I am sitting at my desk and watching the grey blur that passes for the outside and thinking a lot.
The first thing I'm thinking is who says LA doesn't have seasons? But the second thing is a bit more serious I suppose.
Since Dr. Z and I decided to adopt I feel there is a better sense of calm descended upon Casa di Isenberg. We are kind of getting into the sad groove of his unemployment and I am trying not to nag to much about his current status.
The PR is going great and I like my work, but the reality is, I feel there is a hole in my heart where a baby should be.
I feel a little like the work, the socializing, the cleaning, the whatever it is, is just window dressing, busy work until the babe comes along.
There is an element of unreality to life while we are in this holding pattern. There is a certain need for me to cling on to my routine while the clock slowly ticks and the days slowly pass.
I'm like a cave with a dark and gloomy inside with the light, shiny world above as my face and my voice.
I have to get together the two elements - the light and shiny outer world and burrow in. I know it and so does Dr. Z because he sees me with my head on the kitchen table making the marble wet. But it is so, so hard.
So I guess I am loving the grey blur outside because for once, LA is exactly how I am feeling.
Just a quick note to say I am featured in LA Yoga Mag December/January Issue! I am pegged as the "aspiring mother" in their holiday gift guide. I will post the page when I get it scanned. It is really nice to be able to share the idea that infertility and miscarriage is not a dirty word and cramper is mentioned!
If you get the chance pick up a copy at your local LA yoga studio.
I can't believe a whole year has gone by since the first miscarriage.
So much has happened since then, not all of it good, not all of it bad.
Going back to England was amazing. The green, the fields, the family, the food. All very, very good and nourishing for the soul.
I didn't want to come back after the warmth of my family, but I did, and it is still good. Just a different kind of good....
I finally got my period the day I returned to the US and I have been on a good trajectory ever since. Very regular, thanks for asking.
But, because of the nature of our year, the amount of pain, the grieving and so on, Z and I have decided to do something we were going to do anyway - we are going to adopt.
We have signed up and now we are ploughing our way through paperwork, fingerprints, honestudies, all the fun stuff. I guess I feel that I want to be a mom more than I want to give birth. I just have so much to give and no one to give it to.
Friends are having babies like the fruit falling from the trees and I just see this time of year as such place of abundance - I want to be a part of it!
We have been warned that the process can take up to two years. But that's okay. I know our soul is on its way in one way or the other.
I am thankful to this year in some ways. Even though I got laid off, had three miscarriages and my husband hasn't been working for two months....I feel I have grown as a person, I have met some wonderful people who have helped me immeasurably, I am learning (slowly) to be a business owner and I am finally, FINALLY getting back in shape.
After the last m/c I decided to channel my energy into something more productive than obsessively looking at fertility websites, so I decided to run the LA Marathon.
I am now well into my training and completed a 20-mile run on Saturday - woo hoo!
So I should say thank you. Just for what I have learned and for who I am now. So, sucky 2009. Thanks.
Today is the day before I go home back to England for two weeks...
I finally decided to go about two weeks' ago when I had just about had enough with the whole back and forth to the baby doctor.
I feel like I need a break from the endless cycle of blood tests and waiting. I need fish and chips and curry sauce, Indian food, Coronation Street (a TV soap) and a laugh with my friends like I get in England. And, while I love, love, LOVE my life in LA, sometimes you just gotta get back to the old 'hood.
The period STILL hasn't come. At this point I have forgotten what a period is. It is over three months since I had one.
The Methotrexate seemed to do its job. I bled for about two weeks on and off. Now it's just another waiting game. Might as well do it in the rain and cold than in 100 degree heat, right?
Plus, I have changed doctor - AGAIN. While my last doc was fabbo, driving 40 miles there and back on the 405 and 101 (for the uninitiated trying to get around on these two freeways makes navigating the lower rings of Dante's inferno look like bumper cars at the fair) was getting too much. Doc 4 is in nicely civilized Bev Hills....Very powsh as we say in Stockport.
As always, the other parts of my life are going great. I just signed a new client - go Isenberg PR! She's a celeb with a lot of expertise in helping women in the infertility field. Intriguing hmmmm?? Watch out for some cool info on her in the coming months....
I have also joined a running club. I realized that my true love is still running, even though I've been doing it since I was nine, so I signed up for a club and we practice every week - typical that I am off to England as soon as I start. But, I will be running there and loving the fact that I don't have third degree sunburn when I get back.
And today is Labor Day - so we get a day off! Except Dr Z does not and I will be eating a steak and some corn without him for a bit. Roll on the barbeque!
So I think Cramper may be on hiatus for a little while.....keep checking in but Dr. Z and I have decided that a wait is probably on the cards. After three miscarriages in less than a year and a bunch of other complications, I feel my body needs to rest and get back to as normal as possible.
Another trip to the doctor. This time panic was starting to kick in at casa di Isenberg. My hcg level, while frighteningly high at 600 last week, shot up to 1500 this week. The doctor's office made me come in immediately.
Luckily, my husband's show isn't doing too great (if that can be seen as a "luckily") which meant he had some time on his hands and he could come with me. What a difference going to the doctor's is when you are not alone.
So, yesterday, we troop back up to Thousand Oaks for another ultrasound. The doctor - not my usual but just as lovely as my usual - took me into the theater with my Dr. Z hovering around.
He dimmed the lights and of course, nothing. Which is also a bad sign. Which could mean I have an eptopic pregnancy. Not good.
However, thanks to the drugs swimming around my system, killing anything inside me, the chances of anything nasty happening (like the eptopic rupturing) are almost impossible. Almost.
Plus, Dr. Nice #2 doesn't seem to think it even is an eptopic. They just put me on "eptopic watch" to be on the safe side. It made me feel like a panda at the zoo on mating watch...Will they do it? Won't they? Come on, slow-to-mate, China-dwelling bears, do it for us! We need more black-and-white fluffy animals in the world that exist on bamboo and look super cute.
So here I am, on eptopic watch. Chewing slowly on a piece of food, staring balefully at the computer and wishing everything would just go away.
GREAT P.S - whether it was or wasn't the great news is, the numbers fell to 1100. Going back on Monday to check it is continuing to drop - it better had be or I'm emigrating to China. Or the zoo.
I have been feeling very disengaged with life recently, like I was just working and living and that was it. So, I have decided to take back some control.
After I found out the not-great news last week, I was slightly hysterical and slightly crazed but, looking back this may have been a good thing.
