It's official, I am as big as a house, and I can't believe my belly is going to get even bigger (a LOT bigger)!!! On the advice of the new physical therapist (I like her), I bought one of those maternity belts to help hold up the bulk, because my lower back was starting to ache from the weight. It does feel better, but I rather wonder how many more undignified pieces of underclothing I'm going to be asked to endure. When the baby weight (mostly) comes off, I'm going on a La Perla spree -- D, be warned.
I love watching Wimbledon. Really only the men, or any women's match where neither of the competitors grunts like a stuck boar with every stroke. I do miss Pete Sampras, though. One of these years, I'm going to attend Wimbledon in person. This year, I'm also envious of the crowd of Brits -- they're wearing jackets and shawls, while here of course it's been stifling lately. Today it's not, I must admit -- in fact, it's grey and cloudy and only 70 degrees; the kind of weather perfect for a nap but not much else (and I've already checked that off the day's to-do list).
I think it's tea-time. Because of my earlier nap, I missed second breakfast. :)
29 June 2007
21 June 2007
Breaking News
I felt the baby move for the first time today -- she must have loved the long (but not hot!) bubble bath I took just before. Way cool! :) Week 17 already -- nearly halfway there . . .
Bloody Comcast and Bloody Sheets
I have a very important piece of advice for all my friends: if anyone ever suggests that you have a single-fiber EMG test, politely decline and then run, do not walk, away from that person. The test was a most intensely painful, tortuous experience and although it had (arguably) good results, I'm not sure the experience was worth it.
More on that in a moment -- I need to say something first relating to the title of this piece. We moved into this house in early March, and since then we have lost internet and cable at least 4 times (I have lost track). Comcast is miserable, the monopolies of the cable companies are criminal, and our beloved HOA did us no favors by including Comcast cable and internet in our dues -- we use DirecTV for television and I personally would rather use satellite internet. I mention this now because our internet has been down since it rained (how dare it rain?) on Tuesday when we got back from the beach. How am I supposed to keep up with my 3.5 loyal blog readers if my internet won't stay connected??
Anyway. The EMG test apparently indicated once again that I don't have myasthenia gravis. First, they checked my left arm. This involved sticking a needle into my tricep in two places and asking me to flex the muscle against the needle (this is not easy to do because it hurts immensely and one's natural instinct is to yank out the needle, knock down the doctor, and run away). The needle is hooked somehow to the computer, which has sort one of those lines running across it that you'd think of on a heart-rate monitor. When the needle registers the muscle/nerve behavior that it's looking for (I think the needle picks up the electrical impulse), the line jumps. So the doctor digs around in the muscle with the needle, apparently testing the different muscle fibers, and registers their response on the computer. If you've ever had an unskilled phlebotomist try to take your blood, but miss the vein and go digging around for it inside your arm, it feels kind of like that, only more insistent and you have to imagine the phlebotomist asking you the whole time to conspire to make the thing hurt worse by flexing your muscles.
It hurt so terribly that I was plaintively bleating on the table, 'oh, that really hurts,' or some such thing. That was part involuntary and part intentional, in case it wasn't meant to hurt at all so the doctor would have the opportunity to say, "what? oh, dear, it's not meant to hurt, let me stop immediately and find out what's wrong." He didn't say that, unfortunately, and by the time it was done I had bled all over the sheets.
