That's narcolepsy, NOT necrophilia

Ezra and I like to watch NatGeo (National Geographic Channel) occasionally during the day.  Today happened to be a particularly rainy day so it provided me with the perfect excuse not to go outside and complete the work that was calling for me.  Then...I saw it.  It was preview for a show called "Taboo" and cameras were following around this man who kept crashing to the ground.  He was taking a stroll through the park, down he went.  Walking down a city block, fell over.  Bowling, over and down.  Then we see the money shot: he's in his kitchen doing the dishes wearing a HELMET.  Oh sweet and merciful Lord.  It's a narcoleptic.  We've got a narcoleptic up in here.

Ordinarily I wouldn't have paid it any mind, but I was recently informed that I too, have narcolepsy.  This didn't change my life in any major way since I have been dealing with the symptoms for around twenty years, but it made me more aware of narcolepsy in the media.  Speaking of which: both my husband AND my father thought that narcolepsy meant, umm, having relations with those who are no longer with us.  (See NECROPHILIA.  Very different).  It does take a certain amount of getting used to when one is assigned yet another label to wear, but I moved on pretty quickly.  Until I saw that stupid "Taboo" preview.  That's a pretty extreme case, friends.  Most narcolepsy is characterized by excessive daytime sleepiness, and another symptom called cataplexy.  Cataplexy is essentially muscle failure when faced with a strong emotional response.  I don't have that.  Yet.  Regardless, I felt a little bad that when I watched that preview I immediately judged that his life must be sort of pathetic.  A pretty hasty evaluation coming from a narcoleptic fibromite.  I, of all people, should realize how great life is, and can be, right?

A good friend once told me this story, which I'm sure has been told many times:  A man was praying to God that his burdens would go away.  He felt that he had been given more problems in life than the average person, and it wasn't fair.  He was sure that God was being hard on him and he wanted Him to lighten up.  So God replied, "There is a cave on the other side of the forest.  In that cave you will find many crosses, each complete with their own unique set of burdens.  Just this once, I will allow you to take your cross to this cave, shop through the others, and trade yours in for one that you believe will make your life easier and more enjoyable."  The man began to praise God for his mercy and excitedly made the pillage to the cave.  Once there, he began to pick through crosses, reading their respective burdens that had been branded into the wood.  He spent many hours there, searching for a suitable cross to trade for his own.  He could find none he would rather bear.  Finally, he collected the cross he had come with and headed back into the forest.  It was then that he truly began to praise God.

And just to show I have a sense of humor, I invite you to view the following clip. Fainting Goats

Ezra's Big Day! Part Two...

The kindly nurse weathered the barrage of profanity with nary a flinch or a look.  She informed us that the doctor was on her way (ha) and that we would be delivering by c-section immediately.  Apparently once the amniotic fluid begins to leak, the risk of infection becomes a serious threat so they wanted to pop my little dude out of there.  John and I quickly acclimated to the reality that we were becoming parents NOW.  Not three weeks from now.  Now.  But first I had to endure a scolding from Dr. Grumpy Pants.

"Why didn't you tell me you were leaking fluid?  Why didn't you tell me you were having contractions?!  You need to call when events like these occur!"

See previous post to understand why my baby doctor is an ignorant jackass.

I will say this for her; despite her woefully inept bedside manner she did one heck of a job delivering my son.  He arrived in this world safe and sound, hollering up a storm.  He was perfect.  Plus, as a benefit, the incision was quite small and soon I will have no scar at all.  And fortunately after she was done bringing him into the world, she sort of disappeared and I didn't have to deal with her anymore.  Which is good, because I think secretly John wanted to take a swing at her.  She was a touch on the abusive side for a woman who brings life into the world as a career.

We remained in the hospital for four days, during which time my main memories are: eating copious amounts of jello cups, working tirelessly to get my "lazy sucker" to latch on, and keeping the nurses honest about being on schedule with my pain meds.  One such nurse innocently replied, "Oh don't worry, I have it all written down and I will make sure you receive your meds on schedule.  I heard when I came on you don't want them to be even one minute late!"  Let me just explain something for a second; I'm not trying to be a hero.  Had I given birth naturally, I wanted every drug available to me so I didn't feel pain.  Since I had a c-section, I wanted those drugs and then some.  I didn't need to "feel" any great discomfort to feel like a real mom.  I deemed it highly unnecessary that I should suffer even a moment of agony to confirm that I had entered into that magical journey of motherhood.  I feel pretty comfortable in my belief that Ezra isn't going to appreciate me more in his teen years because I turned down a Percocet.  

