself and MiniLatte, I would tell her to go, live, laugh, play.
     I also have a hard time with the conversations with her- I used to talk to her when I was stressed before and she would tell me that she wished she could be right there with me.  Well, now she is, but she isn't.  Is she thinking that, and it's having a detrimental effect on her emotional well-being? I tell her a story and she cries. She can't tell me why- it breaks my heart. I can't even really talk about the weather.... It's exhausting. What should I do......

Day 24

     It’s been 24 days. A very, very long month. I’m still having the hardest time processing that my Mom is in the hospital- and then it hits me. I’m driving to pick up my daughter and tell the hands-free to “Call Mom,” and then hit the cancel button on the steering wheel just as quickly. It’s habit; I ALWAYS call my mom on my way home so we can share a few laughs, especially if they are over something silly that MiniLatte did last night; or vent about something going on elsewhere in my life. She can’t answer right now, she’s laying in an uncomfortable hospital bed in the ICU surrounded by wires, tubes and cords; a ventilator is helping her breathe; between three to six drugs are stabilizing her heart rate, blood pressure, pain, etc. The staff at the hospital really is amazing- they are doing everything within their power to provide support and comfort until surgery. And I mean everything- she is helpless. But I’m tired of seeing them almost more than I see my husband and daughter.
         Her heart is in really rough shape and isn’t going to get any better without open heart surgery to replace at least one valve. Unfortunately because she keeps running a fever; some days high, some days; low grade, the surgeons won’t even touch her. She has to be fever-free for a minimum of five consecutive days. Five very long days. Days in which other complications could crop up- pneumonia, MRSA, another infection and prolong yet again the procedure that she needs to recover. It’s driving me nuts.  However, this week my condition has been upgraded from survival-mode- just doing whatever the bare minimum is to get through the day- to functioning.
          I put on make-up again on Wednesday; even cooked dinner and worked a few days this week (I’ve been off of work since she was admitted to the ICU). I’ve not been much of a partner to my husband; he’s holding it together for me but it’s starting to take a toll on him as well. I have tried to focus some energy into being a Mom- my daughter adds pure joy to the end of a long and draining day. When I’m spent, she throws her little arms around my legs and says, “I miss you Mommy. You not sad anymore.” It breaks my heart with both happiness and sadness. I’m trying not to let my sorrow and stress affect her. She knows that Mommy’s Mommy is sick and in the hospital trying to get better but wants to kiss her boo boo. I tell her that I am sad because of that but she makes me happy. She’s wise beyond her 32 short months and has more empathy than I can believe.
         My step-dad today told me that he was worried about me. I am too. I worry that I won’t have the strength to get through another day of waiting. I want to take care of myself- my appetite has resumed within the past week- that might be curbed by the Zoloft though- it makes me nauseous. Yep, Zoloft.  I’m seeking a little help from my prescription-strength friends; Atavan, Zoloft and Trazodone. They were probably necessary before this extraordinarily stressful event, but even more so now that my anxiety and insomnia are through the roof. Are they working? Well, I’m resting a bit better. I haven’t had an anxiety attack in about a week; not sure if it’s because Mom is stable, or I am. The Trazodone makes me sleepy, but I still wake up at 4 a.m..  (BTW, have you ever read the entire warning label on a prescription? I think my before symptoms might have been more manageable than the side effects- crazy!) Sometimes in the morning, I remember the dreams I’m having about her; they’re realistic and make me sad. And then my sweet little girl rolls over and says, “Hi Mama,” and I feel a little better but I hope she won’t have to go through this some day.

Some Days I Dislike Being a Woman.....

...that would be about 10-12 days out of the month..... yep, almost 1/3 of the month I hate Mother Nature. For those same reasons I am blessed with a wonderful little girl (who I hope never has to suffer through PMS symptoms like I had as a teenager, nor those that are even more random now.)
     So if you haven't caught on yet, this post is going to be about my period. Probably falls under the TMI category, but since most of my faithful readers are women who might be able to relate or commiserate, I am simply whining venting.
     I remember hearing at some point during my pregnancy that my monthly cycle was going to get easier after I had a baby- lucky for them I don't remember who the source of this large red lie came from otherwise I might have to hunt them down and whack them with a tampon (unused) because the were oh so wrong. It has not been easier- quite the opposite- and also unpredictable and unbearable. I was 'normal' perhaps for a month or two post-baby and since then I've had the joy of experiencing crazy ass symptoms ranging from sometimes bi-monthly cycles to debilitating headaches, fatigue, mood swings and more. Sounds a bit like pregnancy symptoms, right? Not. Just the 'luck' of the draw I guess. And I might be going out on a limb here, but I think that it all boils down to the main reason that we had fertility issues in the first place- my progesterone. I've talked to my OB/GYN and he says that losing weight and being on birth control will help and suggested an IUD. I clearly hear what you're saying Mr. Man but you don't understand.... when you have boobs and these hips, I'll feel like you're understanding me. (Yes, I know, for the love of lattes, just change doctors... I really like Dr. V.... um, never noticed that correlation, ha ha....  I'm a bit on the sheepish side when it comes to speculum and paper gowns that trying out a new doc makes me cringe)
     I read up on the IUD and even with a copper one, I think it will still whack my system out- and have you read all those side effects? I don't need anymore help retaining/ gaining weight or with my mood swings.... and the pill, well, finding one with a dose that doesn't make me look or eat like a stoned teenager or act like a psycho bitch would be good--- it's riding out the experimental period (no pun intended) that is difficult. 
     This last cycle was about the last straw- I was so incredibly emotional with a short (is there a word that describes shorter than short) fuse that it pushed me over the edge.  Combine that with a precocious little toddler who didn't nap for two days and you can cue up the soundtrack from Psycho.... seriously, I had to lock myself in the bathroom and give myself a timeout- with a king size package of Reese's and a bottle glass of wine. At 11:30 a.m.  (just kidding, the wine was an afterthought- I will be sure to put it in the emergency stash for next month) It was unreal and unfair. I have a great little girl, my uterus has served it's purpose and it can go away now.
      And today my nose looks like Rudolph.... really? Hi, I'm fifteen. Cool, just one more little symptom that I can throw into my iPeriod app.  Yep, there's an app for that- why not? 
So I'm game for some supplements or vitamins to help, but not anymore hormone based anything--- my family will probably start locking me in the garage for five days out of the month pretty soon. At least there's a fridge and wine in there....  