The blood I passed MAY have been the tissue that needed to go. The hormone drop COULD have been the because the tissue was passing. I have to get my blood levels checked again tomorrow and we will know.
I have been taking fabulous yoga for fertility classes with Brenda Strong and she said something wonderful to me on Sunday.
She said: "Maybe your body is telling you something and you need to listen. Maybe you need a rest from the constant trying, trying, trying and you need to just stop and let your body adjust."
Her words soothed me so much. I realized that I was just on a chugging train that was getting me nowhere fast and I had to get off, have a cup of tea and enjoy the scenery at one of the many stations on the way.
In addition, I feel I have been punishing myself by not seeing my family. So, I will be leaving LA for Manchester on September 8th for two weeks. It has been three years almost since I saw all my family and more than that since I saw most of my friends.
We can't afford it. I am working freelance and so is my husband but right now, the trip is more important than saving cash for a rainy day.
Like I said in my last blog. It ain't even raining any more. It's p-ing down. So I think that day is here.
Why does it never rain? I feel like the world is currently pissing bad luck all over my fertility.
As you know, Tuesday I went up to the docs and my HCG levels were funky funky - up to 600 after being down to 15.
So they gave me a shot of Methotrexate. This stuff is normally given to women who have eptopic pregnancies but, because they felt there was placental tissue running around inside me, they thought it best to use the drug to break down whatever was going on.
What I didn't know was that we can't even think about trying to get pregnant again until December. That will make me just 6 months away from 37 and this feels like a weird backwards move that will ultimately land us nowhere.
I can't help feeling that I am moving further and further away. At first it was "just a miscarriage", then it was "just a chemical pregnancy". Then, there were the fibroids. Get rid of them and it will be okay. We do that. Then it is the drugs, the pills and the progesterone. Just another miscarriage. Now there is tissue and we have to wait until the drugs comes through my system.
Another bleeding has started and, apparently, this is the second part of the miscarriage. So my period won't even be back for another two months, according to the doc's office.
Today, I just want to lie down and cry. I feel my chances are getting slimmer by the day.
A while has passed again since I posted. I guess I feel with every passing month the opportunity to get pregnant slips away, too.
Since June I have been dealing with the never ending miscarriage. First I took Misoprostil and had a period (I thought), but the pesky HcG never went down.
Now after having a strange moment in time where the level went from 15 to 39 it went up to a massive 600 today. I actually had the feeling that I might be pregnant again but no, my new doctor did an ultrasound and there was nothing but some placental tissue making my life difficult.
You see, that's what happens. If the bloody placenta (pun intended), hangs around inside the body then it just keeps pumping out those hormones and I never have a period. In fact, I have been having this miscarriage now since June 1st - my birthday.
So, today, at the doctor's, I had MORE blood tests and two lovely shots of Methotrexate to get it all out of my system and hopefully, get my body back.
To be honest, I am feeling tired and weary of this. I no longer feel like a functioning woman. No period = no pregnancy = no hopes of being pregnant. I am so over it at this point.
Luckily for me, I am also in the hands of a fabulous acupuncturist who has put me on somewhat of a hardcore diet (no sugar - ugh!) and is trying to get my body back. I hope someone can because I don't feel like I'm doing a very good job.
There really is no excuse for spending so much time away from the blog, but I think I just felt done with feeling crummy for a while.
I guess my partial excuse was that my mum was in town until last week and I didn't really have a free moment. But it is 4.24 a.m so I guess I did if you count the moments that make up a long, dragged-out night.
Plus NOTHING has been happening. But even nothing is something, right?
This has been the longest miscarriage of all time. I have a period after the fainting incident of earlier in July and go back to see my doctor. When I arrive (a good 40 minutes' drive away), I was told to come back when my levels were back to normal. Back to normal!!! But I've just had a period, I think. Well, looks like that one didn't count and my hCG is somewhere around 47. So, back to the blood tests I go and up until today I am still not fully back to zero.
I have to go back when the test is at zero or after a period - whichever comes faster. By the way I am feeling right now - not sleeping, paranoid, depressed, bloated - I think we all know what' s coming faster.
I just want to get back onto a regular cycle and get back on the horse part 4. Though, I have to say, the longer this is taking, the more dislocated I am feeling. I am like two people. Miscarriage Lizzie and Relatively Normal Lizzie. I wonder if other people have this weird detachment between miscarriages where they go back to some form of normal? I mean, I am still on temporary hiatus from any baby showers, talking too much about babies, looking at pregnant women, but I am not the crazy person I am during those weeks around the pregnancies.
I'm sorry for the delay in my latest post...My mum has been visiting from the UK and I kind of got caught up in all the things you have to do when someone is here.
But, here's a brief rundown in the life of the crazy lady with the miscarriage addiction!
First off, the new doc was really great. I went, I got tested here, there and everywhere and, by some point this week we will know if there are any chromosomal problems between me and Dr. Z.
I am also grateful for the fact that his nurses help, call back and generally make you feel like they have a clue what is going on in my insides.
Also, this new doc feels I am not a hopeless case and, in fact, am probably not too bad in the scheme of things....just keeping those little suckers in there is what we have to concentrate on.
The two major problems this month have been my teeth and the product inside me which refused to budge.
The toofs have been really getting me down of late - thanks not being great at cleaning in the 1980's (said to myself)....I now have more fillings than a French bakery and a lot of pain.
I had one root canal two weeks' ago and now I have to have another. In the tooth right next to it. Living on Ibuprofen is no joke. Though it could be a good hit for Bon Jovi as they approach their older years. So, I have to go in on Tuesday to see my lovely endodontist who will hopefully put an end to my misery. I asked one of the technicians in his office if I could have them all out and dentures...ha ha ha. I love to pull a leg or two.
The product inside...ahhh how I love the word "product". Basically it means that there was still a little of the miscarriage inside me, just hanging around and keeping those pesky hormone levels up. The lovely new doc suggested Misoprostol (remember that? It is the vaginally inserted pill that gives contractions?) to clean out my insides.
So, I took it last Thursday and, woke last Friday, went to the loo, felt weird and passed out, sitting on the toilet, onto Dr Z's (ample) belly. Twice. Ahh, the thrills, the spills. Then the painkillers had me vomiting all day long. So, it was a truly delightful experience all round. Thank God my mum was here to take care of me...And dogs to look at me all day.
The really great part of all this is that my period started on Tuesday, so, I will be back at the doc's on Tuesday for a check and possibly another saline what's it. Then, it's back to town to get the tooth seen to. Now, I'm wondering if it will all be a bit too much in one day....
