I Am Thankful For Medicine

I am very thankful for modern medical advancements and technology and medicine.
Without modern medicine I would not be alive to write this blog, or if I was, I would not be in good shape, probably missing limbs or having failing organs.
Insulin hasn't been around for very long, relatively speaking and when I was diagnosed we were still using insulin derived from cows and pigs. Human insulin extracts are an even more recent discovery.
Speaking of amazing discoveries; check this out.
And then let's talk about this baby. The medical knowledge being expended on this child is enormous. One could say he doesn't really need it, but it's nice to have, so we know he doesn't need it. And I pass other women in Dr. Smartypants' office who clearly do need the expertise and so I'm thankful that it exists.
The things that are possible now that weren't only a few years ago is incredible.
The diseases we don't have to worry about; polio, smallpox, bubonic plague, heck we can get flu shots now. Tetanus isn't deadly anymore.
Infections aren't deadly anymore.
Tarzan watches Nova and the other night was an episode about vaccines. I appreciate that people have questions and take an interest in what is going on with their kids. (I wish they showed as much interest in other areas of their children's lives but that's a whole other post.)
But I don't have to understand how it works to know that it does work. Or before I trust that I will work for me and/or my child.
I am very thankful for modern medicine and the effects it has had on my life and the good that it will do for later people and generations.

This is me, and it's better than it was.

38 Weeks 3 Days

To bring you an update on Cheeta and my state of being.
Before we are separated and can't take cute pictures like this:

We are at 38 weeks 3 days now and all is "normal" if such a thing exists in pregnancies.

My total weight gain, depending on the scale and the time of day, is +/- 8lbs.
(Dr. Smartypants says Cheeta weighs in at about 8.25 of that.)
The doctors keep congratulating me on this feat and I tell them it's not about self control, it's about feeling so full all the time that I really don't want to eat and actually feel like I just did eat most of the time, but I don't think they believe me. So I'll take the accolades for now. (If we're blessed with another shot at this, watch me gain 30lbs.)
My blood pressure is still fabulous - so no preeclampsia worries - but because of the kind of health care we get through Tarzan's job, they send me for all the tests they can think of. One of those is a non-stress test twice a week to listen for changes in Cheeta's heartbeat and make sure the placenta is doing it's job.
So far, it is.
Kid is going to be stubborn like me though. If he does not want to move, or is sleeping, none of the nurses' little tricks - cold hands, buzzers, etc. - is going to get him to move. The tests last for 20 minutes or so but they keep us longer if the baby isn't moving a certain amount. One day last week we were having a hard time getting Cheeta's attention and he was decidedly ignoring her until the last 5 minutes and then he ran the whole table in time for us to make the next appointment.
Conversely he's also going to be obedient like his father. The doctors have been warning me since the beginning about how diabetic babies typically grow big and if I go too long I'll have to have a C-section, or induce early so he doesn't get caught coming out blah, blah, blah, but Cheeta hasn't grown big - he may be the smallest baby my family has ever had - and the doctors really have nothing to be critical of. (See weight and blood pressure above.)
I have been fabulously blessed with this pregnancy. So many things could have gone wrong, or been problematic, and haven't.
Things I do not have control over.
And speaking of things I have no control over; when he will actually make an appearance. I have been having contractions but they aren't regular, they aren't painful and therefore aren't helpful. (If you're looking for things to pray for tonight, pray I go into labor soon, so the doctors don't have strokes over how to get me to capitulate to an induction.)
In other news, we finally got the furniture put together for Cheeta's room. He has a place to sleep:

I know, it's not an actual crib, but it is on wheels and according to the nurse education people I'm going to want the baby in our room for a while and it'll be much easier to move this way.
We also have a way to get him home and out for walks:

Other than diapers and clothes - of which we have a few:

Of course, some he'll never fit into, being "newborn" - but what else does a kid need?

This is me and we're as set as we can get without the actual baby.