Side note: Caught up in the excitement of the moment, John was swindled into looking over the barrier sheet to see the doctor yanking out our boy one leg at a time.  This was not a good choice by my John.  The PTSD seems to be improving, but he has his moments still.

Finally, at 9:20 AM December 14, 2011, Ezra Roland Terpening entered the world.  My reaction was a lot like seeing my pregnancy test turn positive.  I didn't cry, laugh,  or scream.  I looked over to where he was being measured and weighed and was overcome with awe.  This perfect slimy underweight little boy was mine.  He was squawking like a pterodactyl and pretty pissed off to have been abruptly removed from his warm comforting home.  Since I didn't have control of my arms due to shock caused by the spinal block, he was wrapped up tightly and handed to John.  He quieted immediately and it was clear he knew where he belonged.  I watched from the operating table as my husband silently fell in love with his son.  To make use of a horribly cliched phrase, moments like those are as rare as shooting stars, but when you see them, you know you have experienced something magical and special.

Mommy comes out of her stupor after a few minutes and meets her baby boy.  It's love at first sight.

Daddy dutifully practicing kangaroo care.

Dreams Do Come True: Part One

Holy heck, it's been over a year since my last post!  If I can lure my followers back, I promise never to let that happen again.  I also promise not to make every single post about my beautiful baby boy...THAT'S RIGHT!  The IVF worked and I am now the world's proudest mommy of the world's most wonderful baby.  (Yeah, I know, gag gag gag).

I'm going to go all Reader's Digest on the last 15 months.  In April of 2011 we learned that all the shots, pills, and hoo-hah invasiveness had paid off.  We were going to have a baby.  There aren't even words to describe what it felt like to watch the second line turn pink on a pregnancy test.  I didn't cry; I didn't laugh; I didn't do a little dance next to the toilet.  I just sat there on the tile, the same spot where I had watched 36 months of pregnancy tests refuse to change color.  The same spot where I had pried apart said tests to hold the strip right up to the light, at times convincing myself I saw something that wasn't there.  It was also the same spot where, during the three minute waiting time, I would bargain with God that if he would just let me be pregnant I would never ask for a single thing, ever again, for any reason.

I just sat.  Then I raised up, headed out to the living room and continued to sit.  I just drank it in.   I remember experiencing a very calm, yet euphoric feeling.  Soon, John came home from work and I kept my little secret until we went for our after dinner walk.  About twenty minutes in I mentioned maybe we needed to slow down the pace, since it might be too brisk for a pregnant woman.  John kept walking and said nothing...after about ten seconds he asked, "Did you take a pregnancy test? Are you pregnant?"  I gave him a coquettish little smile and he responded with a grin so big it took over his entire face. That is one of those moments I will never forget.

My pregnancy was largely uneventful until the third trimester.  Many negative changes had occurred at school and the stress was overwhelming.  That in addition to the fibromyalgia made being pregnant quite a challenge.  However, my OB-GYN felt differently.  Here are some of my favorite quotes:

"Being a parent means having to persevere despite whatever little discomforts you may be feeling."  (Really lady?  Thanks for the sage advice.  P.S., debilitating conditions, especially not multiple ones, are not generally referred to as "little discomforts."


"Hmmm...I've been trying for a while and I can't find a heartbeat anywhere.  That's pretty unusual.  I don't want you to worry though, we'll just get you down to ultrasound in a couple hours and see if we can locate it that way."

"Leaking fluid?  That's totally normal at 37 weeks.  It's not even worth checking."

"Contractions?  That's just Braxton-Hicks.  Totally normal."