Whatever happens, we should be back to thinking about horsing around in the next few weeks.
I'm sitting here, listening to the soundtrack from Annie and crying. Yes, this is my life in these dark days - I just love to torture myself with schmaltzy musicals about orphans.
OMG I can't listen to "Sandy" or "Dumb Dog" or "Tomorrow" come to think of it! But, with Ellie my grumpy queen bee pup with a sore bum I am feeling particularly sorry for dogs at the moment.
I am not a musical's person by any stretch of the imagination, but for some reason I love this one. I think it has to do with creating complicated song-and-dance routines to "It's a Hard-Knock Life" as a child. But, the songs are just heartbreaking and hilarious all at once. And sometimes it feels good to bawl about something daft.
Let's get back to biz and some good things...Don't want to depress the readers.
1. I have been getting some amazing responses from the blog which buoys me up no end.
2. I have a new doc. Granted he is out in Thousand Oaks but he is supposed to be nice, kind and efficient - what woman in this position doesn't want that?
3. I am signed up for hypnotherapy close to my new doc's. If nothing, it'll relax me before hand.
4. I have discovered a fabulous blog or two and urge you to read them if you feel up to it - the first is http://makingbabies.ie/wordpress/ with the wonderful Fiona...she is a brilliant writer and I love that she never gave up. The other is www.alittlepregnant.com - another funny writer.
And from the inimitable words of It's a Hard Knock Life (this could have written for us infertiles!):
Don't if feel like the wind is always howl'n? Don't it seem like there's never any light! Once a day, don't you wanna throw the towel in? It's easier than puttin' up a fight.
But look what happened to Annie - she was alright? Right?
Monday morning. Two pretty crummy words for most people. For me it is another day closer to seeing my new doctor.
Yep, Z and I have decided to shift gears and go to a new doc, so let's see how this one works out for us.
Apart from that, it has been an up and down weekend. I have had a very nasty headache because of the huge drop in hormones from the miscarriage. I was told it wasn't the drop in progesterone I was taking, but the change in the estrogen. Whatever it was, I felt like crap.
Then there is the much worse part, the emotional pain. Everywhere I go, I feel like I am faced with an assault course of pregnant women. They are absolutely everywhere, popping up in the unlikeliest of places. I wish sometimes I did PR for a truck company, but it would be just my luck to end up with the account for baby seats for big rigs.
We are lucky that we have good friends. Yesterday I met with my friend English Marg. She and her mum were hosting a brunch which was yummy and fun. Her mum was in from home and it was lovely to hear a mum voice and see a mum-like person.
Saturday we had dinner with friends again, though it is a little bit tougher when they have kids. In fact, I feel like crying when I hear about the sleep patterns, the play dates and all the rest.
And Sunday we had dinner with other friends and I kept them entertained with my stand-up routine. At least, that's how it feels to me. Plus, the Laker's won so woo hoo!
But, as you can probably tell from the tone, it all feels a bit empty, a bit dead at the edges. I don't want to be out. I want to be home, changing diapers, reading stories, being exhausted. I don't want to be entertaining. I don't want to have to put makeup on to hide the bags.
But please, don't stop inviting me out, it's all I' ve got right now.
Car crashes are one thing. At least you get a payment out of a small one if you are lucky. This is like being in three car crashes over the space of nine months and getting nothing out of it except traffic school over and over again.
I woke up this morning and it literally felt like there was a black cave where my chest used to be. Yeah, yeah, I had read about that feeling, and I have experienced the sensation of a heavy weight on my chest, but this was something altogether new.
It felt like someone had ripped out my heart and chest cavity and replaced it with dark matter. It was scary. I am also starting to have deep dreams that end in me jerking awake wishing to be back asleep. Like the lottery dreams or exam dreams I spoke about before. Only these are more complicated and usually involve me having a baby.
Dr Z and I have talked it through and we think that our next step is to be IVF. He wants to go in "all guns blazing" as he put it. We got my doc's notes yesterday and looked at them. Besides the autoimmune stuff on my side, we look healthy enough. Mind you, what the hell do we know? But as one of my friends' said, when you get into this stuff, you become more than an expert. It is so depressing.
My biggest fear is getting on the infertility treadmill and never getting off. I am terrified of becoming one of those women. But I fear I already am.
So of course, the first day of our vacation had to be the day I have a miscarriage. Just figures. Our only ever vacation, no honeymoon, no nothing.
I go to the loo the morning after we arrive and there is blood. Then there is brown. Then there are multiple pregnancy tests to "keep myself pumped" as my friend Robyn says for the next 5 days. But, of course, at the end of it all, nothing.
Today I agonized until I went into the doc's office but there was nothing to be done. It was too late. Another quick turnaround.
Now, the doc is surprised. I've done all the meds, I'm injecting myself and STILL miscarriages. Looks like we are now into the dreaded IVF land. I don't want to do it.
Okay, so I jumped the gun with the last post. And the Facebook and the phonecalls. Now I am starting to regret it. What if something goes wrong? What if I have to break the news to a whole slew of people who have congratulated me. Am I completely out of my mind?
The reason for the excess of happiness and early telling of just about everyone was the phone call with the beta numbers. The beta numbers are the level of pregnancy hormone (hCG) in the blood which is tested a number of times here when you have had miscarriages and the like before. These numbers are everything.
First off, Doc B said my number was 11. Not too great. Especially since I had had the expensive shot of hCG in the butt two weeks' earlier and residual could have been in the system. So, two days' later I am back having blood taken to see if there has been a rise. Double is good. So we were hoping for a nice 22.
I wait all day Thursday, staring at the phone with laser beam eyes. I don't dare call the doc's office (I feel desperation leads to bad news) so I would much rather put my body through a whole slew of stress and pain that will ultimately end in a 50-50 chance of bad news. Makes sense.
So, finally I can't wait any longer. I crack and call up. The doctor's office is CLOSED. I start to freak out and call Dr. B on his cell phone (a good reason to have this doctor is his cell number). He hasn't been in the office all day. I put the phone down and burst into tears. I won't have the information on my level until tomorrow and by this point I am breaking down. God knows how women go through this for year after year.
Anyway, in a desperate attempt to calm my frazzled nerves I drive to Blockbuster to pick up a couple of calming DVDs. I pick two that I know Z won't really be bothered about missing (of course he is working late) and I wander aimlessly staring at the boxes wondering "who the hell IS that person?" as I examine the covers.