Medical Jargon

There are a number of statistics the professionals are watching very closely because of my medical history and status. I am considered a red-hot high risk pregnancy.
However, after all the drama and hysteria with the trying and the nothing and the getting here, it's been kind of anticlimactic now that it's happened.
The biggest thing the doctors worry about - and there are a lot of doctor that want a piece of me - is my age. At the top of all my medical files are the words "Elder primigravida" which sounds serious but just means I am having my first baby over the age of 35. My obstetrician actually apologized for having to put it down.
It does mean I have get to take a lot of tests. Mostly genetic tests, to check chromosomes for defects and assess viability of the pregnancy. It was through a chromosome test that we found out we were having a boy, long before the ultrasound could tell anything. Which is handy, because we registered for a lot of blue stuff. All the chromosome tests have come back normal and though it's not 100% guaranteed, the geneticist says, "what pregnancy is?"
There will be more tests, every four weeks, and should something come out weird, they get to invade some more, but thus far, all is good and normal. 
In addition to all the testing - which has come a long way from our mothers' generation, I get mostly blood tests and none of the needles sticking weird places gathering strange fluids - I get bumped up from random ultrasound tech guy to perinatologist. He does a very thorough ultrasound, with better resolution, and according to his own statement, he's smarter than all the other people in the department, so he's the best one to see. I've been to see him twice and he also says all is normal and looks good. Cheeta grows consistently, is on target for the due date - which means he's getting enough food - all his bones are in the right place and at the first appointment with Dr. Smarty-pants I was told, with all sincerity, "your baby has a head."
I consider that a plus.
He's actually a pretty fun doctor for being the high-risk pregnancy specialist and I don't think all the women he sees get the all-clear, or get it as early as I have. Because the other reason I am on the high-risk list is a function of my being a type-I diabetic. Because I am, and because I have been for a long time, I know about sugar monitoring, exercise and eating right and thusly my sugars have been in good control since long before this baby was a consideration. The nurses check in regularly, get lists of my sugars weekly, adjust my insulin, test the HbA1c (it's a history of sugar control thing) and make sure I exercise regularly. (Thank you Stingy's dog.)
Not all people know, or care, or monitor apparently and I guess he has to give some bad news quite often.
Another concern because of being diabetic is preeclampsia, but my blood pressure is awesome and thus we need not fear that condition at this point in time.
My proteins are also good, not showing up places they shouldn't AND because of being diabetic, I get to skip the nasty orange drink thing as we already know: I couldn't take it.
Interestingly, the infertility history doesn't mean much to the white coats, especially as it was a spontaneous fertilization.
Weight in general is monitored and because I have never been a slender person, my OB would like less weight gain than the usual for a pregnancy. Thus far it's been only 2lbs so I'm okay there too.
I do have to watch my potassium - not a usual pregnancy concern I understand - but it means a lot of bananas (ick), pistachios, apricots and one more tube every time they take blood.
I know, it's all going to change later and the third trimester is hardest of all, but if the potassium is the worst thing I deal with, it's going to be okay.

This is me and how's that for potentially, but in the end totally, but completely not at all complicated?

