Monday, July 16, 2012


Ever have a week where you're convinced you've been cursed? Make you ready to burn some sage? That was last week.

There has been drama at work, including several coworkers complaining about my being allowed to pump at work (don't even get me started) and about me having been allowed to take a leave of absence (which is corporate policy for all new parents at my company.)

David found a large, hard lump in his mouth. Being me, I assumed it was cancer immediately. Turns out to be a bone over-growth and doesn't even require treatment.

The daycare is giving my new nanny hell because they say she's breaking her non-compete to work for me. (She quit before we ever spoke and the way that the non-compete is worded, she's not allowed to work for another business. Which I am not.) That culminated on Saturday with them saying they are going to sue her. She's a 21 year old student that they were paying minimum wage. To say I'm angry is the understatement of the decade.

But the real highlight of the week was Thursday night spent in the E.R.

After Charlotte was born, I had a lot of trouble with my blood pressure and was on medicine for a while. Fortunately, eventually, I was able to wean off and do just fine. I had been on lebetalol during that time and had all sort of cruddy side effects. I also suspected it was at least contributing to my anxiety issues, so I was glad to get off of it.

Well, Thursday morning I had a doctor's appointment for some ankle pain I've been having. It had suddenly gotten much worse and I was limping most of the time. (I told you it was a crappy week.) While I was there, my blood pressure was up. It was 150/90. After we talked about my ankle (brace, anti-inflammatories) she asked that I monitor my blood pressure a few times and call with the log in a week so she could see if I was going to need some meds again. No problem.

I had taken the kids to the (hated) daycare for the day, and I was off. I decided to take advantage of the free time and take a bath. When I got out, I felt funny. I thought maybe I got too hot, so I laid down across my bed. And felt worse. And worse. And worse. I took my blood pressure- 160/90. Well, hell.

So I meditated a bit, drank some water. 170/90. Shit.

David got home (that was the day he found out he didn't have oral cancer) and we decided to pick the kids up from daycare together and then we'd get some dinner. Halfway there, I asked if he minded if we didn't go to dinner. I REALLY didn't feel well.

Came back home, laid back down again. My heart felt like it was about to beat out of my chest. I couldn't quite catch my breath. I tried to meditate a little bit again, but I was so anxious, I couldn't focus. Took my blood pressure again- 181/111. Well, son of a bitch. That's the line you don't want to cross.

So I went out, told David I needed to go to the hospital, called my dad to come stay with the kids and off we went to the nearest E.R.

I hadn't been to an E.R. for myself since I was probably 19. I hope to go at least as many years before I see one again.

I went in, told the receptionist I was having chest pain and my blood pressure was up. They took me straight back and gave me an EKG. And then another. I was treated very well by the medical professionals. Unfortunately the hospital itself is a bit odd. Every time I'd have a test, I'd have to undress at least part-way. Then re-dress and go wait in the waiting room. And then they'd call me for another test, and I'd undress again. And then re-dress and go to the waiting room. Not so much fun for someone having trouble calming down.

Before it was all said and done, I had 3 EKGs, 3 round of blood work and a chest x-ray. I did eventually make it back to a room where I didn't have to get up and down a bunch of times. The nursing staff was lovely. The doctor was just so-so.

He came in a few times and looked at my readings (I got as high as 180/113 while there) and would say "well, it's certainly high..." But no one really did anything about it. I guess they had to rule out a heart attack before doing anything else? I don't know.

I kept breaking out into a sweat and then it would pass again. I felt horrible.

When the doctor finally decided I hadn't had a heart attack (yay!) and just needed some BP medicine, I reminded him that I was a nursing mother. His response was "Well, THAT certainly complicates things." Apparently I'm just a total pain in the ass.

I had specifically asked NOT to be put on Labetalol because of the weird side effects from before, but of course, he came back and said that was the "best" one for a nursing mother and that's all he'd give me. If I wanted something else, I'd have to follow up with my primary care doctor. Thanks, buddy.

All in all, I was only there about 4 hours, which really isn't bad, in my opinion. And after they gave me the IV of Labetalol, I felt MUCH better. I was very relieved I didn't have to stay and could go back home to my kids.

The unfortunate thing is that I'm now quite positive that the Labetalol was a large source of the anxiety I was having before. Because it's back. It gets close to sundown and it feels like the world is caving in on me. Eventually (hours later) it passes, but while it's going on, I just feel numb and distracted and joyless. It sucks.

I can't get into my regular doctor again until Tuesday. And they wouldn't change my med until they see me. So I'm stuck being on a medicine that keeps me alive but makes me feel dead. I just keep telling myself it's only a few days.

Hopefully this coming week will be better. No law suits, no hospitals, no anxiety. Someone get the sage!


Thursday, July 5, 2012


When I wrote my last post, I wasn't sure if I should. It had been several days of media blitz about the trial verdict and it was really swirling in my head a lot. It brought up a lot of bad memories. There were some nightmares, some I remembered, so I just woke up with that ghost-of-skeeve feeling. Finally I decided that I needed to do something to cleanse my mind. For me, the best thing I can do is to write it out. I write it on on paper (or computer) and write it out of my head. I wasn't sure what I was going to say. If it would even make any sense. Some posts, I sit down knowing what I'm going to say. Some posts, I just stare at the screen and watch what my fingers type as though they are a separate entity. That post was one of the latter.

Even after I had written it, I wasn't sure I would publish it. I rarely write blog posts and keep them to myself. I'm just not a terribly private person and if I take the time to write something, I'm usually prepared to share it. I don't write to be a professional mom-blogger or writer or to gain celebrity. (As I'm sure is evidenced by my multitudes of rambling contentless posts!) I rarely even re-read before I hit publish. I'll hit spell-check and fix those, but that's about as far as it goes. Basically I write for myself and if it helps or interests anyone else along the way, all the better.

This one, though, I did re-read it. The words really just flowed from me almost without thought. They were clearly the words of grief that had been swirling in my head since the media picked up the Sandusky case. Obviously they had longed to be free even more than I realized. After I reread it, I thought about deleting it. Or saving it just for myself. Or just sharing it privately with a few trusted friends and my therapist. But ultimately I thought to myself "you know, the one thing I've always tried to do is to be honest and transparent. No matter how ugly it is, I've shared it. I'm not going to stop now." and I hit "publish." Then I took a few deep breaths.

I shared with friends that I'd written and published it and was nervous about it. If someone had said something awful, I'm not sure I could have handled it. I'm pretty thick-skinned (HEY, NO FAT JOKES!) most of the time, but this is a would that is still very raw. Fortunately everyone was wonderful and caring and supportive. I got a few texts of support on top of the comments. It was touching.

And then...I got an email. From an editor at BlogHer. She would like to syndicate this post and pay me for my trouble. Would I accept that?


So I did. It took me a few days to fill out the paperwork (I went back to work in the mean time. Chaos! More on that later!) but it's now up. I was so touched and honored that something I wrote spoke to anyone, especially someone who actually know what they're doing. It was definitely some lemonade made out of the lemons of my emotions.

So, without further ado, I give you the link:

Thanks for reading and thanks for the support. Truly.