Ah, but if only that had been the whole experience -- I'd still be bitching, no doubt, but not this much. Unfortunately, the tricep test was only the appetizer. I then spent the next 25-30 minutes with a needle in my FOREHEAD, right in the upper temple, just diagonal from where my eyebrow ends. Same drill -- needle, then digging around for various muscle fibers, and the whole time I'm to improve the result (and increase the pain) by raising my eyebrows and rolling my eyes back as far as they will go. I whimpered and sweated and gasped for air -- I couldn't imagine anything a doctor would intentionally do hurting that much. The doctor kept saying, 'i'm so sorry' and asking me if I wanted to stop. I didn't -- all I wanted was to get it overwith -- but a couple of times he stopped anyway, I think because I was near to hyperventilating, or worse. Lest you think the doctor was incompetent, I have to explain that this Dr. Chaudry is apparently the only doctor at Hopkins who even knows how to do a single-fiber EMG. He's the same fellow who did my plain-old generic EMG while I was an inpatient, and he exudes an air of confidence and skill -- we didn't once suspect it was his fault. Rather, this is just a diabolical test, no getting around it. Luckily, Dave was there (thank God I waited til he got back from his trip), so I had his hand to crush in mine the entire time, although I couldn't see him from where I was lying. When it was over, he brushed my wet bangs from my forehead and said, 'now you know what it's like to be Jack Bauer.' I thought, it's more like knowing what it's like to be someone who met up with Jack Bauer in an interrogation room.
While I was lying there trying to regroup, and Dr. Chaudry was fiddling with the computer, I said, quite honestly, 'please, i don't care if i have myasthenia gravis or not. I just want you to tell me that whatever you've found here today is definitive, so that we can stop all this.' thus it was that i was actually disappointed at first when he said that the test was negative. not only did this mean that we still don't know what's wrong with me, but he said there is even a chance that I still have MG and the neurologists will just have to figure out what to do next. He assured me that Dr. Maragakis (who's lost a great deal of luster in my eyes since he signed me up for that torture session) is the best and will make the right decision.
D and I went, me with a blinding headache and nearly unable to bend my elbow, to the Bayside Cafe in Baltimore's Canton neighborhood and had some crab dip and peel & eat shrimp and watched the thunderstorm on the marina, while we discussed telling all the doctors to go away and leave me alone until after the baby is born and we see if whatever is going on here simply goes away. I think there's a strong urge to take control of my life back, and I also think I'm simply feeling a lot of fatigue around all of these tests and doctors' appointments. Good lord, the ob-gyn is enough on her own! We decided to wait to see what Maragakis has to say after reviewing the results of Dr. Chaudry's test (he said he'd be in touch), but I know that both D and I are ready for a break from all this, even if it does mean a break with walkers and physical therapy and almost constant discomfort. What pregnant woman isn't uncomfortable, anyway? [After our meal, we went to Camden Yards to see an Orioles game. If my had hadn't been splitting and my vision doubling badly, I would really have enjoyed the 7 innings we saw -- the O's stadium has a very nice disabled-seating section.]
I honestly think I have a mild form of post-traumatic stress disorder from all this. Just when I stopped having frightening nightmares and flashbacks about my various hospital experiences, now I am having flashbacks of the EMG test. Good grief!
Luckily, the beach trip was a nice diversion. The house, which has three floors, also has an elevator, which was absolutely key for me. Getting down to the sand (2 blocks away and up & down boardwalk stairs and all that) was quite a workout, but I was comfortable in a beach chair under the umbrella, and a few times I even walked out into the surf on D's arm. I felt a little sorry for myself on Monday morning when D made plans to take the kids to the water park -- I just suddenly felt very left out, and like I want very much to be able to play, too. D helped, though. He let me talk and cry about it, he was very empathetic and understanding, and then he pointed out that (a) I had decided last summer that I was a bit scared of water slides and (b) I wouldn't be sliding on them as a pregnant lady anyway. I felt much better after that.
Tomorrow we're back to the obstetrician, just for a normal appointment. It's at 9:00 in the District, which means we have to battle rush hour (and get up early), though, and I can already feel a grouch coming on. I need a few more languages in which to exclaim, "I AM SO SICK OF DOCTORS!" Otherwise, I am searching for a new physical therapist, closer to home, because my family support structure of chauffeurs to drive me to therapy has finally faltered and so I'm probably going to need to start taking taxis. I think I found one,but there are no openings until July 13, so we'll see about that then. We are also having to gather and provide paperwork to Unum, the company that oversees my firm's short-term disability claims, which of course is loads of fun. The prospect (which I see as completely unlikely) that my claim will be rejected or that in some other way I'll lose my income haunts my dear husband, which I completely understand. Neither of us would like to have to sell this lovely house we just bought. All I can tell him is that every experience I've had with the firm -- including another short-term medical leave in 2003 -- has led me to believe what they are saying, which is that they support me and that I needn't worry about my job.