As I am at the cashier, my phone rings. Dr B. "What medication are you on?" he asks. "Erm, Lovenox, progesterone, prednisone, baby aspirin..." I stutter thinking this is just a medical question for when we next meet. "Okay, stay on it. Your level is 49. You're pregnant" he says and with that, I screech at everyone in Blockbuster and burst into tears. Dr B had gone into the office for my results!!!! Gone back there for me!!! I was thrilled.
I immediately tell the lady behind the counter and fall out of the store crying uncontrollably.I cry past groups of people and just about make it into Starbucks for a calming hot chocolate.
I try to call Z, phone off. I call my pregnancy-hell buddy Robyn and she is laughing her ass off as I cry.
I try and try and try Z. About 50 million times. I call all his work mates. I call work mates to call work mates. I eventually tell him via iChat when I get home.
So that's what happened. A good old case of getting carried away. And boy am I feeling it may have been too soon.
Next visit Tuesday at 12:15 p.m - I almost made the 12:30 appointment for old times' sake but I need to be in there early. Levels need to rise again - they must be in the 100s now. Keep EVERYTHING CROSSED.
For anyone who understands fertility parlance, 2WW is THE single most scary phrase of them all.
While you could be forgiven for thinking it means World War II, those three, seemingly harmless characters loom large over the head of any woman who is trying to get pregnant. And it is where I am right now.
The 2WW is in fact the acronym for the "two week wait", that horrific, stress-film yawning chasm of time between the excitement of finding an egg, to the getting on the horse to the finding out whether anything actually happened.
The 2WW is evil.
Every single woman I know who has had to wait those two long, long, looooooong weeks will tell you that they stretch interminably on and on. There is no end in sight. There is only the pregnancy test. The pregnancy test that tests 5 days early. And we all know where that leads.
So yes, I am currently nearing the end of my 2WW and I am just about losing my mind. I have tested but the faint line could be the hCG hormone that was injected into me at the docs who knows.....so please, please, please keep your fingers crossed.
As you know from my previous posts, Dr Z and I have named the making of the baby "getting back on the horse". Or maybe we don't actually say that, but I think it a lot. And I blog that a lot, so maybe I just created it and wish we had such a cutesy, jokey, things-we-do-together type of life with in-jokes.
Anyhoo, not to put too fine a point on it, we are getting back on the horse, part III. It's official. The horse is back in the running and we are at the starter's gate, champing at the bit and trying NOT to put all our eggs in one basket. Or sperms in one egg. You understand.
The final part of this particular part of our baby-making journey ends this month, today, tonight to be completely honest. Ew, so now you know.
The day finally came today to see Dr. B and to get the green light to get going again. It feels like I waited months for this, even though it was actually only the other day - when I made the appointment.
I went in (it wasn't 12.30pm but I got nervous as usual and arrived ridiculously early - something I realize now is to my advantage) and waited in the living room/entrance hall and immediately felt sleepy in someone else's warmth in the comfy chair he has in there.
I was just getting started on an article in Tricycle - the Buddhist's magazine that I love to read - and I was called in. The article I was reading was all about not telling anyone that things are going badly for you when you feel crummy. So, basically, you just had two miscarriages and lost your job. You are 8000 miles from your family and the friends you left behind without many friends and someone says: "Hey Freda, what's going on? How are you? Looking a bit down in the mouth there old girl." and you are supposed to say (in a monotone, with a smile) "I'm good, good, yes I'm just fine." Because, apparently, no one wants to deal with your shit when they have their own stuff to contend with which is just as bad as yours. Never mind that poor old Freda is going to walk away and bang her head against a brick wall for lack of someone to have a good chinwag with.
I mean, REALLY! Whatever happened to the Isenberg method of just blah-ing it all out to whoever happens to be nearby? I say, get it off your chest, have a nice cup of tea and maybe three Cadbury's Flakes (especially if you are my friend Carolyn) and a good laugh at something else (or someone else - depends how bad it gets).
Anyway, not to drag this on like the endless cycles of Samsara, but I do love that magazine and it has some brilliant articles. Well worth the read if only for being totally gobsmacked.
So I am back on the chair that never fits my ass. But, before that I was weighed. I am not telling how much I weigh but Zach - the scales at home LIE - LIE I say! Once that is done I get off the clothes, get on the teeny chair and I'm ready for my close up.
Dr B sweeps in, rolls the condom on the stick and off we go. "Ah ha!" He says, overjoyed, "Perfect, perfect- just what we wanted". My follicle/cyst thingy is gracing the screen and is a knockout. It is the Heidi Klum of follicles - flawless at a eye-catching 25mm and just ready to be the host to a lovely egg. We hope.
Excitement ensues on my part and I actually manage to make the whole trip without crying. No tears at all! A quick chit chat about dates, prescriptions and the like and I am dispensed to the dispensary to pick up the HCG shot to make sure the egg makes an appearance for sure between now and the next three days.
Only my prescription card isn't in my wallet (of many wallets that I carry). I am panicked but decide to apply the lessons I have just learned in Tricycle and only get mildly irrationaly angry at my blameless husband who is sitting in his office in Santa Monica. "Yes, I have looked in the wallets," I snarl. Though this is probably all my fault as I am the only person who ever gets prescriptions.
After a minor debacle I end up paying for the shot - $75 ch-ching! And it's back to the office.
I go in and ask the nurse which arm. Silly me, it's in the butt. Of course, I have to make a joke about injecting $75 in my backside but it didn't hurt a bit (the injection - paying $75 for it was mildly painful). But, it was nothing like the tetanus injections I remember getting when I was a kid that just killed.
Next, Dr B is in to give me the 101 in injecting myself with Lovenox, the blood thinner that I may or may not need. Since my dad died of a blood clot and other family members have had issues it's a just-in-case. If I do need it, it could be for just the first trimester (if, indeed, there is a first trimester) or it could be for the whole 9 months (if, indeed, there are 9 months).
But ugh, ugh, ugh. Injecting myself was very weird. I have to say though, once you are past the flabby bit of the stomach, the needle slides right in and it doesn't hurt much at all. Thank God, though I still wouldn't want to be a heroin addict. The needle goes beneath the belly button into the fat. It just occurred to me why I have all that blubber - my body knew I would need it one day.
So, we will see what we will see. And so will everyone that is reading this. But for now, like a good Dicken's novel, this one'll be a cliffhanger.
Ha ha ha, the universe was listening. So, the day after that post I got my period. Figures. I go to see Dr. B and drop almost $200 and next day? Of COURSE, the period starts. But, I have to say I was pretty darned happy to see it turn up.