Which brings us to December 14, 2011 37.5 weeks.  John and I headed into Silverton Hospital for an inversion, since the baby was footling breech and didn't appear to want to turn around.  Our doctor felt confident that she could maneuver him into the correct position for a vaginal delivery.  That is if she felt like showing up.  We had to be there at 5:00 AM, and she still hadn't rolled in by 7:00.  A very nice nurse kept checking up on us so I mentioned to her that I was leaking fluid.  She decided to take a sample because if it was amniotic fluid it would look like crystals under a microscope.  She was convinced it was nothing but wanted to be thorough.  About five minutes later she came bombing back into our room and announced we were having a baby.  Today.  Early.  My water had broken days before.  I was having actual (non-Braxton Hicks) contractions.  John and I stared at one another.  We stared back at the nurse.  Curse words that I am not proud of were uttered by both of us involuntarily.  It sounded like a bunch of sailors had taken up residence in our hospital room.

What I have learned from this post is that I am actually incapable of Reader's Digest versions.  So stay tuned!  Posts will be coming much more frequently now that my writing gene is getting it's freak on.

And Now, a Public Service Announcement From a Man Who Has Been There

The following is a public service announcement…

There’s nothing funny about a woman pumped full of hormones, or “Stim” as they are called. While Stim attacks are rare in the wild, they do occur, so I feel it’s important to share some safety tips that will minimize the risk and just may save your life.

When encountering a Stim outside of their natural habitat, it’s important to try and remain calm and avoid sudden movements. Don’t make direct eye contact. It may be perceived as a threat. If you hear a low growl or hissing sound, back away quickly but don’t turn your back. You’re not dealing with a mountain lion, so don’t try and make yourself look bigger. In fact, do just the opposite and shrink yourself down…there’s a chance she’ll show mercy in your weakened state. If you’ve decided to actually converse with a Stim, keep the topics as innocuous as possible. Never bring up anything that might trigger a Stim attack. Since studies show that virtually any topic can bring on a Stim attack (see: tarp, weed), it’s probably best just to exchange pleasantries and move on. Remember, Stim’s can smell fear. If a Stim bears their teeth, you’ve said something inconceivably stupid and it’s time to leave. Don’t bother trying to get your coat or anything else you may have arrived with it’s just not worth it and those items are replaceable.

If you have decided to venture into the Stim’s habitat, God help you, but here are some more safety tips. First, make mental notes of all possible escape routes in case of a Stim attack. If you can, invite someone older and/or slower than you to accompany you into Stim Country; that way, if there is an attack, they may provide you with the extra precious seconds you need to escape.

Understand the kill zone of a Stim. This is the circumference of her reach. If in your infinite wisdom you feel that this is the exact moment that you should share your opinion on what young actress is very attractive, realize where you are standing in relation to the Stim. Too close and you will easily lose an eye before you have even finished your ill-timed (and most assuredly wrong) opinion.

Speaking of opinions, it’s important to remember that you don’t have any opinions when speaking with a Stim. They might inquire as to your opinion, but it is a ruse and they are essentially playing dead in order to set you up for an attack. This might mean that at some point you will find yourself watching an episode of Grey’s Anatomy (a singing version no less) but understand one thing: estrogen…beats…testosterone.

Finally, don’t try and be a hero; Tom Hanks isn’t building a monument in D.C. for men struck down by Stim attacks.

Thank you for your time.   

Signed, 

A Concerned Citizen

and also Local Dignitary

How To Get Email Updates

Hello again!  A few friends and family have been wondering how to get email updates that I have written a new post.  I did a little research and added the application you see to the right.  Just enter your email address into that and you're good to go!

Just Look at the Picture, You'll Get the Point

Stimulation Meds Day 8

The picture says it all folks.  I just hope the good people at Google Images either 1) don't catch up to me for my blatant and unapologetic unauthorized use of their photos or 2) are merciful when they do. 