Firsts

I was reading this on Lola's page and since it's been a while since I did a meme,
I stole it.
These are my firsts. Copy and paste into your own blog, blah, blah, blah you know the rest.
1. Who was your FIRST prom date?
It was his prom not mine - I didn't get invited to my prom - but Ryan Cowley was fun and sweet and we had a good time.
2. Do you still talk to your FIRST love?
No. It was junior high, a long way away and I was not as mature then as I am now and probably scarred the poor boy for life.
3. What was your FIRST alcoholic drink?
The closest I come is having a beer poured ON me at a party in college.
4. What was your FIRST job?
My first real job, other than babysitting, was for a sandwich place. Still can not abide mayonnaise to this day because of the huge vats we had to scrape it out of.
5. What was your FIRST car?
Tarzan and I were both on the title to the first new car either one of us have ever had. A 2000 green Saturn. I've never held the title to a car all by my lonesome.
6. Who was the FIRST person to text your today?
7. Who was the FIRST person you thought of this morning?
[sniff] No one has. [sniff sniff] Actually I don't text a lot.
8. Who was your FIRST grade teacher?
Mrs. Susan Percy. She asked me to read Clifford to the class when she had to go to the office for something. I tried to show off and read upside down like she did, but it wasn't very successful.
9. Where did you go on your FIRST ride on an airplane?
Believe it or not, my first airplane ride was when we left The Frozen North for The Desert. I was 17.
10. Who was your FIRST best friend and do you still talk?
Thanks to the wonders of Facebook, I have caught up with my first best friend. We live worlds apart now and likely won't be best friends the way we were but she's still awesome and doing awesome things and I'm glad I know about it.
11. Where was your FIRST sleep over?
Probably across "the path" at Emily's house.
12. Who was the FIRST person you talked to today?
Tarzan. He's the first person I talk to every day. It would be weird if I didn't.
13. Whose was the FIRST wedding were you in?
Other than my own...I haven't really been in a wedding all official and stuff. I'm usually the wife of the brother or one of a bunch of sisters.
14. What was the FIRST thing you did this morning?
Kissed Tarzan and went to the bathroom. Mine is a calm and peaceful existence.
15. What was the FIRST concert you ever went to?
Raffi. I was 6 and the kid across Rural Route #1 and I went with his mom to see Raffi in concert. It was awesome. He sang Baby Beluga AND the Teeth Brushing song.
16. FIRST tattoo?
Never even thought about getting one.
17. FIRST piercing?
Considered it, but I pierce myself enough every day to bother getting permanent ones.
18. FIRST foreign country you went to?
Does the U.S.A. count? It was foreign when I visited in the ninth grade.
19. FIRST movie you remember seeing?
Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs. It was pouring rain and we had to run from the car to the theater and then run back and we still got soaked.
20. When was your FIRST detention?
I never had detention per se, but I was "excused" from class until I could stop laughing.
21. Who was your FIRST roommate?
ATL was the first I remember...oh you mean other than sisters? That would be the girl who already had a boy over and undressed when I started moving my stuff in. Wish I could remember her name.
22. FIRST thing you think of when they ask the one wish question?
I wish people weren't so stupid. And I wish I had enough money to solve the problems of all those close to me.
23. FIRST thing you want to learn if given the chance?
To play the piano.
24. Did you marry the FIRST person to ask for your hand in marriage?
The first person to ask me seriously, yes. The others were just messing around.
25. What was the FIRST sport you were involved in?
Intramural floor hockey. It was awesome.
26. What were the FIRST lessons you ever took?
Horseback riding. I was 5 and the pony was Spot.
27. What is the FIRST thing you do when you get home?
Kiss Tarzan if he's here, and then put my purse and keys down.
28. Who will be the FIRST person to post this?
Maybe RHM, maybe Rocketgirl, maybe no one.

This is me, with a decent meme.

There Are No Ticks On Me

It's a select few who might see the advantage of this but I count it a blessing.
Remember how I expounded on the beautiful-ness of Tarzan's grandparent's bedroom and the glorious air circulation? We have had to cease and desist sleeping with the balcony door open because Tarzan was being eaten alive at night by the 'skeetos. I first thought he was dramatizing a little because *I* had only one small bite after nearly two weeks down here. But then he showed me his legs and feet and, poor boy, it looks like the chicken pox has him again there are so many red and itchy bites. And I realized that this happened when I was a kid in The Frozen North. My siblings would get bit and not me. It seems that bugs can "smell" to a small extent and choose not to suck the blood of a diseased person.
It would not have been my first choice but since it is the lot I drew, I shall make the best of it.

This is me, with the upside to being diabetic.

500th Post

Who knew there was so much random crap in me that I could produce 500 posts in 31 months. What does that work out to...16 or so per month? That's nearly one every other day; Go me!