Never in my life, except maybe a few, frantic days in my youth when the big P was a little shy to arrive, have I ever waited so impatiently for something. And that is saying something as the good Dr. Zaius will tell any one of you. Repeatedly. If you ever come to our house.
So, since the arrive of big P, things are most certainly looking up. I immediately phoned Dr. B (seriously, the amount of doctor's in my life - real and imaginary - is getting a little out of hand), and woke him up I think. Dr. B said, great, great make an appointment for Saturday. That's right. This is why my doc is better than all the rest. I mean, who gets to see their OB-GYN on Saturday for heaven's sake?
Saturday comes and I am raring to go. Dr. Z is working in the afternoon, but can take me to see the real doc. He checks me out, likes what he sees. The follicle or cyst is diminishing so I am happy about that as it means I am on my way to ovulating again.
Just as an aside. Could the words follicle and cyst BE more complicated if they tried? Isn't a follicle something to do with your hair? Aren't cysts nasty growths on your head? (ask Dr. Z about THAT some day). The whole follicle/cyst debate will rage in my head for a long time. Basically they are the same thing. Only a follicle is what grows in the ovary to be released as an egg. Though it is also called a cyst. Okay, I give up. The main thing we need to know is that when I saw Dr. B for the expensive, unnecessary visit, he saw that my period was on the verge and that I had a cyst that needed to go away before it would come. When I arrived two days' later, the period HAD come, and the cyst was much smaller. Which is a good thing.
So, now here I am at Dr B's being told many, many good things.
Good Thing number 1
I am back to being "regular" in my cycle
Good Thing number 2
Z and I are on the way to trying again. I have to go back next Wednesday (May 6th) to check that I am about to ovulate
Good Thing number 3
Once the ovulation is a green light, I get a shot, we try on nights 7, 8, 9 (and 10 for good measure)
Good Thing number 4
This will all be checked by Dr. B
Good Thing number 5
If it all works to plan we might - just might - just please, please, please, please, pleeeeeaaaasssse, be on the way to a baby.
And then we will have world peace.
Or at least I will have a new set of things to worry about.
And I am now trying to relax, which, for those of you who know me really well, is hilarious. I am currently trying to work part time - 7am to 3pm is NOT part time by the way. The way that I do this is to work in the mornings until lunch time, take the dogs out, get home, check email a few million times and then go down stairs and try to force myself to watch something on TV. Only I get irritated with the commercials and my mind starts to wander. OR the dogs want love, or I start to think of all the things I should be doing but am not.
Then I start to guilt myself about not having more clients. Or searching for them. I start to want to work. So, eventually, I get up, go back to the computer and start to work again, or look for work or do something at least.
If anyone has a great way to relax for mums-to-almost-be then please let me know. Because the waiting is killing me, and if that doesn't do it, the stress will.
It has been ages since my last post, but there have been two major reasons for this. Let me explain:
First, I had a hysteroscopy and the fab doc found it was covered in fibroids that had to be scraped off to give my uterus a face lift - if that isn't mixing my body parts up too much.
The best part about the whole affair was that my beautiful nurse Betsie was there to hold my hand and to giggle with me before and after. She took down my particulars (oooh, nurse - that's for the Brits btw) and asked me if I had "evacuated", I thought she asked if I had farted and said, "nooo of course not!"
After the op I came round, saw the lovely Nurse B and promptly burst into tears. Z came to get me and they wheel chaired me out.
Second reason: That was the last time I had a period.
So since March 20th I have basically been waiting for my flowers (that's for Zach) and nothing is happening. I keep getting the signs and then...nothing. It's like thinking you are going to sneeze and then nothing happens. So disappointing.
I just keep waiting and waiting and waiting. Which for me is like torture as it is. I mean, I don't go in a shop if I have to wait to be served so I guess this is the universe trying to teach me something about patience. It isn't working universe. Now I am just totally pissed off.
So, I have bugged Dr B enough now to warrant me going in. I want to know when this bloody period is going to happen or I will lose my mind.
I am so tired and over this, now. If I had kept the first baby all those months ago, it would be born next month.
Oh, and I really want to tell the baby food makers, diaper companies and every other baby-related consumer goods company to STOP sending me stuff. Enough already.
The doc says I need to rest after having the hysteroscopy on Friday but, of course, I am bored just sitting doing nothing. Of course, I am awake early, because I am going to bed at 10pm. But, I tried to get up yesterday to change my hair color and I had a pain that brought me back home. So here I am, writing more and wishing to be up. With different-colored hair.
The operation went great. It turns out my uterus was covered in fibroids which have been delicately removed. Apparently, Doc B has the photos which will be framed as the most expensive fibroids in the world.
The lovely nurse B - my friend and helper on my baby adventure - was there to greet me at the doc's offices on Friday morning where my nil by mouth was really starting to bug me.
After a few mix ups with my REAL birthdate, okay, I was stressed that first day at Dr. B's office and wrote my DOB as 6/1/2009 which would officially make me -3 months' old at the time, I was fitted with my baby arm band and sent in.
I got to put on my hairnet and booties alone, though Nurse B came in to check on me and we had a laugh about the fact that I am and was, her first ever friend/patient. Weird. The changing room/bathroom had scales or "a scale" as they say here so of course I hopped on. Yay 13 pounds - GONE! Take that mother f-ers! Just 10 more to go....!
Anyway, back to the more important baby situache...I sat in my bed with legs dangling off the end. I swear to God, they don't make medical equipment for my body. Either the seats are too small or the beds are too short. I feel like Gulliver stamping around with tiny furniture just waiting to collapse around me.
So, with legs-a-dangling I sat and whiled away the time reading stories of women who lost half a ton of fat and looking at pictures of smiling women exercising. They should definitely show the reality which is more like the image of a woman swearing at her trainer and sweating like a pig in mismatched workout clothes. I would buy that scenario way more than Miss Perfect grinning while doing some ab work.
Anyway, as usual, I digress. I lay and lay, waiting for my big moment of sleep. I hear another patient coming round, slurring her words. I vow that won't be me. Yeah, right.
The lovely anesthetist comes in and preps me for the IV. I will NEVER be a heroin addict. I'm JUST SAYING. I mean, yuck, yuck, I loathe it when they make you make a fist, the tap and flick at the vein. Ugh, so gross. But Doc Anesthetic was very sweet and I am being wheeled in in no time.
