The Down Low on the Down Belows

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.

The Hounds of Love

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.

Operation Uterus

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.

New News On my Uterus

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!

What The Doctor Saw

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.