Today is absolutely gorgeous, sunny and warm but not too humid, for once. I think I'll throw together some lunch (we still have some yummy produce from one of the roadside stands on the way home from the beach) and sit in the sun room to eat it.
One last thing -- N, I got the package. I will be sending you a proper note, but I wanted to thank you promptly for the lovely journal and for the mini-library. Amazingly enough, I only had two of those books already. Thank you!!!
More on that in a moment -- I need to say something first relating to the title of this piece. We moved into this house in early March, and since then we have lost internet and cable at least 4 times (I have lost track). Comcast is miserable, the monopolies of the cable companies are criminal, and our beloved HOA did us no favors by including Comcast cable and internet in our dues -- we use DirecTV for television and I personally would rather use satellite internet. I mention this now because our internet has been down since it rained (how dare it rain?) on Tuesday when we got back from the beach. How am I supposed to keep up with my 3.5 loyal blog readers if my internet won't stay connected??
Anyway. The EMG test apparently indicated once again that I don't have myasthenia gravis. First, they checked my left arm. This involved sticking a needle into my tricep in two places and asking me to flex the muscle against the needle (this is not easy to do because it hurts immensely and one's natural instinct is to yank out the needle, knock down the doctor, and run away). The needle is hooked somehow to the computer, which has sort one of those lines running across it that you'd think of on a heart-rate monitor. When the needle registers the muscle/nerve behavior that it's looking for (I think the needle picks up the electrical impulse), the line jumps. So the doctor digs around in the muscle with the needle, apparently testing the different muscle fibers, and registers their response on the computer. If you've ever had an unskilled phlebotomist try to take your blood, but miss the vein and go digging around for it inside your arm, it feels kind of like that, only more insistent and you have to imagine the phlebotomist asking you the whole time to conspire to make the thing hurt worse by flexing your muscles.
It hurt so terribly that I was plaintively bleating on the table, 'oh, that really hurts,' or some such thing. That was part involuntary and part intentional, in case it wasn't meant to hurt at all so the doctor would have the opportunity to say, "what? oh, dear, it's not meant to hurt, let me stop immediately and find out what's wrong." He didn't say that, unfortunately, and by the time it was done I had bled all over the sheets.
Ah, but if only that had been the whole experience -- I'd still be bitching, no doubt, but not this much. Unfortunately, the tricep test was only the appetizer. I then spent the next 25-30 minutes with a needle in my FOREHEAD, right in the upper temple, just diagonal from where my eyebrow ends. Same drill -- needle, then digging around for various muscle fibers, and the whole time I'm to improve the result (and increase the pain) by raising my eyebrows and rolling my eyes back as far as they will go. I whimpered and sweated and gasped for air -- I couldn't imagine anything a doctor would intentionally do hurting that much. The doctor kept saying, 'i'm so sorry' and asking me if I wanted to stop. I didn't -- all I wanted was to get it overwith -- but a couple of times he stopped anyway, I think because I was near to hyperventilating, or worse. Lest you think the doctor was incompetent, I have to explain that this Dr. Chaudry is apparently the only doctor at Hopkins who even knows how to do a single-fiber EMG. He's the same fellow who did my plain-old generic EMG while I was an inpatient, and he exudes an air of confidence and skill -- we didn't once suspect it was his fault. Rather, this is just a diabolical test, no getting around it. Luckily, Dave was there (thank God I waited til he got back from his trip), so I had his hand to crush in mine the entire time, although I couldn't see him from where I was lying. When it was over, he brushed my wet bangs from my forehead and said, 'now you know what it's like to be Jack Bauer.' I thought, it's more like knowing what it's like to be someone who met up with Jack Bauer in an interrogation room.