Next thing I know I am coming round, with the lovely Nurse B, waking me up, I have no idea if I slur, but I do burst into tears. I am sure it is all the drugs, but a bit of me knows it is sheer relief that I'm one step closer to the boom boom of big, flat Isenberg feet.
I'm lying in bed at 7.05 a.m writing this. While I feel okay, it is weird to be up and writing at this time to a bunch of people who are probably asleep. I am replying the threads on Facebook, reading stranger's words to each other on the Home page and checking out blogs from people who don't even know I exist...
This has nothing whatsoever to do with the hysteroscopy.
Yesterday dawned bright and clear. Actually I don't remember how the weather was, I just remember getting the pups out in the morning for our usual tussle round the block with them. I should give you a little insight into my two hounds right now as they haven't real
ly featured in this blog but they are a big part of my life.
Ellie came to us through Little Green, who, by the way, is back in town and may be staying with us while she is temporarily homeless. It was the ex of LG who found Ellie on the side of a trail. Lore has it that the now hefty Ellie was a mere scrap of a girl starving at the roadside (if you saw her this would be near-impossible to believe now).
LG's ex picked up (yes picked up readers who know our first-born), and carried E to his car, fed her, cared for her and tried to integrate her into his own doggie family (which included LG's own pooch Clea). Of course, this was when the true Ellie emerged in all her ornery glory.
Not only was Ellie a - shall we say - older dog at this point, she hadn't been fixed and had obviously had a bunch of pups in the recent past. In fact, she wasn't fixed until we took charge of her. By this point the vet figured (with laser-beam certainty) that she was "between five and nine years old". Not much difference there, then. So our dear, cranky, moody, queen-like bee is now between seven and 11 - which is around 49 or 77. Suffice to say, she acts more towards the crotchety 77 end of the spectrum. She seems to hate going for a walk, unless there is something in it for her.
Her main motivation in life is food, witnessed by her low-hanging belly, jowls like a bulldog (she is of unspecified breed though looks like a Rottweiler mixed with a Ridgeback, combined with a sofa) and ability to hear the fridge door opening from from five rooms away while she is asleep. Yes, I am the one who has ruined her. She was my guinea-pig dog and yes, I am a
bad, over-indulgent mother. I am practicing for children.
But, Ellie truly saved my life here in LA and without her, doubtless, I would have gone back to the UK. She brought a place for me to lavish my love, worry and fuss and feel like I was being loved - albeit from a rather imperious distance - back. I felt truly like I had a purpose with Ellie. She is such a love and doesn't mind me hugging her and holding her. It is a little like hugging a small cow with udders, or a dog-like porpoise. Delicious.
Macy Isenberg is a very different dog. We know Miss Macy is nine years' old because she came to us from a reliable source - her first father. Dad #1 could no longer care for MM because his working hours demanded he stay away for too long. And we know this girl loves to be close. Macy is something like a tall , slim, red haired German Shepherd. Or maybe she is a lanky collie . I don't think we ever got her breed.
She is awesome. She is my biggest fan. She is a total Alpha and so wants to arrange all the other dogs to her liking. Macy is as close to unconditional love I have ever felt. She follows me everywhere, she doesn't want to go on a walk without mama, she lies with me when I am sick. Her dark side is her neediness too. If I pet another dog she is right there. She growls at the first-born if she wants up on the TV room sofa. She does not get away with it.
My girls' are my best friends and my little loves. They bring out the best (and most spoiling) in me and I feel so happy when they are with me.
I can't even be ironic about them, it is impossible. For once. I just love them.
Tomorrow I am going in for a hysteroscopy - the first step on the way to babydom. Nil by mouth as of 12am, then in I go for the cleaning and freshening of my uterus.
The clean, fresh landing pad will be ready for the E+Z mix and, with a bit of luck and some extra spices - Predisone, Lovonox, folic acid, baby aspirin, a spot of progesterone and estrogen, and the trusty prenatal vitamins.
There will be a general anesthetic involved so I expect to feel a bit wonky afterwards but lucky for me my new English friend Marg is coming to hang out and eat, drink cups of tea and watch trashy telly with me afterwards. I hope she doesn't mind The Real Housewives of New York - go Jill!
Holy crap - I just realized - Marg is English and she might bring me grapes. The Brits will get this one...I hate grapes. Better call her in the morning.
So Zaius and I are in for a penny - a pretty penny at that, which could mean we are in for a pound - and hopefully more than a few pounds of baby.
I hope that was sufficiently opaque a beginning for you this week. I like to start out strange and rush to the end - says a lot about me and my life, right?
Well, to make things slightly more clear, here is where we are up to on the baby path. Z and I wen today to see famous Dr B the baby wonder-doc and he spelled out the situation and the recipe for baking a full-term bun in the oven.
First off, I have a hysteroscopy. I am starting to see a link between women and words beginning in hyster...no wonder we lose it. That means clearing up the polyps, or whatever is making my uterus unfriendly to pregnancies. This operation also means being knocked out and cleaned out to create a lovely, fresh, clean environment for any potential babies. Think of it as making the bed after more weeks than you care to mention and then getting in it and falling straight to sleep. Though, I am sure that doesn't help.
Following the hystericaloscopy, which I am hoping will take place this week, I then have large doses of Estrogen and Progesterone that will see me up to my cycle. Then, I start on Lovanox in case my blood needs to be thinned (think shots into any one of my fatty areas - I get to choose!); pills - Prednisone - twice a day; Folic Acid; baby aspirin and last, but not least, prenatal vitamins.
At some point in all this shenanagins we will be told - yes, told - when we can have sex. What a romantic date that will be!
But, with a hope, a prayer and all the other ingredients, we may finally, finally, have a baby!
I know it has been a long time since I posted, but now I am back with more miscarriage high jinx to keep you entertained and enthralled!
So, I went to see Dr. B - my new miscarriage doctor. I was there to have a saline histogram and yes, it is was as horrible as it sounds - but just for a second or two. Now, I don't want to scare anyone out there because it isn't THAT bad, but it wasn't exactly a relaxing stroll around the park. Unless strolls around the park that you take involve having liquid injected into your uterus. And if they do, I strongly suggest you take a different route.
The saline histogram will show if there are any irregularities in the uterus that may be preventing a pregnancy from taking place. It involves a catheter being inserted (think the fun of a PAP smear and more) and liquid being placed inside. The doctor then gets to see the theater of the uterus in all its glory.
So, I start the day badly. For some reason, I always think my appointments, no matter where, are at 12.30 p.m. This obviously isn't so. I turn up, bright and, in this case, three hours early, to be told that my appointment is actually at 3.30pm. I return on time.