Things That Make You Go What the Hell???

Years ago, it was the stories about little helpless animals being abused that used to get me, now, it's the stories about kids as well. When you're a mom, there's just something that helps you easily bond with other Moms- it's like a switch is flipped on and a common denominator of the little ones helps you to start a conversation or forge a relationship. It's also the same 'something' that makes you shake your head and wonder what the hell a fellow mom was thinking. Don't get me wrong, I really try not to judge other people in normal everyday situations such as overhearing the toddler screaming "Damn it!" at the top of her lungs in Bath & Bodyworks.... oh, wait- that was me.... my take on competitive parenting still stands; my thoughts are leaning towards moms who just blatantly put their children in harms way, or in this case the woman who is accused of killing her 7 week old daughter in the microwave or me forming my own opinion surrounding the facts about Kaylee Anthony. WHAT. THE. HELL. 
Please note the use of me calling the first instance a woman instead of a mom is completely deliberate- it's challenging for me to group her in a category the same as myself and in the second case, I'd much rather place the emphasis on the angel-baby rather than than the selfish person who bore her.
    In the case of the microwave story, this was one of the first times that I've ever had a queasy stomach while reading an article; and the thought of the poor baby girl just brings tears to my eyes. I know that in the sake of justice, she deserves a fair trial, and I'll grant her that (at the cost of how much to taxpayers...) but her actions are completely reprehensible. How can anyone do harm to their own children in such a horrible manner? I can't fathom it....
   I think back to when MiniLatte was that little and helpless. I was battling PPD but even during a bad moment, my first thought was always putting her safety and well-being first (perhaps the Zoloft helped...) and when I felt like I couldn't handle a certain Mommy-moment, I called in the cavalry. In retrospect, I may not be able to truly relate because she was such an easy-going little baby, but there were those times. Those times called for what we called our "Baby Spa," taking the bouncy seat in the bathroom and turning the shower on for the white noise and steam. It would usually calm her down, but I remember one particular day where I was also crying and thinking to myself if it was always going to be hard. At no time in the most trying of moments did I even come close to thinking that I wanted to harm my infant.
   And Kaylee, oh dear. There is something completely wrong with that family period. Either they went to great lengths to a) cover-up an accidental drowning; or b) cover-up a murder by drowning -or- she just outright murdered her child to return to a party-girl life. What baffles me is that the father is culpable in some manner.... if it were my dad, he would have throttled me and then driven me to jail himself. My friends and family ask about MiniLatte daily, let alone to go 31 days without wondering about her whereabouts... hell, I passed up my annual conference this week for my direct sales business because it would be too hard to be away from her at this point.  And my tattoo would be one honoring my little girls name.... not Bella Vita. Life sure wouldn't be as sweet without my precious girl in it; and I certainly would have a hard time going on with my own life. Yet, she probably didn't have to fight biology to have Kaylee like we did MiniLatte, she also isn't deserving to have another child..... yes, I know I'm judging but it just breaks my heart---- we are supposed to protect the little ones!
   Both of these former moms will have their day eventually. In the meantime, I'm going upstairs to hold my daughter and smother (sorry, perhaps out of context?) her with kisses.... and say a prayer for those little Angel-girls.
 

Complete mommy failure yesterday morning....

     I had the occasional pre-work responsibility for Little Miss K- Mr. Anti-Latte usually leaves much earlier than I do and drops her off at Grandma's for the day. The routine works out well- he goes to work earlier than I do and is much more of a morning person efficient than I am in the a.m., especially if I've not had my caffeine! I was nearly ready to get K dressed and on our way and began hunting for a shoe mate and within 10 seconds of turning around, my little daredeviless had sprinted to the stairs... as soon as I realized it and could see her over the half-wall, I also saw her just starting to roll down the stairs. OMG. CRAP. Sh!t…. I hate it when this crap happens on my watch… but it’s easy to understand how. There’s just so many Mommy/ work/ wife things to do/ remember/…. Sometimes it’s amazing that I can even leave the house unscathed myself.
       In the rush of getting ready and trying to remember everything else that needed to be done in five minutes...I just wasn't thinking that the baby gate was down. The good thing about toddlers is that they are incredibly FLEXIBLE- the roll down 12 stairs was about as slow as an unwatchful mommy could hope for (perhaps my fall UP them a few days ago was more painful!?) and a box caught her at the bottom. I don't think I've ever descended those stairs as fast as trying to pick her up to console her and check for any injuries. Fortunately, the only injury was to her pride- not one little bruise or scratch and she even landed still grasping my necklace in her chubby little paw. (K is to necklaces is like squirrels to nuts). And she was distracted by Mickey Mouse Clubhouse on the television and the tears dried.... hers. I somehow maintained my composure- which I think probably resulted in a short lived cry on her part. I've learned quickly that many little ones base their reactions on that of their parents. A little scratch turns into a monumental booboo if the caretaker makes it a huge ordeal.
      K is a really good kid, but she definitely is super energetic and wants to investigate and try everything. Which means that you cannot take your eyes off of her for a second when she's running loose! And as you can see, I did. I'm relieved that she isn't any worse for the wear (maybe developing a measure of respect for the stairs) but this was a good reminder that I need to be overly cautious at all times. And as embarrassed as I am about this, when telling a few close friends they've had similar episodes happen with their healthy, thriving beautiful children of their own.... but I still feel horrible! I think I might assuage it with a bottle glass of wine and some Peep’s…..