I woke up this morning feeling pretty good.  I was excited about staking out the boundary for our new chain link dog yard, a much needed expansion of play area for my fur babies.  Their current fencing situation is about 12' x 12'. Those of you who are dog owners know, that is woefully undersized for a growing lab puppy and his two schnauzer sidekicks.  John and I went to Lowe's, which is to me as Nordstrom's is to most women.  We got some supplies and materials for some great weekend projects.  Generally, I live for home improvement and gardening projects during the spring and summer.  Unfortunately, when we got home I was faced with the task of staking out the boundaries of the fence.  This may seem simple but it is not...I did it last summer and by the time exact measurements were taken and angles perfected, four hours had passed me by.  Consequently, faced with a project that was going to involve a lot of measuring and a lot of math I began to feel quite overwhelmed.  This isn't surprising when you consider the following data:

The average estrogen level in women is generally below 30.  On day 4 of my stimulants, it was 159.  Yesterday, day 7 of "stimming", it was 790.  These numbers thrill my doctors and indicate that we are right where we need to be, but they make me feel like a big grumpypants, to put it delicately. That much estrogen makes me feel like every hair on my head is standing on end.  I can't get comfortable laying down, sitting up, or even stretching.  I guess it's good practice for actually being pregnant, no?

Good news though!  Due to my feeling absolutely miserable, I was able to parlay my pitifulness into getting John to agree to watch "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" with me tonight.  He even attempted a half smile after he managed to get his mouth open to utter the words, "Yes dear," through clenched teeth.  It's all about the small victories.  I have to get three injections a day into my tummy and he has to watch one measly chick flick.  He's a smart man, my John.  He's no pushover but he knows how to pick his battles. 

More good news!  Tomorrow morning we have ultrasound number 80 billion and one with our doc up at OHSU, and he indicated on Friday that we are nearing the end of stimulants, and will be moving on to the trigger shot soon.  The trigger shot is basically the hormones that tell a woman it is time to ovulate. The egg retrieval will take place exactly 36 hours after the trigger shot, and three days after that is the embryo transfer!  This is an extremely exciting and nerve wracking time for us, and my joy at our progress helps keep my crazy leveled out.  It's all about perspective, people.

The last time I was this excited and nervous were the days leading up to my wedding.  Heck, that's worked out pretty good so far.  I'm confident this will too!

If you are a praying person, please pray hard!  If not, send your good thoughts and positive vibes our way. I believe in the power of all three.

Will update soon about tomorrow's appointment.  Everything will go extremely fast from here on out....glad you're with us to share the journey.

All I Want For My Birthday is to Be Knocked-Up

Here I am on stimulation meds day 4: sleepyhead

Could it be that these excessive amounts of hormones are making me a better person?  Several people have stopped me this week to report that I am "glowing."  What a hoot...I'm definitely not glowing!  The side effects seem to be extreme exhaustion and feeling a little bit more spacey than my usual level of spaciness.  However, notably missing are increased irritability, edginess, and the urge to kill.  Do you know what this means?  I finally caught a break! Health-wise, I've been due for one for about 32 years.

Monday, against all odds,  I came in to work bright eyed and bushy-tailed.  I couldn't help but laugh as my incredibly caring team poked their heads in one by one, surveying the scene for safety and then cautiously asking, "How's it goin'?" I have been blessed above and beyond to get to work with four amazing people: Dan, Drew, Judy, and Meri.  I warned them last week that I could come in this Monday as an unrecognizable whirling dervish of a crazy woman who looked like someone they used to know.  I spent a lot of time issuing preemptive apologies for my inevitably irrational behavior.  No one is more surprised than me that besides serious fatigue and a higher pain level than normal, I'm doing okay.  

I went up to OHSU this morning for my eighty-billionth ultrasound, and happily it was good news!  The past two visits were a little disappointing, with the process having to be delayed while we waited for my body to catch up.  Today we could see 14 little follicles (the eggs are inside) developing and the doctor was very pleased.  My blood test revealed that all my numbers are right where they need to be and we are on track. Yay!  At the least I have four more days of shots and at the most ten. I'm really hoping that the hormones don't have a cumulative effect; for example, what if I feel good now on day four, but by day eight it becomes a Bob/Leland situation and all they can find of my husband is his golfing glove?

Note: If you were born after 1982 it is unlikely you will understand the Bob/Leland reference.

On a rare tender note, it was very special today to have my mom come to the ultrasound with me today and get to see what I have been attempting to describe up on the screen.  IVF is a pretty amazing process, miraculous really, and it helps to have a visual to go with the verbal depictions!  I can only imagine what it will look like when I actually get to see a baby on the monitor! (Or two babies...there is a 15% chance of twins with IVF).

Speaking of being dog-tired, it's time for my nap.