His Mercies, New This Morning.

Up this morning a little before six, because I told him last night I wanted to get up to make him coffee before he left for work. How many times have I said that before we close our eyes to sleep, and by the time five-thirty AM rolls around and I hear him swinging his legs out of bed, I have thought of plenty of excuses in my sleepy state to stay exactly where I am--in bed. But this morning was a little different; isn't it odd how you have to really set yourself up the night before for getting up early the next morning? You must psyche yourself out: I AM going to get up, I AM going to get up...and then it seems when you do wake up, the mantra is still quietly going through your brain, forcing you to get the heck out of bed or bury your guilt more deeply in the covers with all those lame excuses about needing ten hours of sleep.

Anyway, God's graces forced my eyes to not quietly close back up, and I sat up. I wasn't anything anyone would really want to look at at six AM, but I got his coffee made and told him I would be praying for him before he left. And I haven't felt this good in weeks.

We also just got back from a three day reprieve in the cabin in the woods, time away from the normal routine, our everyday thoughts. We didn't watch any T.V., and the Internet wouldn't work. We played Kings on the Corner and Canasta, and Joey won every time except for one when I decided to pull my pregnant mind out of the ground and actually concentrate. We went to our favorite little coffee shop, and Ethan got to take home treats hand packed in little baggies, gummy worms and Jelly Bellies. We took him sledding. We went for walks and smelled the smoke from the fires inside rising out of the slanted roofs. It rained and it was beautiful.

At Nine Weeks...

So if this baby is not a girl I will be S-H-O-C-K-E-D. (Is that how that's spelled? Looks wierd.) I mean, just because this pregnancy feels completely different from the last doesn't mean there's a different sex in there, but it might right?
It's not even that I am dying for a girl or something. I mean, I kinda did, for a second, but that's past and now all I can think about is all of Ethan's clothes. And toys. With another little boy, we'd be all set. With a little girl, however--Jeese! We'd be starting all over, which just means dishing out more mula to Old Navy and Baby's R Us. I mean, I like to shop, if I have money.
So anyway, though, I cannot stop eating. And seriously this fatigue is getting old--I can barely run one errand without having to come home and recover on the couch for two hours. I am in all my "fat" clothes, not maternity yet, so I just feel frumpy. I haven't felt so down since high school.
And then there is the nausea and uncontrollable barfing. I keep putting off writing on this thing because it is all so depressing, but there it is: I feel like a lot of normal, healthy, nine week pregnant women-constantly hungry, so tired I can barely keep my eyes open, fat, and sea sick.
Sweet.

Check Up.

I went to the surgeon's office today to check up on everything. I felt queasy last night, and going out to PF Chang's for dinner didn't help anything at all. It was all I could do not to barf on the way home, smelling the leftovers sitting in the backseat.
This morning I felt a little better; I keep telling myself This is it. You are back to normal. Stop moping around. But it's really hard to remember what "normal" felt like--was I always feeling this blah? No exercise probably isn't helping things, but I am not sure I am strong enough for anything like that...maybe? I thought I might start with a stretching video and see how that goes.
But anyway, this morning before Ethan and I left I grabbed a big glass of Gatorade mixed with water. I usually never take a drink in the car with me, but I planned on having my blood work done for the OB, and the nurse said to make sure I was really hydrated. So I dropped Ethan off at Grandma Patty's and called Jen, my good friend, because I had the whole day ahead of me, with nothing to do after the doc's (Joey is snowboarding). I thought we could meet up for lunch. She suggested Sushi, I said absolutely not, and as soon as I hung up the phone with her I puked into that still half full Gatorade cup. I don't know what I would have done without that cup--it's not like you carry a puke bowl in the car. And I was driving. Late to my appointment. All I can say is that doctor is lucky he didn't find himself talking with a patient covered in smelly barf.
After my appointment I decided not to go get the blood work done because I was feeling so crappy, but all I could think to do is go home and sleep. The only other option was shopping, so I went to Old Navy and looked for maternity stuff. I ended up buying Ethan a whole bunch of really cute shorts and some shirts on clearance. I also bought Joey a cowboy shirt so he doesn't feel left out. I will give it to him as a Valentine's Day present since I was totally out of it on Saturday.
And now I am home, feeling pretty good (good enough to do housework? Not so sure) and I open a fortune cookie from last night. It reads: Pleasure awaits your company. The cookie tastes pretty darn good so I eat another one. This one says, Tomorrow will be a five star day for you! Enjoy.
I could eat these all day, especially since they seem to be giving out such nice predictions, but I opt for sour gummy worms instead.

Today is a new day.

Oh goodness I feel better today. The little cuts are still sore, and they still feel like they blow open every time I sneeze or blow my nose, but for the most part I feel back to normal, which is still sorta tired and blah. But it's a whole lot better than how I have been feeling, which was pretty much terrible in all areas.
Plus, it's Valentine's day, and it's crispy cold outside with little snow flurries, and Joey called from work at seven fourteen to say Happy Valentine's Day. I try to act like those things don't matter, but as life goes on and our marriage gets older they do.
On top of that, Ethan and I are sitting at the breakfast table, laughing together for the first time in what feels like a lot longer than one week.
Mom is going to come get us, since I still can't really maneuver Ethan into the car seat. Well, I could, but I think she just wants to come get us. She spent all day with us yesterday, from seven thirty in the morning to almost eight o'clock in the evening, leaving only after she fixed us dinner. The time with her was special, something good to come out of this unexpected appendix mess.

There is a God, and He Loves Me.

Just so you all know, we had four days to still sign up for COBRA from Schneider-which means I HAVE INSURANCE!

The Operation.