In way of a celebration I ought to come up with a really memorable post or do something flashy...shouldn't I?

While I'm thinking about that, discuss amongst yourselves the really weird dream I had last night, or rather, early this morning. This time it was a family gathering, and apparently Danny Masterson (of That 70's Show) was Tarzan's brother. He was filling the place of QC, Tarzan's brother in real life. This is definitely NOT my usual type of guy. I think we've determined that my type of celebrity crush is nerdy, well groomed, and built. Danny is none of those:

His hair alone gives me the creeps. Not attractive at all. But he was in my dream since the whole thing revolved around us finding places to make out. We would start the kissing and then get interrupted by the phone or the door or the rain - indoors? - or other totally random stuff, like my having a head cold which was odd, and when one of us went to take care of the problem the other would wander away and we'd have to get organized again. My mother - don't ask what she was doing there since it was Tarzan's family - ran a radio station and was taking care of the kid in the studio while we were working on other things and we'd have to stop by periodically - on commercial breaks - to discuss things that I don't remember now. We must have done the circuit a half dozen times or so. The dream didn't really end, I sort of dissolved out during one of the interruptions and woke really disconcerted and out of place. I hate when the line between dream and life blurs. A minor consolation is that he was a good kisser...Any thoughts - any at all - as to what the *@^%$## is going on in my mind?

(We did spend some time with Tarzan's family - to see Grandpa who is amazingly hearty considering - last Sunday, but QC wasn't there and there was no kissing at all by anyone.)

The dentist's automated call service rang this morning to mention that they hadn't seen me in a while and did I want to schedule an appointment. I am really beginning to wonder about the record keeping abilities of this new place, though they do good work. I have had zero issues with the new crown. It's like it's not even there, and I appreciate that.

And while we're on the subject of my health care providers, I went to the ophthalmologist yesterday. He is a very different sort of doctor to all the rest that I have. They're all friendly and matter of fact, but the others stick to medical topics, except for my general physician, the one I have to see for a referral to the specialists, he mentions outside life once in a while. But my ophthalmologist is very political and direct and outspoken. First time I ever saw him, he walked in and asked what I thought about gun control. Not a hello, or a check to see if I was the right patient even, just, what did I think about gun control. Once I went in December, so I was wearing my Santa hat, which has USC on the front, and Trojans on the back. As the door is behind the patient chair, he thought I was advertising a very different corporation. The first time we met, he caught me off guard and I'm sure he thought I was a brainless chick, but now I know what to expect and I can give it back as well as he, so we had a nice chat yesterday about socializing medical care and what the new president is able to do about it and he had what I thought was an interesting idea - mostly because it had crossed my mind before - and how we could fix all the country's problems if a good person could be dictator for six months and set all the systems up that would make the people cared for and efficient and then let it go back to a democracy once everything was working well. As an aside, my eyes are great and he's really surprised considering how long I've been a diabetic and keep it up, thanks, see you in a year. He's a kick.

Big news! Stephanie J. Block's CD is finally out! It's called "This Place I Know" and I don't think I can tell you how excited I am. I reeeeally want to just buy it right now so I can have it, but then if I wait, someone will give it to me for my birthday or Christmas and that will solve many dilemmas all at once. Decisions, decisions.

This is me, mentioning nearly every subject of my 500 posts at least once today.