Dog, Meet Hydrant; Hydrant, Meet Murphy

Do you ever have one of those weeks where you think you're the hydrant instead of the dog? This past week was exactly that for me. I just felt like everything that I had to deal just plain sucked a big dog biscuit. It wasn't horribly traumatic, but just one darn thing going sideways right after the another!
  My week was insanely busy at work- I say that in a good way- but sometimes it just makes my head spin! As a project manager, I am constantly switching gears and in the middle of many things at one time.  It's fun, exciting and above all is mentally taxing.  At the end of the day after a long commute, I very much appreciate some needed downtime to debrief when I get home; and not being able to sometimes causes additional stress.  Take for example when I get home from a long day and have to deal with something like, oh, our central heat going out during a very rainy and cold week!! I don't do cold well. 
    Sometime in the middle of the night on Tuesday, the motor of our HVAC unit in our six-year old home went out. Unfortunately, it took a full day to realize that there was a bigger issue than a dirty filter or new batteries in the thermostats. And seeing the dollar signs adding up to fix whatever is wrong definitely is making life a bit colder, no pun intended. 
  On top of the heater freezing (ha ha), mini-us came down with a bug and has been sick for over a week.  Wednesday and Thursday were the worst of the days.  Keeping her warm in a cold house led to lots of improvising with blankets, space heaters and steamy showers.  We managed to get the master bedroom to a balmy 67 degrees, while the rest of the house is forming icicles......
   Come Thursday, another long day, I finally talked myself into going to the gym (actually it was my BFF who wanted some company) for the first time in eons and not even 15 minutes into my workout I get a panicked call from hubby telling me I have to come home now. Click.  Uh, okay.  Thank goodness I remembered to shut off the treadmill prior to dismounting..... I hurry home to K crying and Jason freaking out.  Apparently he was taking her temperature and she moved and resulted in a big ol' boo boo with her screaming and bleeding out of her ear.  And a trip to the E.R.
  She was okay, but blood coming out of an ear is never good.  And poor Jason was beside himself with guilt.  With some ear drops and a little TLC, she'll be as good as new in about a week.  Adding injury to the little cold, and the literal cold- we're certainly batting 1000! 
   I was certainly looking forward to a three-day weekend and capped off my Friday evening with a hot bath, a glass of wine and sugar cookies for dinner. 
I wake up on Saturday with a disposition much chillier than broken-heater-room-temperature and decide to build a fire.  Apparently there was something blocking the flue and our house quickly fills with smoke, the fire alarms go off and alas, another freakin' problem to deal with.  I prop open the doors, open the windows, turn on all of the fans and it completely defeats the purpose of a warm house.... crap!  I snapped- called my dad crying wanting him to fix it, like now. 
  The rest of my morning is spent trying to remove the smoky smell from the house, a trip to the gym and a mani.  Oh, and discovering that there was some chicken in the fridge that dripped everywhere and contaminated everything below.  Issue five.  Fun.    And I do even remember at some point cooking dinner during the week, I burned it- difficult to do in my trusty Pampered Chef pans.... but that's the life of a hydrant.
My saving grace came in the form of dad showing up with a cord of wood and two really stiff drinks at dinner while celebrating my lil' sis' 21st birthday.         
  This morning I've bid Mr. Murphy adios and I'm enjoying a toasty fire, fresh blueberry pancakes, nothing on the agenda and my little girl acting almost her usual sweet self again.  I'm still shaking my head over the events of the week.  And appreciating that while shit does happen, it could be worse, and am thankful for the things that we do have- a home (although a bit faulty), family and health (even if at the current moment it does have a runny nose).  I try to see the glass as half-full, but there's just those times where the problems pile up, that Susie Sunshine isn't quite so. It could be worse... of course, but personal issues feel very large when you are in the middle of them no matter the magnitude. It also takes the support of the right people to help with your little problems- a good friend who's ex-husband owns an HVAC company; a dad who is a Don-of-All-Trades; friends who listen to your problems and leave a bottle of wine at your door; and interest in your new-to-you Keurig and lots of caffeine to get you over the hump.
We now return to our regularly scheduled blogging after this wine, er, whine.....

That's Gonna Leave a Mark....

See the "boo boo" above her eye??

The small one is not yet walking (well, a few little steps here and there, but then she gets this panicked look and sits down...) but holy cow, she is still ever so mobile and faster than  you can imagine.  And of course, she is testing her limits and curious about how everything works.  For example, "Even if I shake it really fast, will the kitty's tail still remain attached;" "How would this little piece of (insert random thing) taste;" "How hard can I patty-cake Mommy's head before she says 'owww'?"  You get the picture.  Keeps Daddy and I on our toes for sure, and of course, she is always so amusing.  The reactions are priceless!

Being mobile and curious also means that there are tears and cuts and bruises to go along with it.  This is a shitty part about being a Mom.... having to remain calm and collected while you are trying to soothe boo-boos and stop the bleeding.  Yep, that's fun.  And seems to come in sets.  (Her first fall from a high object happened on July 4th, followed by a spill off of the couch the next day and not a hour later: bumping her head on the tile floor (she managed to find the very small spot that wasn't covered to touch down at!).  I know I'm not the first nor last parent that it happens to, but talk about making you feel like a horrible parent!  She's no worse for the wear.....  and then this weekend we had actual injuries complete with bleeding. 

Friday night she was crawling around in her room and while trying to use the glider ottoman for support, she fell down and hit her head on the corner.  When I picked her up, there was blood above her left eye;  fortunately it was a very small abrasion but I was worried on how hard she hit and if she was going to get a shiner.  A little infant ibuprofen, a cold pack and lots of kisses must have worked wonders because, the cut is almost healed already and BabyK doesn't hardly remember what happened! (So, I'm so bad: I was secretly hoping that there would be no evidence for her Birthday on Wednesday and of course the big party next weekend!)

This morning she was up at the crack of dawn... of course on a "sleep in" day.  (I know, everyone told me that those no longer existed as a parent of young children, but a girl can hope!) I decided to be nice to Daddy and took her downstairs so that he could go back to sleep and get some rest.  We had such a nice time playing and eating a lovely waffle for breakfast.... you know that it would have to be interrupted by a boo-boo.  Kiera bumped her mouth on an edge of her high chair when she was going to sit down..... I picked her up to comfort her and a few seconds later discovered blood everywhere down the front of me, her face, clothes... "Poor Kiera, what did you do to yourself?"  I couldn't see a wound through the bleeding.  I thought about getting Jason, but decided to just handle it on my own even though a baby writhing in pain and confusion is hard to contain to comfort and 'fix.'  A few minutes later Jason came down to see what all of the commotion was about and helped me to get Kiera calmed down after some mild compression, a little "boo boo" juice and Dusty kitty to coax out a smile.  I'm assuming that she cut her gums on the down-ward fall.  Ugh. 