The offices of Dr. B are very sweet, a little house really. You go in the front door and are faced with comfy chairs and sofas in what was probably the entrance hall once-upon-a-time. Sometimes I have to be brave faced with all the babies running around but, if I remind myself that most women who come to see Dr B were once in my position, it gives me a lot of hope. Seriously, this is the baby capital of Beverly Hills.
Pictures of tired women with newborns adorn the walls, images of cherubs with Thank you! are everywhere, there are Happy Holiday cards plastered with photos of little kids all over the place. At one point I thought "wow, that same woman has had a LOT of children", until I realized (yes I get a bit dazed) that is was Dr B's partner doctor in the practice, in photos just seconds after the birth taken by grateful parents.
I eventually get called into the little room with the stirrups - why do the seats never seem big enough for my backside? And I am told to strip from the waist down which I dutifully do, though there is no cover for me. When Dr. B finally comes in is mortified when he sees me tugging my T-shirt and immediately gets me a paper cover. I am more embarrassed by my ugly, broken toe nails that constantly get wrecked because of my running.
So, the histogram begins with the lovely clamp - the same one they use in the PAP smear. Then the catheter is inserted, not fun at all, and the liquid injected - really not fun. It was like having induced period pain. The nurse kept telling me "breathe, BREATHE" as I sucked everything upwards. I think I was close to not ever breathing again at one point as well as almost levitating off the bed to stop the sensation.
Anyway, once all the liquid was in place, Dr B gives me an internal ultrasound and the photos come rolling off the machine.
As soon as that is done everyone packs up and ships out and I am putting the clothes back on. (But I did check my weight - down eight pounds! Yay!)
I go back to Dr B's office and he has my test results from the armful of blood they took the week before. Hot off the press and with lots of interesting info. It turns out my autoimmune system is too strong and keeps expelling the Zaius part of the pregnancy. It sees my husband as a "foreign body" and keeps getting rid of the pregnancies! In addition, the saline hiss-togram (as it will be forever more known) showed some polyps on the uterus. Thank God I can be knocked out to get rid of those bad boys.
So now we know. I am so damned healthy I can't keep a baby! The bad news for this vain writer, is going on Prednisone - a steroid. I can't bear the idea of weight gain. Which is stupid since I will be pregnant anyway. Who says we have to have logic?
The surgery will be taking place next week....keep your eyes peeled for more adventures. I just REALLY hope the appointment is at 12.30p.m.
These are the two names I will give my children. Just kidding.
No, I wanted to say another huge thank you to everyone who is following Life Lines. I am buoyed up by your support, kindness and confidence in me, not only as a person, but as a prospective mother.
Becky, thanks with all my heart for your recent email - I want to frame it!
As you know, LA is just a plane ride (or two) away. You are always welcome here no matter how many people, kids or dogs are filling up the house.
As a last note I want to say that I am sitting here with the window open because it is so warm. It is February and I can still never get used to this. The trees are bare but they are beginning to ever-so-slightly bud. I think I know how they feel.
So dot # 2 was just a couple of weeks' old but still, you know. It was what they call a "chemical pregnancy". That means the recipe is all correct, but the souffle doesn't rise.
This time around I did things a little differently. Z and I didn't get too excited and I tried really hard not to think about it. The only difference was my obsessive peeing on the stick. I will NEVER do that again. My heart can never take the obsessive checking of light/dark is it/isnt it. Now I know why they make them so you can tell five days in advance - so you buy a million of them!
Another thing I did differently, and thank God I did, was to tell my good friends. These consist of:
Robyn - my sweet heart and great help in all this - she is a fellow miscarriage sufferer (survivor?) who made damned sure she got the best baby in the world, Sethy, who I just LOVE.
Betsie - fabulous beauty and nurse and all-round amazing friend.
Lucy - my angelic English Rose friend who went through a miscarriage before her mini-me Ella came into the world.
These three women have made it possible to keep going forward. In addition to everyone else - including my online friend Lisa who is just a doll and my other fantastic girlfriends in the US and the UK - you know who you are (Charlotte, I love you and Ands, my "sis").
The chemical pregnancy has not been anywhere near as hard as the last one. Mainly because Robyn has provided me with a great set of tools to help me get through. The first was a great therapist who has made it easier for me to see a light at the end of the tunnel. The other was Dr. Bob, the famous Bev Hills doc who gets ladies the right mix to keep them pregnant.
When I saw him yesterday he said the words I wanted to hear: "You will have a baby" and "In two weeks' time we will have a game plan". Keep your fingers crossed that we hear the pitter patter (or, if it is anything like momma and poppa) the boom boom of tiny/huge feet in a little while.
Wow, I don't know where to start. I guess this will also be a short post because I am pretty exhausted.
So, I thought I was pregnant again. Well, I was pregnant again. The bloody early pregnancy test told me I was. I tried not to get excited. I put away the books, I stayed calm, I ate right, I drank water and slept eight hours.
Only, before it had time to start, it stopped.
I had positive tests from last week until today. A light line, a darker line, a dark line! Yay! And then hmm am I getting obsessive here? I did another test, just to be sure and it was lighter. I have become addicted to web sites about miscarriage now. And they say - a line is a line.
So then I did another one today. Okay, I am TOTALLY obsessive. I justified it in thinking that it is President's Day and my Ob-Gyn office is closed. It was a big blank. No line, nothing. So of course, rather than sit down and do nothing, I get straight in the car and go for the digital.
This bad boy tells you whether you are "Pregnant" or "Not Pregnant" - the actual words light up on a little screen. Guess which one I am.
Tomorrow, I am going for confirmation. In protest I had a beef sandwich and fries at the Deli.
So welcome to my world of trying again Part II. The new, improved me.
I am definitely feeling the funk lift and I am now back on the horse in a big way. Obviously it took me a couple of months to recover and now life is moving full-steam towards trying again.
As I said last time, this does not come without a HUGE dose of reality, caution and doing all the right things.
First off, getting health(ier).
I had a check up with doc about whacking my head and all is good. All I really need to do is shed 10-20 lbs and I will be a happy girl.
I plan to visit a new therapist to talk about fertility, losing dot and the rest.
I am starting acupuncture again.
Exercise. While I am a runner by nature, I am having to vary it a bit. I am going back to the gym for weights (ugh! not a fan of the gym!) Obviously, the girls and hiking is way more my cup of tea.
Supplements. I am taking my pre-natals, calcium and magnesium.