Not For The Faint Of Heart

*****Author's Note: For those of you who recoil at the word 'injection,' this post is not for you.*****
It occurred to me last night that one changes gradually.
Duh, say you.
I know. This is not an earth shattering revelation.
But I am struck by it's simplicity at the oddest of moments. For example, last night, I was trying to inject myself (with insulin) in the middle of a baseball game with only a sweater to cover my lap. I had to give up the effort after a few near misses and realizing I couldn't see if there were air bubbles in the syringe. (This is bad, by the way, what with the possibility of dying if the air gets to one's heart and all...) So I went to the restroom - missing one of the few moments of action of the night I may add - and as I completed the task I was reminded of another moment, at the beach during the ASKR #2, when I had another injection (of insulin) to perform and the difference in the locations. Say what I will about public restrooms, the ones at the baseball stadium were worlds better than the ones at the beach. There was no place to put my purse down.- the floor was wet of course, and no lid for the toilet and no shelf because who brings anything to the beach that can't go in the standing water on the grimy concrete floor? So I was holding my purse against the (less) grimy wall with my hip, the pouch under one arm and tried to draw the syringe up AND inject myself all in the dim light that passes for illumination in a beach bathroom. I was actually quite pleased with the facilities at the stadium. Clean and lit. It was marvelous.
And lest you think I have lost my mind I do remember what I was talking about earlier in this post and why. Once upon a time I would not have thought of injecting myself anywhere other than my own room with the drapes AND door closed, the cats evicted to the outdoors, the temperature a constant 76 degrees with no phone calls expected for at least the next two hours. Then and only then would I consider it. Now I'm whipping it out all over The Jungle with no real worries except getting arrested. How far have I come?

This is me, shooting up anywhere.

Thumb-ness

And that is why Tom Bergeron is such a good host. I like Marlee and I think she did a good job up until the recent dances where she had to dance alone. It's totally logical. I mean, she's deaf. But I also liked her determination and her attitude. She genuinely - or enough so that it fooled me which I admit is not a difficult task - was happy for other couples and there was no guile when she said good bye last night. Unlike Shannon and Derek and their newly seen attitude which greatly annoyed me. I think they are the first couple to ever begrudge another pair their scores. On live television no less. Thankfully they apologized, but really. You can't take that sort of stuff back. The Riverdance number was awesome and I have to salute the Macy's Stars of Dance series for getting all types of dancers.
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I went to the doctor yesterday for the consultation about my "trigger finger-that-is-actually-a-thumb" and with no warning whatsoever got my first injection of Cortisone. On the good side it didn't burn nearly as much as I had been told (thanks ever-so for those nightmares chellochice!); on the bad side I was totally unprepared to get a shot. I don't like getting shots. You would think, being diabetic as I am and having three injections a day for nearly 20 years would make me immune to getting stuck, but no. Actually the opposite is true. I can control the needle stick - and hence the pain - when I do it myself. I have no idea what those fly-by-night nurses are going to do when they get going. And doctors don't even give shots that often so they are obviously out of practice. I love how they apologize for it hurting. Like that's going to make me less likely to cry on their desk.
All in all it wasn't too bad. I felt it, but the anesthetic kicked in quick and the hardest part to deal with was not feeling my thumb for an hour. Weird; weirder than Novocaine at the dentist.

This is me, hoping it works.

Time To Get Serious

It's so weird how one day we can be literally dying of heat exhaustion and the next day need blankets and slippers because it's - not cold - but not hot anymore. The very next day. Weird. I blame global warming.