Both were minor incidents, but make you feel horrible none-the-less.  I'm not squeamish around blood, but the sight of it on your own child makes you feel raw and irresponsible.  Short of padding our home in bubble-wrap, there's not much that we can do to shield Kiera from minor injuries- it's a part of growing up I imagine.  My outward reaction is to remain calm, but I still feel a bit nauseous- probably from the momma-bear endorphins kicking in to help my little cub.  One thing that does make dealing with this easy is to know basic first aid and have readily available a first aid kit stocked with age-appropriate essentials in dealing with accidents and injuries.  I received some of the items as a gift at one of my baby showers and it was a wonderful gift that keeps giving even now.  I just have to go find some fun themed bandagess for it now and perhaps a bottle of rum for mommy....

A Little Hiatus

I'm a little swamped right now blogo-friends.... frankly I haven't quite gotten my groove back after ShynShyn died; it's been busy at work; and I'm still trying to figure out how this mom/career person/wife/short order cook/taxi driver thing works and it's still a bit off kilter- and then- WHACK- there's another HUGE bump in the road......

We took a short little family road trip- the first with Baby K- to Southern Cali last week to visit family and friends and introduce Kiera to the characters at a brunch @ the Disneyland Hotel.  (Fun, by the way!) On our last night there, I received a phone call from my mom that they were taking my uncle to the hospital by ambulance.  Once he got to the small-town hospital (I grew up in the sticks... seriously.) they discovered that he was far more ill than they were equipped to handle and medi-vac'ed him to Bakersfield.  They had to sedate him to fly (he hated it) and, well, he never came out of sedation. 

We took a small detour on our way home and I was able to visit him on Sunday - I needed to go on my mom's behalf so that we could actually get someone to talk to us--- you know how they are at the hospitals over the phone? No information whatsoever!  Going there wasn't any better- the nurse was a complete be-yotch and failed miserably at any minor shred of compassion.  What little information that I pulled out of her was that he was in advanced liver and kidney failure and was very sick.  It's been a long time since I've seen someone that has required that much medical intervention and it was heartbreaking.  What was even more heartbreaking was trying to figure out how to break the  news to my mother that it was very unlikely that Donny would make it.  I told her that it was urgent that she have someone drive her  the three hours to Bakersfield to see him as soon as possible.    Unfortunately, his organs were shutting down and he suffered a cardiac arrest sometime Monday night.  Although they were able to revive him, he again coded and 'even with their best efforts,' Donny passed away early Monday afternoon just minutes before my mom got to the hospital.

It has been almost ten years since I've lost a family member (and that year, it was three in as many months) and that's probably a good thing.  I'm sad that he's gone, but heartbroken that my mom has to go through this alone (she and her soon-to-be-ex-husband split up last March).  We live 328 miles (but who's counting) from her so I'm depending on her friends and my other relatives to help her through this until we can be with her.  In the meantime, I'm planning a funeral- which I've never done before and hope that it will be the last one for a very long while.   And I've now learned that along with weddings and babies, there is another life event that they decide to charge you an arm and a leg (pun intented) for- funerals.  As if it isn't bad enough that any funerary flowers are going to be hit with a Valentine's Day surcharge!

If you have any willpower to spare, I'd appreciate you sending it my way so that we can just get through the next week.....  and I'm hoping to be able to quit interrupting Random Musings with sad and depressing news!

A Piece of My Heart Is Gone

I've always grown up around animals- dogs, cats, rodents, horses, a turtle, you name it- fur, feathers, fangs (well, can't say that I'm very comfortable around snakes...)- our family has always had a four-legged companion of some sort- currently two dogs and two cats.  One of the dogs, Shyner was the first "all my own" doggie. I found her in 1996- she ran out in front of my car as I was coming home from the gym. I tried to find her owner, but to no avail, so I took her home and that begins the story of Shyner, our sweet 15-year old mini- Dalmatian. She has been my faithful companion for over 14 years- all of my adult life- and I can't really remember life without her in it.... and it pains my heart to say that the story has sadly ended.  My "first-born" has earned her angel wings and the loss has hit us hard.  I know that some people would scoff at the loss of an animal- especially in comparison to the devestation in Haiti from last week's earthquake- but I don't care (what they think, not about the earthquake- that's also sad).  It's been a week (hence me also being blog-absent) and although I'm not crying as much these days, having to get over this just plain sucks.


It was wonderful to have such a sweet little dog with us as long as we did; and I've known that she wouldn't be around forever (I sometimes fantasized about Kiera being able to grow up with Shyner by her side...) but I was hoping that the life or death decision wouldn't be left in my hands.  I had always hoped that she might pass away peacefully in her sleep- I can't begin to tell you when I began checking for her breathing in the middle of the night...It was just plain shitty that I had to make the absolute hardest decision in my life; and although I know that it was a very humane one, I've spent the last few days second guessing it.  Jason and I had talked about what we would do is she just wasn't the 'same' anymore, and we'd always agreed that no matter how much the thought of losing her was, we had to do what was best for our fur-baby.

Her quality of life was slowly slipping downhill: we've had to help her up and down the stairs for a few months; when we woke up with Kiera in the middle of the night, we also made sure to wake ShynShyn up and let her out to do her "business" and most recently we've had to cordon her in one of our bathrooms in case she had any mid-day 'accidents.'  But, you should have seen her when you brought home a Scooby Snack from MickeyD's... her head had no idea that it was 15.... it was her heart and hips that were aging...and she certainly still had a puppy's appetite and you best count all of your fingers after you fed her a treat!!  When she was diagnosed with an enlarged heart last April, we had discussed that we would do whatever she wanted as long as it was fair to her and that we weren't keeping her alive just to spare us from dealing with the pain of the loss.  She put up a brave front day after day and we had the privelege of having another nine months with her, even after she ate an entire bottle of her heart medicine!!!