While I was lying there trying to regroup, and Dr. Chaudry was fiddling with the computer, I said, quite honestly, 'please, i don't care if i have myasthenia gravis or not. I just want you to tell me that whatever you've found here today is definitive, so that we can stop all this.' thus it was that i was actually disappointed at first when he said that the test was negative. not only did this mean that we still don't know what's wrong with me, but he said there is even a chance that I still have MG and the neurologists will just have to figure out what to do next. He assured me that Dr. Maragakis (who's lost a great deal of luster in my eyes since he signed me up for that torture session) is the best and will make the right decision.
D and I went, me with a blinding headache and nearly unable to bend my elbow, to the Bayside Cafe in Baltimore's Canton neighborhood and had some crab dip and peel & eat shrimp and watched the thunderstorm on the marina, while we discussed telling all the doctors to go away and leave me alone until after the baby is born and we see if whatever is going on here simply goes away. I think there's a strong urge to take control of my life back, and I also think I'm simply feeling a lot of fatigue around all of these tests and doctors' appointments. Good lord, the ob-gyn is enough on her own! We decided to wait to see what Maragakis has to say after reviewing the results of Dr. Chaudry's test (he said he'd be in touch), but I know that both D and I are ready for a break from all this, even if it does mean a break with walkers and physical therapy and almost constant discomfort. What pregnant woman isn't uncomfortable, anyway? [After our meal, we went to Camden Yards to see an Orioles game. If my had hadn't been splitting and my vision doubling badly, I would really have enjoyed the 7 innings we saw -- the O's stadium has a very nice disabled-seating section.]
I honestly think I have a mild form of post-traumatic stress disorder from all this. Just when I stopped having frightening nightmares and flashbacks about my various hospital experiences, now I am having flashbacks of the EMG test. Good grief!
Luckily, the beach trip was a nice diversion. The house, which has three floors, also has an elevator, which was absolutely key for me. Getting down to the sand (2 blocks away and up & down boardwalk stairs and all that) was quite a workout, but I was comfortable in a beach chair under the umbrella, and a few times I even walked out into the surf on D's arm. I felt a little sorry for myself on Monday morning when D made plans to take the kids to the water park -- I just suddenly felt very left out, and like I want very much to be able to play, too. D helped, though. He let me talk and cry about it, he was very empathetic and understanding, and then he pointed out that (a) I had decided last summer that I was a bit scared of water slides and (b) I wouldn't be sliding on them as a pregnant lady anyway. I felt much better after that.
Tomorrow we're back to the obstetrician, just for a normal appointment. It's at 9:00 in the District, which means we have to battle rush hour (and get up early), though, and I can already feel a grouch coming on. I need a few more languages in which to exclaim, "I AM SO SICK OF DOCTORS!" Otherwise, I am searching for a new physical therapist, closer to home, because my family support structure of chauffeurs to drive me to therapy has finally faltered and so I'm probably going to need to start taking taxis. I think I found one,but there are no openings until July 13, so we'll see about that then. We are also having to gather and provide paperwork to Unum, the company that oversees my firm's short-term disability claims, which of course is loads of fun. The prospect (which I see as completely unlikely) that my claim will be rejected or that in some other way I'll lose my income haunts my dear husband, which I completely understand. Neither of us would like to have to sell this lovely house we just bought. All I can tell him is that every experience I've had with the firm -- including another short-term medical leave in 2003 -- has led me to believe what they are saying, which is that they support me and that I needn't worry about my job.
Today is absolutely gorgeous, sunny and warm but not too humid, for once. I think I'll throw together some lunch (we still have some yummy produce from one of the roadside stands on the way home from the beach) and sit in the sun room to eat it.
One last thing -- N, I got the package. I will be sending you a proper note, but I wanted to thank you promptly for the lovely journal and for the mini-library. Amazingly enough, I only had two of those books already. Thank you!!!
13 June 2007
We're Back!
Good morning -- I am sorry to have been dilatory with my blog. I suppose I was just so pleased as to be overly distracted, on three accounts: first, I am home; second, my husband is home; and third, my sex drive is back! But, I am here now, although only briefly.