Well that appendix thing was ready to blow and it was covered in a nice thick layer of fat and nastiness so the darn thing never showed up on the bazillion ultrasound pictures or MRI pictures that the techs took. It was all just very inconclusive, just like the doctors opinions on it:
Dr.1- You could have appendicitis, but we can't say one way or another. (Have a nice day).
Dr.2-I would tend to think that it is appendicitis, but with you being pregnant, we need to wait and see. (Go home, call me later if it gets worse).
Dr. 3: (my favorite, I love this man so much I just want to nominate him for Dr. Of The Century Award): You have been having this pain for a week? And you're starving? That's not appendicitis. I definitely would not operate. Oh and that MRI that you just paid $3400 is worthless for seeing appendicitis, just so you know. (Get out of my ER you lazy pregnant woman).
We walked the white shiny hallways out of the ER after a full day of IV's, blood tests, three urine samples (one extracted with a catheter, that was ordered by Dr. 3 who was convinced I had a urinary infection. Did I mention how much I love him?)a vaginal ultrasound, a regular ultrasound (the kind tech said she couldn't say anything but at the last minute pointed to a blue X on the machine and said that's the heartbeat and I cried) and an MRI that was so scary and loud and I just kept thinking about all those magnetic waves hitting my little fetus. They convinced me they had to do it, that it was the next step, but you have to understand with Ethan I would not let him go near AN ULTRASOUND MACHINE because of the "unknown" of the sound waves. It was the worst twenty or thirty minutes of my life, in this space tube with loud BUZZ'es and BEEP's every couple of seconds. The worst of it was in a gracious moment I let them keep the radio station on The Bandit, some horrible rock station, and in between 80's guitar rifts and men's voices that should never sing that high, came the tech's little voice, "Now, take a deep breath in and hold it..." and then I would have to hold my breath for a good twelve to twenty seconds, which hurt like a mo fo with my appendix about ready to pop and all, and then his little voice again, like the man behind the curtain at the Wizard of Oz, "OK, you can breath now." Thirty minutes of this. Oh and your arms are above your head, so they are numb from lack of blood flow not to mention aching from where that darn IV tube is still stuck in your vein.
And the techs were just in the best mood when they pulled me out, joking with each other, joking with me and then they slipped me back on the ER bed (you never know what they see with those over sized flowy gowns), and I decided as they wheeled me back into the ER that I really didn't like them at all.
So we left that day with the weight of the impending hospital bills on our shoulders, all $7000 of it, and no diagnosis.
That night was Vietnam in my innards. I can't even remember it, just that it was bad.
I woke up the next morning and the pain was gone, so I got in the shower, still scared, but just figuring this was all just really whacked out prego pain. I got one leg shaved and then had to turn the water off. I sat on the toilet to keep myself from falling on the floor and scaring Joey, or making a bigger deal out of this than it really was, but I felt weak, like I was ready to faint. I called for him. I think then I barfed. He turned to call the doctor and told him to wait, that I felt better now.
He still called (Dr. 2), handed me the phone as I sat on the toilet taking a poo, and I explained everything that had happened since coming home. His advice was to still wait. I was in no pain.
Great.
Ten minutes later he called back and said the tech's had missed something on the ultrasound or some other BS and also something about if we were in a courtroom, he needs to have recommended an operation by this point...at least he was honest. Joey said we were going. I drug my feet, took my time to get ready, put make-up on, jewelry, high heeled boots.
Once we got to the hospital, things went especially quick. They were waiting for us at the ER, got us right into the surgical center, paper work, I asked how much an appendicitis cost (bad idea), I had a melt down and said I wanted to go home (another bad idea), they took us to the operating wing, stripped me down and strapped me up with leg massagers and was about ready to stick me with the IV and roll me away when they asked if I had had any food and of course I had. Hello? Pregnant? And that put the big kabash on everything. So Joey and I waited in that nice quiet room for two and a half hours. He was mostly on the phone, trying desperately to find us insurance, and finally playing Go Fish and then Poker with me.
And then finally they came. A nice new nurse named Sharin (the original two were scary, one named Freida and one that looked like one of those Holland opera ladies way back in the day that wore bowl hats with horns sticking out of them. Her eyes were also very thin). But Sharin was great, telling me about her own appendicitis and her son's, which was also removed by Dr. 2. The anesthesiologist was also a sweet man, with a pregnant wife. They were very good to me.
They wheeled me into that big cold room with lots of lights and made me all nice and cozy as if I was about ready to have a facial or massage, and then the IV stung like hell and I felt better then I had felt in a very long time.
The operation took forty minutes longer then Dr. 2 had anticipated, my appendix was dead in parts and had an absess on it so they had to rupture the darn thing in there and then rinse me out.
We stayed an hour over our allowed twenty three hour observation period, but they didn't charge us. We have been home for three days now, and today I feel very depressed. I want to be all better, and I feel like a real wussy because this surgery is supposed to be no big deal. Joey is sick of being at home taking care of me and Ethan, and I am absolutely useless. The pain has subsided and I don't need the pain meds anymore, but I still feel very sick.
Friends and family are calling, but talking just makes me want to vomit. Or maybe talking about it makes me want to vomit. I know things are getting better, they are just taking their sweet time. I think the hardest part in all of this is not being able to take care of and play with Ethan. He's so sweet and he asks me all the time now, "Mama, are you sad?" He lays his head on my shoulder and tells me that he will take care of me.
And then also this poor little baby inside of me. I haven't eaten for three or four days, all though that is getting better with Lucky Charms, Cup 'O Noodles, and Kettle Corn. The poor little guy has been exposed to so much, all at such crucial times. I will never feel guilty for missing a a prenatal vitamin again.