Last Thursday I let her out before I went to bed and stood behind her as we climbed the stairs- we always had to support her backside so that she could keep the momentum- her hips were weakening and couldn't support her entire girly figure.  She huffed and puffed her way down the hall and when she got to the end of our bed, she suddenly collapsed and went limp.  I thought that she had already died, but she came to about 45 seconds later... I yelled at Jason to wake up and quickly explained to him what had happened.  We knew that we had to take her to the vet, but having a baby takes a bit more planning even with a semi-emergency.  We were able to drop Kiera off at GrandmaK's house on the way (I didn't want to have to worry about her while we were there), and then made a detour to Carl's Jr. to treat Shynie to a late nite Scooby Snack.  I was holding her on my lap and she got excited once we pulled up to the drive in window- she knew that the order was for her: one plain and dry Happy Star. 


The nearly 20 minute drive to the vet seemed to take forever (although not as long as the drive home).  I was in a fog the entire time, so Jason had to do most of the talking.  Shyner sniffed her way around the lobby while we were waiting... I was hoping that it was a sign that she was going to be okay; I knew deep down that it wasn't the case, but hoped is the optimal word here.  It was after midnite once we got there (read: extra after hours charge) and the next hour also dragged on.  They put us in a room that was not at all like normal examination rooms- a very comfy couch for us, and a blanket on the floor for our old girl. The vet came in and listened to her heart and lungs and confirmed our worst fears, without costly (that wasn't the issue) and agressive treatment, she didn't have a good prognosis.  Belive me, it had nothing to do with the cost, it was the fact that whatever treatment was done, if she survived it, would only extend her life for a few months.  Putting my loyal friend through painful procedures wasn't going to be in her best interest. 


I wrestled with whether to be in the room with Shyner at the end or not and eventually decided to stay.  I thought about Marley and Me- I remember watching it in the theatre on Christmas Day, 2008 (and very, very early in my pregnancy!) and bawling my eyes out along with 100 other patrons and thinking about Shyner.  I knew that would be us someday.... The vet was right, it was as painless as could be and Shyner drifted off, finally able to run and hop and play again and eat all of the cheeseburgers that she wants.  After one last scratch of her velvety soft ears, I put her black and white and pink polka dotted collar in my purse and we left the hospital... alone.  I knew when we left our house a few hours before that there was a 95% chance that we would not return with her, but I still held out hope.  The drive home took what seemed like hours- the empty and dark freeway was a symbol for my heart.  We picked up Kiera from Jason's mom's house (although Karen offered to keep her overnight, I wanted to have her by my side to keep my mind off of Shyner) and went home.  My head ached nearly as much as my hear from crying... I took some medicine and crawled into bed, with the little bed next to mine now empty. 


Needless to say, I didn't sleep very well and I knew that I would be worthless at work so I took a personal day.  I was relieved to have a four day weekend to mend my broken heart..... unfortunately even some retail therapy didn't work.... I was just too raw. Waking up to Kiera flashing me her sweet little smile helped a little, as did holding her tight, but it has been a long week.  Every day I've cried a little less... I thought that I would make it though Wednesday tear-free but there was a condolensce card in the mail from Shyner's regular vet- very sweet, but oh my gosh..... and even today, we got another card, this one from the emergency vet where we hugged our little Dalmatian one last time. It's taken me the entire week to write this blog entry-  it's hard to type through tears.  Shyner is the third pet that we've lost in less than a year- and although BooBoo was a hard one, this one is twice as hard.  It's been hard seeing the other pets mourn her as well- Dusty has been sleeping in her bed and Cynnie, despite the fact that we thought they weren't the best of friends, has lost her appetite, and has been moping aroudn the house for days. It's hard to explain to them what happened.... we'll all heal together.


Pretty soon we'll laugh at all of the memories of her intead of cry.  We aren't planning on getting another dog for awhile- when Kiera is older maybe... when ever that is, there will never be another Shyner.  I hope that she is happy now, wagging her tail and doing that crazy Dalamatian smile thing.  We'll miss you so much Shyner- you were the best dog ever. 

The Rainbow Bridge

inspired by a Norse legend


By the edge of a woods, at the foot of a hill,
Is a lush, green meadow where time stands still.
Where the friends of man and woman do run,
When their time on earth is over and done.
For here, between this world and the next,
Is a place where each beloved creature finds rest.
On this golden land, they wait and they play,
Till the Rainbow Bridge they cross over one day.
No more do they suffer, in pain or in sadness,
For here they are whole, their lives filled with gladness.
Their limbs are restored, their health renewed,
Their bodies have healed, with strength imbued.
They romp through the grass, without even a care,
Until one day they start, and sniff at the air.
All ears prick forward, eyes dart front and back,
Then all of a sudden, one breaks from the pack.
For just at that instant, their eyes have met;
Together again, both person and pet.
So they run to each other, these friends from long past,
The time of their parting is over at last.
The sadness they felt while they were apart,
Has turned into joy once more in each heart.
They embrace with a love that will last forever,
And then, side-by-side, they cross over… together.

Dear Blog: There's a Reason You've Been Neglected

II haven't blogged for awhile; I haven't really had the inspiration, or the time. Life with a newborn is infinitely more time consuming- sometimes hard too- than I had ever imagined. I guess I really didn't think about it- it took some energy just to get through the pregnancy- I shuddered to think about how BabyW was actually going to come out or what to do after. So, here I am seven weeks past the birth day, and seven weeks un-pregnant. Your body just doesn't instantly "snap" back to normal. (Speaking of snap: bless my 19-y/o sisters' heart, she thought the vajay-jay just instantly snapped back to it's former size, er, shape.) The road to recovery has been a little bumpy- both physically and mentally. Personally, it *bleepin'* sucked; and I'm a bit p.o.'ed that no one every told me that the recovery was awful.... their stories stopped at labor and delivery. Albeit, every Mommy has a completely different experience (and I often stuck my fingers in my ears and sang, "la la la la" when they did try to tell me a birthing story)- mine was uncomplicated and pretty normal. And that is where uncomplicated ended.....