There's nothing much to report here, actually. All of my symptoms are unchanged. Psychologically speaking, I am feeling much better being home and I am starting to make peace with my body again. At the moment, I am off to get ready for another trip to Hopkins; today is my single-fiber EMG test, which should help to confirm or deny the myasthenia diagnosis. This is loads of fun. I've never had the single-fiber version, but the generic kind of EMG test I had at the hospital involved shooting electric currents into my jaw to see how well they travelled along my nerves. As I told someone else today, the EMG test falls far below an MRI, say (I've learned to sleep through those), but well above a lumbar puncture, in terms of the overall desirability of medical tests. So, that's not so bad. After the test, we plan to hang around Baltimore and to try out the disabled seating at Camden Yards for the Orioles game -- this being, as luck would have it, the first season Dave bought season tickets for the O's.
In case I don't make it back to the Almanac before we leave, I'll let you know now that we're taking the kids to the beach house Friday through Monday. I can't WAIT -- I need a break so badly, even though I'm not so sure how well I'm going to do walking on sand . . . . I'll be sure and report back when we return.
There's nothing much to report here, actually. All of my symptoms are unchanged. Psychologically speaking, I am feeling much better being home and I am starting to make peace with my body again. At the moment, I am off to get ready for another trip to Hopkins; today is my single-fiber EMG test, which should help to confirm or deny the myasthenia diagnosis. This is loads of fun. I've never had the single-fiber version, but the generic kind of EMG test I had at the hospital involved shooting electric currents into my jaw to see how well they travelled along my nerves. As I told someone else today, the EMG test falls far below an MRI, say (I've learned to sleep through those), but well above a lumbar puncture, in terms of the overall desirability of medical tests. So, that's not so bad. After the test, we plan to hang around Baltimore and to try out the disabled seating at Camden Yards for the Orioles game -- this being, as luck would have it, the first season Dave bought season tickets for the O's.
In case I don't make it back to the Almanac before we leave, I'll let you know now that we're taking the kids to the beach house Friday through Monday. I can't WAIT -- I need a break so badly, even though I'm not so sure how well I'm going to do walking on sand . . . . I'll be sure and report back when we return.
02 June 2007
The Whole House
I realized that Scott House Almanac hasn't been about anybody else in the Scott House but me, lately. So here's an update. First, Dave is still in Delhi. He couldn't go to Agra to see the Taj Mahal -- there are protesters and ex-protesters (in the form of several dead bodies) on the road between Delhi and Agra. So, he spent Saturday touring Delhi instead. He saw interesting mosques, temples, and shopping markets -- and he liked it enough to suggest that if he returns to Delhi, I might want to accompany him (as opposed to Bombay/Mumbai, which he says is a dump). In general, he seems to be doing pretty well on his long trip, handling the jet lag well and even eating lots of Indian food. He even said he bought me a present . . . but that's about me again. :)
Ryan is going through a very . . . active phase. :) He has so much ENERGY -- one of his favorite things to do is simply run as fast as his increasingly long legs can carry him, pell-mell across the room and headfirst into whoever is around (not allowed). He also likes doing gymnastics on the furniture (not allowed) and playing with his Spider-Man umbrella in a small indoor space with his sister's eyes nearby (also not allowed). Outdoors, he loves running through the sprinklers and playing on Slip 'N Slides -- but what kid doesn't? These things are allowed; problem there is he doesn't want to come inside when he's supposed to, and disobeying is definitely not allowed. No wonder he sometimes bellows or screeches at the top of his voice sometimes for no apparent reason -- it's the barbaric yawp!
