Sunday Weigh-In: Round 3

Worry not. Next week, I shall come roaring back. It will be Easter Sunday and, appropriately, you will see a second resurrection that morning in addition to Christ's.

The Shot Heard Around Shaker Heights

Yesterday was a normal day for most people. A typical fall day with Halloween costume chatting, and leaf raking commencing...a very normal day indeed.

And yet, a raging two month mental battle also ended yesterday with my wondering over whether or not to get the h1n1 shot.

I'm fairly knowledgeable about the issue. Research is one of my specialties and I spared no pamphlet or website when absorbing the pros and cons of vaccinations for pregnant women. Despite my insides telling me that regardless what I choose, I will likely be fine, my housemate seems to be a magnet for all local and national news reporting bad news about the swine flu. Steeped in worry, Nick passes the information along to me as if I need more momentum to swing me back and forth in my decision.

To get or not to get the h1n1 flu shot is risky. It's risky either way, I saw it, and in the end, seeing how slow my body was recovering from a simple, albeit nasty, cold and cough, convinced me that I probably should go ahead and get stuck by the needle.

So, after work yesterday Nick and I made plans to get to the middle school where they were administering round #2 of the vaccine. I imagined it was going to take hours, Nick disagreed. Of course I was right.

But before I took the shot in my arm, I felt like I had to confess something to Nick. A deep, dark secret welling inside me like a balloon. I looked up at him in the kitchen over chopping Bok Choy and green beans for dinner and announced,"I realized today I have been stalling to get the shot because I think if anything goes wrong with the vaccination and hurts Isaiah, I'm afraid I'm going to blame you for the rest of our lives."

There. I said it.

Nick had a confession as well. "Last week, when you were sick, all I kept thinking was that if you had the flu and something happened to Isaiah, I was going to blame you for not getting the shot for the rest of our lives, too."

Immediately, I brightened, "Really? We were ready to blame each other for the rest of our lives? This sounds demented, but I feel SO much better!"

We hugged.

Now that our confessions were confessed, we headed to the middle school and saw the lines wrapping around the building. It took several minutes to find parking and finally got in line. It felt something like a combination of the lines at Cedar Point, a huge pediatrician's office with a million kids running around, and a gigantic holiday sale where they haven't opened the doors yet and make you wait outside.

In other words, it was hell.

Immoveable and inflexible situations are prime time conversation periods for me and Nick. The possibilities were endless. We had hours to wait, so talked about numerous things:

Nick's Topics: the lack of efficiency when it came to setting up the lines (half the people were waiting outside when the whole middle school could have been utilized), his brainfart that he did not bring a heavier coat, how people were supposed to "prove" if you were on the priority list (pregnant people are kind of obvious, but healthcare workers? ), and other issues relating to orderliness and publicity.

I was fairly single-issue minded: WHY ISN'T THERE A SEPARATE LINE FOR PREGNANT WOMEN?

Seriously.

No chairs. Standing out in the chilly air with children running amok.

A thought occured to me and I shared it with Nick, "Do you think that it's slightly ironic and even more slightly idiotic that they make us stand outside in the cold with a bunch of screaming children with no heat or chairs so we can get vaccinated for the FLU?"

The women behind me had a stroller for her perfectly big 6 or 7 year old. She was not careful with the wheels and kept rolling over the back of my foot. I was feeling a bit snappy but bit my tongue countless times. After all, she'd be right behind me for God knows how long.

We make it inside only to wait another hour or so. A volunteer took pity on my very pregnant state and asked if I wanted a chair. I nodded gratefully.

So, Nick held my place in line while I sat for about 20 minutes, giving my back and feet a rest. Watching Nick, I just shook my head while he made friends in line - chatting with people in front and behind him - and even helping a stranger get their stroller down the stairs. What a good samaritan. All I kept thinking of was how much I wanted a Twix bar.