Sad to say, I'm a bit of a hypochondriac. Well I don't know if it's sad to say or not, but it's true. And sometimes it's annoying. It comes from being a diabetic I suspect. I don't post very often about being a diabetic for a number of reasons - the first being I have Type I diabetes which is TOTALLY different from having Type II. Most people do not know, or care, about the difference so I get a lot of well meaning suggestions like - "there's a new pill out that cures diabetes"..."fish oil cures diabetes"..."acupuncture cured my [insert mother, grandmother, second cousin twice removed who lives in Uzbekistan] with diabetes, you should try it"...Well maybe, but not really. What those things might do is control and remove the factors that cause non-insulin dependant diabetes where the lifestyle of the patient keeps their pancreas from working correctly or completely. My pancreas is kaput. It has been kaput since I was 5 years old, before I HAD a lifestyle. My immune system decided that my pancreas was bad news and took it out before it tried to subjugate the entire body. (Thank you OH so much immune system! Nothing like an overactive imagination in an immune system to do you in.) So. Nothing you suggest to me will "cure" it. Another reason I don't talk/post about it a lot is because when people know they look at me differently. And not in a good way. Everything I eat is questioned. "Are you allowed to eat that?" "Are you eating [that] because you're in insulin shock?" "[randomly related persons] can't have "x" so why are you eating it?" My moods are subjected to scrutiny. If I'm grouchy it's because my "sugars" are too low, or too high. If I'm happy it's the same. Everything is because I am diabetic, and while on some level this is true, it's also not. I am more than the disease. I can be grouchy because the office sucked or because I'm tired or because nosey people won't let me alone! What also bugs me are the horror stories of the [randomly related person] who lost a finger, toe, foot, leg, kidney, eye, hand, whatever to diabetes and is that why I wear glasses? What do I say to that? I'm sorry, that's tough, now go away? I don't say that, but I think it. Sure, amputation is a possibility but these people they tell me about are usually 70+ years of age (often Type II which we already discussed), back when insulin was made from cows and pigs, if they even HAD insulin. (Discovered in 1921-22, in Canada interestingly enough.) Medical technology has come a long way since 1922. In fact there is a serious chance for a cure being worked on with islet cells being coated and transplanted. It's fascinating stuff. In the meantime however I am seeing my doctor(s) regularly, I am doing everything they suggest, I am at peace with it and I can't give it to you. So leave me the freak alone about it! No really, what I do is try to be understanding and try to not yell and I don't tell a lot of people.
Why am I breaking the silence now you ask? Interesting question. I don't really know except that lately I have noticed my susceptibility to blogs and that prompted today's opening statement about being a hypochondriac. Which started the explanation of why I might be one. Part of it is that I am a diabetic and we are at risk for EVERYthing. Seriously. Heart disease, kidney disease, gum disease, stroke, foot problems, eye problems, depression, colds, hangnails - I'm more likely to have any of those than Tarzan is. And it's extra more bad for me if I do. So this makes me more paranoid about things. When my foot falls asleep after my sitting on it for an hour at the office I wonder "is this the start of foot problems." This tooth thing has been driving me crazy on multiple levels because of the gum disease issue. And Tarzan, bless his heart, totally freaked me out the other night. An eyelash dropped into my eye when we were watching TV and it hurt so I jumped and had to work it out. He asked if sugar was building up in my eye that would lead to eventual blindness. Um. What am I supposed to do with that honey? First, why would he think of that as the first reason my eye hurt? And then why mention that to me - knowing that could be a real consequence someday? And thirdly, does he not remember that I just went to the opthamologist who said that my eyes "were great. Nothing to worry about?" Give me one more thing to freak out over, okay?!
Anyway, so I am a bit paranoid about things to begin with. Lately, my interest in blogs has led me into some interesting places and subjects. If the person writes compellingly I will read it, no matter the subject. Dooce, I don't always agree with, most often I don't, but she's SO funny. Julie is very practical, which I like, and I read three or four blogs at Redbook. As I started to read and become 'involved' in these lives I started to wonder and then perceive their experiences onto myself. Suddenly I wonder if I'm infertile? What kind of treatment will we need? How far will we go to have kids? Will I have multiple babies? Preclampsia, breach, a C-section? What will we do about selective reduction? What will we name the kids? Stuff I totally don't need to worry about right now. No reason to think any of it will happen to us, no history of it.
I found Snickollet recently and now I'm all about the cancer, wondering if I have it? Does Tarzan? Will we get it? Are we at risk? What is that bump? A pimple or skin cancer? Was that mole here or over there yesterday? Is that my cold hanging on still or should I have it checked out? What if it's pneumonia?
I hadn't noticed how susceptible I am to the power of suggestion. I should probably never be hypnotized.
My, that was a long winded way of saying I'm a freak.

This is me, a little too blog-centric.