Today was Shannon's "ballet" recital. In quotes, because her class of 5-year-olds performed "So Long, Farewell" from the Sound of Music and there's really nothing ballet about it. Anyway, Dave wasn't there, of course, and he felt really sorry about it, so we sent some pink roses to her with a card saying "Break a Leg" (she learned this saying recently and is fascinated by it). Shannon is growing so fast -- she looks so big, so slender and beautiful, and she is so curious and clever. She's also bossy, and sometimes very whiny and rebellious. What's surprising to me is her compassion -- she is not only kind to me because I don't feel well, but she also understands that my being sick makes her daddy sad and upset, and she calls him sometimes just to make him feel better. That, I think, is remarkable.
Both kids seem relatively enthused about the new baby. Their mother had another baby with her new husband in October, and I thought maybe this news might not be the most welcome. Shannon said, "Now I'm going to have THREE little ones to take care of!" but she said it in good humor and she seems excited about it. Ryan worried me more -- he probably felt more strongly his mommy's need to shift her focus to the new baby. He didn't say much at first when we told him, but in that way kids have, he synthesized some information we mentioned in passing and used it to help himself process the change. We mentioned that the current guest bedroom, next door to Ryan's room, was going to become the baby's room. So a week or so later, he came out into the doorway of his room and announced: "This is my room. That is the baby's room, and my room is next door because I am the big brother!"
I was not at Shannon's recital today either, because I'm now ensconced in Ligonier, PA, in the heart of the beautiful Laurel Mountains, with my brother and his family. I spent the afternoon on the huge, wraparound front porch in the shade with a glass of (decaf) sweet tea and the one-eyed cat, which is exactly what I wanted. I'll be here for the rest of Dave's trip. He gets back late on Thursday and I'll meet up with him on Friday. I can't wait -- I really miss him.
Ryan is going through a very . . . active phase. :) He has so much ENERGY -- one of his favorite things to do is simply run as fast as his increasingly long legs can carry him, pell-mell across the room and headfirst into whoever is around (not allowed). He also likes doing gymnastics on the furniture (not allowed) and playing with his Spider-Man umbrella in a small indoor space with his sister's eyes nearby (also not allowed). Outdoors, he loves running through the sprinklers and playing on Slip 'N Slides -- but what kid doesn't? These things are allowed; problem there is he doesn't want to come inside when he's supposed to, and disobeying is definitely not allowed. No wonder he sometimes bellows or screeches at the top of his voice sometimes for no apparent reason -- it's the barbaric yawp!
Today was Shannon's "ballet" recital. In quotes, because her class of 5-year-olds performed "So Long, Farewell" from the Sound of Music and there's really nothing ballet about it. Anyway, Dave wasn't there, of course, and he felt really sorry about it, so we sent some pink roses to her with a card saying "Break a Leg" (she learned this saying recently and is fascinated by it). Shannon is growing so fast -- she looks so big, so slender and beautiful, and she is so curious and clever. She's also bossy, and sometimes very whiny and rebellious. What's surprising to me is her compassion -- she is not only kind to me because I don't feel well, but she also understands that my being sick makes her daddy sad and upset, and she calls him sometimes just to make him feel better. That, I think, is remarkable.
Both kids seem relatively enthused about the new baby. Their mother had another baby with her new husband in October, and I thought maybe this news might not be the most welcome. Shannon said, "Now I'm going to have THREE little ones to take care of!" but she said it in good humor and she seems excited about it. Ryan worried me more -- he probably felt more strongly his mommy's need to shift her focus to the new baby. He didn't say much at first when we told him, but in that way kids have, he synthesized some information we mentioned in passing and used it to help himself process the change. We mentioned that the current guest bedroom, next door to Ryan's room, was going to become the baby's room. So a week or so later, he came out into the doorway of his room and announced: "This is my room. That is the baby's room, and my room is next door because I am the big brother!"
I was not at Shannon's recital today either, because I'm now ensconced in Ligonier, PA, in the heart of the beautiful Laurel Mountains, with my brother and his family. I spent the afternoon on the huge, wraparound front porch in the shade with a glass of (decaf) sweet tea and the one-eyed cat, which is exactly what I wanted. I'll be here for the rest of Dave's trip. He gets back late on Thursday and I'll meet up with him on Friday. I can't wait -- I really miss him.
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