For the past few weeks, I haven't been my usual self... although that was suspect ever since we saw two pink lines.... hormones much? Prior to conceiving, I was pretty mellow and low-key; a social butterfly to say the least. I'd heard of the "baby blues" and wasn't surprised of my crying jags for the first few days thanks to raging preggo hormones. Problems sleeping (go figure- a newborn) and fatigue and minor anxiety are also pretty normal for as much as two weeks. Unfortunately, here it is over seven weeks later, and I am still having the same symptoms in addition to changes in appetite, no desire to participate in favorite activities (including Law & Order reruns or my beloved blog!) uncontrollable crying jags, overwhelming anxiety and feelings of inadequacy as a mother. I am part of the 25% of new moms that suffer from Postpartum Depression (PPD). And being so uncomfortable in my skin, and seeing Jason's concern, I decided to seek help. With that said, it's unfortunate that I am just a minority of those that have chosen to seek help for this (my counselor says that the rate of PPD is much higher, just differs in severity and cases reported). Mind you looking in the mirror and admitting that something was wrong has been very difficult- I've always been the strong one, the friend that people lean on during crises, and used to seeing the glass as half full. PPD has completely changed that and makes you feel like you are walking through life in a thick fog. But, I wanted to change that and to be able to really start enjoying my precious new daughter and what's left of my maternity leave.

I don't know if it started with the unexpectedly early, well, earlier than I thought (I always figured that she would arrive early, but not after only one day of maternity leave!) delivery; a labor that was uncharacteristically NOT like the one I had imagined; guilt over dismissing my poor mom from the hospital (we're past this...) or raging hormones; but I've felt off kilter since little Kiera arrived. And in all honesty: although I love my daughter with every fiber of my being, I did not love what I'd experienced so far of motherhood. And then I was feeling guilty for NOT loving motherhood; we've been trying for years for little Kiera and here she is..... what is wrong with me. I wanted to go back to work after week four because it was familiar and seemed much easier than my 'mom' job. I remember sitting in the bathroom (when Kiera is a bit fussy she calms down listening to the running water) with a crying baby in my lap, crying myself and thinking, "What am I doing? What did I get myself into?" And then I felt guilty. What the hell? Within the last year, six of my friends have had babies and they were great moms; they didn't have Postpartum Depression... why me? Why after sailing through 37 weeks, this? (The pregnancy or delivery isn't any indication of if someone is going to have PPD.)

After my six-week check-up with my OB, and a timely phone call from a friend who is a nurse in women's health whom both referred me to a Postpartum Support Group run by my health plan. It was comforting to listen to other women who were feeling very similar to me, including three moms' who had additional children. I didn't feel so alone or ashamed of my feelings and has also helped me to feel a bit more normal (I also shared my feelings with one of my friends and she admitted to having some PPD issues and not taking to motherhood instantly- but now she loves it and her beautiful daughter doesn't know any differently!)

I was prescribed Zoloft to begin breaking through the fog and taking the edge off of my anxiety, and my dear husband is very supportive. Whether it's just to call and say hi and tell me I'm doing a good job, or dragging me out of the house on what we call "Mommy Field Trips," to taking over when he gets home from work. Getting out is important- maybe just to Target or to get something to eat, but I'm out of the house. I'm going to be attending my first Moms' Group activity tomorrow night and am looking forward to that; having events to look forward to is an important part of the recovery process. I also look at my beautiful daughter- our little creation and miracle- and I feel better. It's not instantaneous though- I still have good days and bad days; fortunately the good have outnumbered the bad.

The other day when a Tweet (Twitter and Facebook are an endless source of entertainment for me during feedings!) led me to discover a very heart wrenching blog that made me have a revelation. In short, the family had a beautiful daughter that was born premature; fought to live and thrive and then suddenly died when she was around three. I felt so much empathy for that poor family; and appreciative that we have Kiera. I leaned over a picked up Kiera and hugged her tight and promised that I would work really hard to feel better. I'm not expecting an overnight miracle (she took nine plus months after all!) but just some progress and hopefully the bond between Kiera and I will grow even stronger!

BabyW.... Your Nursery is Waiting for You!

Finally! It's finished! After months and months of preparation... in (baby) steps.... of course- the Nursery is done. I guess that you can say that it's on schedule as BabyW isn't here (yet- I'm hoping soon!)... but we did have a bit of a 'episode' during the final evening of work.

This room was the 4th bedroom in our house which happened to be the 'catch-all' room and my pseudo-walk-in closet. Needless to say, just to get it cleaned out and ready took massive motivation and work. Thank goodness that there was 36+ weeks to do it in- LOL- I wish that I would've taken 'before' pictures.

First, the inspiration: finding a crib set that wasn't completely 'cutesy' or smothered in pink- I have a strong aversion to pink when it comes to decor (not the clothes tho.. such cute baby clothes!) and finding something that I liked and wasn't really expensive was difficult. And it started even before we 'officially' found out BabyW was a girl. The one that I wanted was completely discontinued so we ended up with one called: LuLu by Sweet Potato.... and now I am fascinated by the green and purple combo! ( :

Speaking of discontinued.... that seems to be a recurring theme with baby things that I like: the car seat; and the crib and changing table. And for some reason, there weren't many other (reasonably priced) options in a natural wood finish.... but we found something finally!

I think the best thing about the nursery is that it was a labor of love (literally)! GrandmaK bought the furniture: crib and changing table from Penney's, bookshelf from Ikea, and dresser from Craigslist; and GrandpaJ was the skillful carpenter in putting it all together (we're mostly all thumbs with that stuff!). GrandpaD spent a week painstakingly painting the walls and installing the ceiling fan; and then Jason and I spent the last few days hand painting the flowers and decorating.

I think that in addition to it being a family project, the other part of the fun of putting this room together for the baby was the thrill of the deal! Between Craigslist, yard sales and Ikea- the room was completed with a very reasonable budget in mind! The glider we scored for $30 off of Craigslist- despite having to drive to Vacaville for it, the price couldn't be beat! (GrandmaH gave us $175 for one, so she also bought BabyW an activity jumper too!) The glider is in great shape- I just cleaned and sanitized it; washed the cushions and now we're (AuntyNanette- cuz I don't know how to sew!) just recovering them to match the room with fabric (also!) purchased on sale.