Sleep. I am trying to get a full night's rest - not easy but trying!
Fluids. I am drinking a ton of water, Teeccino (of course for the potassium and because caffeine is a no no) and herbal teas.
Brain. Reading up and working on herbal coffee is keeping me fascinated and informed at the same time. I am learning so much. I love this part of my job. I also love discovering a whole world of new publications to approach. I am currently ploughing my way through a ton of magazines.
Friends. I am making a more concerted effort to connect with friends since the dot went away.
All in all, new year's resolutions came in February. Not too bad!
So I have been feeling a little bit bleh recently, like I said in my last post, I am sure it is something to do with the miscarriage and other related issues. But, Friday I passed out and whacked my head against a wall which DEFINITELY didn't add to the fun and games.
The trying again is proving to be not as much fun as I thought it was going to be...the first time it was like, "Wow, look at us two fabulous creatures! - Look how we procreated so well, so fast!" This time, I am feeling a bit more like it's a chore and a pain and I am not looking forward to my next period. I guess this is welcome to a million women's worlds. Like before, I feel like now I am extra cautious and am trying hard to be totally perfect in my life.
I am back on a WAY healthier diet (the miscarriage certainly brought out the sweet-loving monster in me), I am exercising almost every day, taking my supplements as usual and adding to them. I am meditating and of course, NOT drinking caffeine!
I am also trying to rest better, not stress and feed my mind with wonderful experiences.
This was my weekend:
The first was listening to Greg Mortensen, co-author of "Three Cups of Tea" - his book about building schools and educating girls in Northern Pakistan. This book is amazing, beautiful and heart-wrenching.
I saw Mortensen at Santa Monica High School on Saturday, where he spoke for over an hour about his work with his organization - the Central Asia Institute - and about his Pennies for Peace Campaign - which he says shows you can make a difference with just the pennies hanging around at home.
If you haven't already read the book please, please, please buy it. It is published by Penguin and costs $15.00.
The other fun things I did this weekend were:
1. Went to Casual Friday at The Disney Hall. So awesome to hear Tchaicovsky played by the LA Philharmonic.
2. Took part in a 10k race - the Redondo Beach Superbowl Sunday 10k. I am not saying what my time was because it was pitiful compared to my past triumphs of 42 and 48 and 52 minutes. Suffice to say it was much slower.
3. Saw my fabulous friends Madeline and Bob, not once, but twice! This was a rare treat for us. We had dinner with them at our house on Saturday and then they made us breakfast on Sunday because they live in Manhattan Beach. I love them so much and Bob kept us enthralled with stories about the universe and galaxies. Imagine spending breakfast talking about space?
So, my bleh-ness obviously is not as a result of my sad, lonely life because as you can see, my life is full and fun. Maybe I just need to get out of this funk. I know I'm in one because I'm not even able to be funny. Not good. I am pretty sure it is because of a lack of dot.
It feels like forever since I posted something. I don't know...so much has been going on and I am now nervous about trying again.
On top of that, I have been going through a very rough patch emotionally. I don't know if this is the result of the miscarriage and the fallout from that, coupled with the layoff etc. But, for whatever reason, I have been feeling a little funky. In fact, what am I talking about - of course it is! It has been a long, slow process for me to get over losing the dot. I am still very apprehensive about trying again.
Rather than being nervous for the first three months, I am going to be worried sick for nine if we get pregnant again. I feel like I would want to retire to my bed for the duration! Of course this is ridiculous but, I think after a miscarriage, the relative carefree-ness of pregnancy is GONE.
Since we are now starting to think about trying again after my second period, I am probably feeling a little apprehensive about it. It is nerve-wracking to think about. That is why I think we were a bit lackluster after month one. While friends have jumped straight back into it, I think I felt too shocked to get back there straight away.
Luckily for me I have another diversion for the time being - and it's a good one! Working from home! Oh my, no-one ever told me work could be so great. I love being at home with the girls snoring at my feet and occasionally waking up for a butt scratch.
I love being able to wander over to my office in my sweats and just work! I wish I could lose weight from working because I swear, I would have lost 15 pounds by now! The weather is cool and lovely, there is a bunch of interesting stuff to read about my new biz which I am finding fascinating, and I am so happy to be back on the phone working again!
I went to the Fancy Foods Trade show two weekends' ago. So much fun. I always thought working in fashion or something "glamorous" would be the way I would go. I'm telling you, not on your nelly.
The food industry - particularly the natural food industry - is a total blast. Everyone has come from some teeny tiny idea they had in a garden shed and they are now like grown-up hippies who want to give back. I freakin' love it!
As for my biz well, Teeccino is an herbal coffee, an "alternative" that is super yummy and is good for you. It is my mission to see it mentioned whenever pregnancy, miscarriage, diabetes etc and food and drink choices are brought up. This stuff is magic. Go buy it.
Or at least check out the Web site www.teeccino.com. More on the CEO and Founder Caroline MacDougall another time. Suffice to say, she is my step-mom-in-law and she is truly a fabulous person.
So this was supposed to be our official trying again period. Except there really hasn't been much trying. I don't know if it is the weather, general apathy or what. We just haven't been all that gung ho for trying this month.
The fabulous doctor C has told me to wait for two periods, but I don't want to, at all. My friend English Lucy didn't wait and I don't see why I should have to either. But, unlike the Christmas story, I guess we really do have to do something.
I got my period at long last which was great. I felt "normal" again after such a long and agonizing few weeks of feeling like a freak which sucked. I hated that I was either bleeding like a lunatic or nothing. Then, we realized that, to try again it would have to be the weekend that just passed.
On New Year's Eve we hosted. It would have been a lot of fun only Z drank way over the top and felt more than rough the next day. He was writing off the whole day and repeating a mantra of: "I don't feel well" for most of the period when he was awake.
I, on the other hand, cleaned the house, threw away the bottles and packed our case for our "minimoon" in San Luis Obispo.
The Zaius was STILL sick the next day when we set off for the moon and I drove us all the way there. He kind of lay limply against the window looking as wan as a Victorian lady with a mild attack of the vapors.
We went to the Sycamore Hot Springs and recuperated by lying in our giant, sulphur-y-smelling hot-tub, eating and watching The Sopranos Season 5 on the lap top. Heaven. But not heaven enough to get it on much. We are definitely getting old.
Never mind, if our somewhat halfhearted attempts to Get Back On The Horse are not fruitful this month, we have noone to blame but ourselves. And wonderful Doctor C will be more than pleased.