And the dresser- well, the dresser. It's called a tower combo and has an optional hutch that goes with it. From BabiesRUs, it was $349- ouch! So we bought one for $260 from JCP- and it was a piece of junk- very disappointing especially with the quality of the changing table and crib from there! So, knowing that they had 'natural finish' wood, I was just going to settle and get a dresser from Ikea, but still had my heart set on the combo. Well, lucky me- another craigslist search found the one in the picture for sale at a nearby yard sale so I went over there first thing and grabbed it for $100! (Have I said how much I HEART craigslist???) (Might I add: the dresser is already pretty much filled with the cutest baby clothes ever!

The Winnie the Pooh pictures (except the solo Eeyore one) were from yard sales and the polka-dots decals were found on clearance at Ross. One of the flower lights was also a yard sale find and the other from Ikea (I also HEART Ikea!) and the Eeyore lamp was from GrandmaK that we painted to match the scheme. Now, the Eeyore picture? That was a Christmas present from Jason years ago- when I opened it he said it was for our future baby's room... how cute!

Everything was painted to match the colors and... viola...... maybe!

Remember the little mishap that I mentioned earlier in the blog post???

Weeeelll... last Tuesday after our National Night Out Block Party we were going to finish the room- put together the bookcase, and maybe another hours' worth of work. Jason skillfully Ikea'd the bookcase- in record time no less- while watching Shark Week and then my big preggers belly goes and bumped the dresser. That knocked over the glass with the dirty paint water from soaking the paintbrushes.... into the dresser and on the carpet. So, I tossed the already washed baby clothes into the washer; and while cleaning up the little puddles, a quart of nice green paint slipped out of my hand and half of it spilled on the carpet, the closet door, the wall and the side of the dresser. It was already getting late, and I did the only thing an overly hormonal nearly-9 month pregnant lady does: CRY! and cry.... ugh.

It took almost 2-hours of Hoover Steam Cleaner (bless this machine) action to see white carpet again. (And now we can't tell if it's still a bit stained, or it's just super duper clean and the rest of the carpet is dirty!) It was not fun. And to make matters worse, I had my first episode of Cabbage Patch Doll feet and had to sit in a cold bath at 1 a.m. to alleviate the swelling.... not really the way I wanted to end the evening, but, alas... an end... and our little princess' room is (im)patiently awaiting her arrival.

The cat came optional with the changing table....

We'll Miss You Chinney!

Five months to the day that we lost our BooBoo kitty, we’ve lost another one of our furkids- our little chinchilla, Ramsey, died this morning. We’re not quite sure what happened- he was fine earlier this week; didn’t look very well yesterday morning but when we took him out to play with him after work he was acting normal.

We adopted Chinney (his nickname!) from a local breeder in the area- Chins 2 Go (if you ever go to the Furs & Feathers exhibit at the State Fair, she is the one that is always there with her chins)- three years ago. This is the second chinchilla that I’ve had; they are pretty easy pets to take care of, but purchasing them can be a bit expensive. They are good cage pets because they have a longer life span than most rodents and are extremely social, easy to take care of, clean and even trainable. The only downfall, if you can call it that, is that you have to take great care to ensure that they don’t get too warm in the summer- they have very dense fur that will cause them to overheat above 90◦. The dense- but super soft- fur is also the reason that they have to have regular ‘dust’ baths.




Because he was a rescue, we got a good deal on him and all of his supplies. Best of all, he was a great pet- a rodent with personality! ( : He was very social and loved his raisins and dust baths! If he felt like he was being ‘ignored’ (we kept him in our home office) he would chirp to tell you to come visit him.




Pets of any type add a special ‘something’ to our lives. I’ve always been a pet lover and have had my share of animals since I was a little girl. A chinchilla isn’t like a cat or dog where you can get super-attached to them, but losing a pet is still sad. Unfortunately, that is part of being a pet owner- knowing that one day you’ll have to say goodbye. Chiney, like the rest of our animals, was spoiled rotten! Someday we will get another chinchilla- probably when BabyW is older and we’re comfortable with parenthood- that’s another journey all on it’s own.




Rest in peace little Chinney dude!

The Latest Rude Awakening!

I’m used to waking up in the middle of the night to do the potty shuffle; or because BabyW is having a raging party but the newest Rude Awakening is super painful- leg cramps. For the past four days I’ve had to deal with horrendous charley horses in my right calf- the first day literally brought tears to my eyes. I quickly tried to sit up to rub out the cramp (remember that nothing is done quickly when preggers?) and proceeded to hurt my stomach from squishing BabyW from her nice comfy stretched out position back to fetal style. (and she wasn’t happy and proceeded to give my liver a Tyson-esqe one-two punch); got a nice little head rush from sitting up too fast and rubbing does not help the cramps. You have to flex through it, but that’s easier said than done! Anyways, these cramps are quite common in the third trimester- but they suck.




I’m also finding that my body temperature runs a bit on the warmer side lately; especially this weekend when it was hotter than hell here- the nice balmy 108 degree weather is the hottest that it has been in Sacramento in over two years. Fab.U.Lous. And I get to experience it 7-1/2 months pregnant! Don’t remind me about being pregnant during the Summer- I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard that since I’ve been baking BabyW. In all of my 35 years, June through August typically means Summer in North America and temperatures over 90 are pretty much the norm. I have been taking cool showers right before I go to bed and still wake up to turn on the fan (another rude awakening??) So, for comforts’ sake, if I had to choose my last trimester, it certainly wouldn’t have been during a heat wave, but since BabyW is a fertility baby, we’re blessed with what we have! On the positive side- my usual craving of fresh fruit is easy to fulfill during the summer- and strawberries, watermelon, nectarines and pineapple have been SO GOOD this season- not to mention it will be nice to have my maternity leave during the holiday season and the slower period at work.




Speaking of hot, I broke down and purchased a ‘real’ pair of maternity shorts from the Motherhood Maternity outlet- and it was- eek- full price at $29. Ugh- but you have no idea how comfy (and cute!) they are. Or how glad I was to have them on hand on Sunday… I made a pitstop at my parents to soak in their pool yesterday and it rocked. (I think my next purchase is going to be a kiddie wading pool for me to soak in when I get too hot.) Of course my hoped for wading pool pales in comparison, I hope it will get the job done, because as I’m reminded on a daily basis- I’m pregnant in the summer!

A Prayer for a Friend

I received an e-mail early yesterday morning from my friend Amber - she is also preggers like me and expecting a daughter in mid-August- that broke my heart. Her 18-month-old nephew fell ill very suddenly over the weekend; unfortunately the diagnosis was not good- meningitis. Unfortunately baby Ryder passed away in his mother's arms just hours after Amber sent out the e-mail. I feel so horrible for the family; I can't imagine what they are going through. How can you make sense out of losing such a helpless little guy, and how do you ever recover from that? I'm sure you never do, you just pick up the pieces and try to move on with your life. I didn't know Ryder, but my heart still aches for my friend and having to deal with the loss of their little angel.




I think as I am beginning to start a new chapter in my life as a Mommy, things like this affect me differently. It was hard enough coping with loss during each miscarriage prior to BabyW even though they were very early- if something were to happen to BabyW right now, I would never recover. Even though she sometimes makes my eyes water when she gives me a swift little kick, I love her fiestiness (she's definately going to have red hair!) and predictability. (I can almost set my watch to her little activity in there!) Life would never be the same....




But you do survive. A family friend lost his young son, just four-years-old, to a really rare genetic disease. Again, another senseless tragedy. So unexplainable- especially when you try to do it in medical terms. Little Gregory had Gaucher disease; and at the time of his diagnosis not much was known about it. Basically, in this disease- nearly always fatal- a child lacks an enzyme necessary for their body to eliminate dead cells and stores them in other areas of the body resulting in organ failure. There is no cure. It has been 12 years since Greg and Deborah have lost their son. It has been 11 years that the legacy of Gregory lives on in their charity- the Children's Gaucher Research Fund. They focused their grief into a goal- to help other families that have been affected by this rare disease. And it has helped.... the research is making great strides much in part to the grants that the CGRF provides to the scientific community to study and research lysosomal storage diseases (think along the lines of TaySachs or Parkinsons). I don't know how much it has helped Greg and Deborah cope and survive, but their strength and pursuit of a cure is amazing to me. It's an honor for me to take part in finding a cure: our annual corporate golf tournament (which is taking place next Thursday!!) is in it's 8th year and we donate all net proceeds to the CGRF; and Jason and I also volunteer our time and services in planning and running their biennial medical conferences. It's the least we could do- everyone wants a cause to belong to and I'm sure these efforts will take on a different meaning for us as we become parents.




I hope upon hope that we won't ever have to survive losing our child, but if we do, I know that the love, compassion and strength of friends and family as well as perfect strangers will help us endure. I hope that each day will become easier for Amber's family....




Here's to angels watching over us in Gregory. And now, Ryder.

Shyner Dog, Part Five and First Bad Mommy Freakout

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"I can't believe I ate...the... whole... thing..."









So, my sweet little first born doggie: AKA: Princess Conehead (that was from ear surgery. each. ear. surgery.!); Stinky; Shynnie Shyn; the Scavanger... yes, the Scavanger. Despite her petite 34# frame, she has a tendency to take off a finger or two during treat time! And she also thinks that everything left at her level is yummy. (The package of tissue paper 'snow' was very fun to clean up.) Always has- that's when I first knew Jason was a keeper-Shyner got into a box of chocolate-covered cherries and ate the entire thing- and then decorated my nice white carpet- but he helped me clean it up! ( ;







On Wednesday, I was running late for work and didn't pick up the bottle of medicine on the ground. "It's medicine, in a child-proof bottle that I have a hard time opening with my opposoble thumbs!/ I have to smear peanutbutter on it to administer it to Shyner anyways/ Oh, it hurts to bend over..." Big Mistake. Very Expensive Big Mistake. Poor Furbaby. Poorer Parents, literally. Don't remind me, I feel bad enough as it is. Thanks.







It's now 5:30 p.m. and Jason calls me and wants to know how many pills were in the bottle- I don't freakin' know- I'm not there! Why? There are piles of puppy purge everywhere and an EMPTY bottle with the lid chewed off in the middle of the living room. Ugh. This is also the $75 bottle of Vetmedin- her heart medicine. I get home a few minutes later to less of a mess than he did (thank you, honey!) and immediately called the vet from the VIP Batphone which we have a personal number to because we are such great customers. HA HA. Of the three medicines that she is taking, this is the one that is extremely toxic in any doses other than the prescribed one- which is 1/2 a pill, twice a day. I deduced that she ate, oh, about 25!!!!!!! So I rush her off to the 24-hr emergency vet that is 15 miles away during the height of rush hour. (Did I mention that being pregnant makes my blood boil when I drive?) Oh the way there she is shaking and having a hard time breathing. DogMom is crying. It's not a good scene.







Once I get to the vet, they take her back and I wait, and wait. The vet, who is super sweet, comes out and says that she has to call Animal Poison Control and needs my credit card for the $85 consult that APC charges. Lovely. It takes over an hour for the evaluation before the vet comes out to tell me that she's sick. DUH. Well, that's how I translated it- I was upset, and I'm nearly 6-1/2 months pregnant (= emotional!) so I couldn't really tell you what she said. "Heart pumping faster, blah, blah, constricting blood vessels, yada yada, IV, charcoal...overnight stay.... $$$$$$" I had Jason call her back when I was on my way home so he could here the verdict straight from her. Basically: she's a senior dog with a bad heart- if she makes it through the night- which is very, very likely because she apparently ate the pills earlier and had passed the four hour peak of the effects- she'll be fine. (I think she had a really good trip for lunch!) Needless to say it was still very upsetting and I feel totally guilty for it (will I be a bad mom? wait, don't answer that...) and we are much, much lighter in our bank account (this is on top of the $700 or $800 we just spent on her 30 days ago. Ugh.). I didn't sleep very well on Wednesay night- it was a bad day (thank you Lakers for winning so at least Jason could have some happiness... did I really just say that?). Shyner is just fine. She is a very, very strong pup with a big heart and a strong will to live! She's spoiled and knows it! She's also very priceless- really priceless- I shudder when I try to add it up, so just take my word for it!







Moral of the story: Slow down; if pets or kids think it looks like fun and probably know they shouldn't get into 'it,' they will, so put it away... okay, maybe I will be a good mom......