I got back in line with Nick and discovered he'd made his own h1n1 support group in line. Everyone was offering us advice on birthing, breastfeeding, sleeping, pain meds, and Hillcrest Hospital where we'd be deliverying Isaiah. It was nice to be talking, inside the building and shielded from the cold, but my energy had depleted and I just wanted to get it over with.

Surprisingly, Nick was able to get a shot as well, thanks to Isaiah's due date of 1.1.10, Nick qualified as a parent with a child less than 6 months.

Then came the time to decide whether to get nasal mist or the needle.

Another decision. Not my specialty.

The nasal mist is the activated vaccine. It has no mercury.
The needle is the inactivated vaccine with mercury to keep it germ free.

My only question was, "So where's the INACTIVATED vaccine with NO MERCURY?"

One of the volunteers replied, "They are just starting to make that now, but we have no idea if or when those will ever come to the Cleveland area."

Awesome.

So, loaded with all different kids of information pamphlets on brightly colored paper, we got in line - Nick in the nasal line, me in the needle line.

And within 3 minutes, it was over.

How can one seemingly simple decison be so complicated and anxiety-ridden?

As someone said to me, "Welcome to parenting."

Germaphobe

Kinda like how that little kid in The Sixth Sense said, "I see dead people," in that freaky whisper, confiding to Bruce Willis his longtime secret and hidden power, that's pretty much how I want to tell you

I see germs and bacteria.

Everywhere.

I'm becoming neurotic about washing my hands and walking 10 feet behind any living thing that I think looks pale, sounds raspy, or coughs into a shirt sleeve.

All this worrying is justified.

Yesterday, I woke up with a slight tickle in the back of my throat. By 11am, it had moved into a dry cough and irritating the hell out of me. (Coughing means I am constantly holding my belly and trying not to jostle Isaiah around as much.) By 6pm, scheduled to stay later for work, I sent an email to my boss explaining that my cough was getting worse, felt like my head was compressing, and felt a little warm on my forehead.

It could be a number of things. It could be a common cold. It could be the erratic change in climate (40-50s to high 60s in one day?). It could be the annual visit from the bronchitis family that loves to descend onto my lungs once the weather provides an easy transport. It could be the damn space heater in our bedroom that dries the room out. It could be that my office swings from sauna to freezer every other day. It could be that my hand sanitizer obsession is proving futile in the wake of GERM SEASON 2009. It could be something Nick brought home from hanging out with high school kids with youth ministry. (Yeah, I know - blame the spouse!) It could be...anything.

I don't know.

So, I do what most people do when they're in the limbo of sick and well -- commiserate on the couch and think of the worst possible situations while flipping between Dancing with the Stars and the ALCS between the Angels and Yanks.

The worst thing is I feel stripped of energy yet unable to sleep.

To make team Borchers/Factora-Borchers even more hapless these days, Nick's ear problems have returned with a vengeance. His ear is ringing, making his head feel like it's going to explode each night and thus scheduling an appointment with an ear doctor. It never ceases to infuriate me how LONG it takes for ear doctors to understand that Nick is in a lot of discomfort and needs to be seen NOW. Not now-ish, or next week, but NOW. As in yesterday; that kind of now.

But he scheduled it last week and still has to wait until Monday. Until then, I try not to talk as loud or as much (that's hard when I want to tell him all about my lungs and Isaiah's latest acrobatic stunts), but we're managing.

We're still keeping ourselves busy. Nick is caulking the outdoor windows and I'm registering us for a bunch of baby classes and tours of the facility where I'll be delivering. As thrilling as, "Baby Basics," and "A Night with the Anesthesiologist" classes sounds, we're not very exited over a jam packed November of classes and learning.

I keep thinking that people have become really effective and good parents by good ol' fashion living and learning. Why do we have to go to these classes?

"Because we don't know anything about anything," says Nick.

In the end, I concur, "It's probably a good idea to figure out how to use a car seat, I guess."

Is the World Ready?

Everyone who knows keeps asking, "Are you ready?"

And all I keep thinking, "Are WE ready? It's more like is the WORLD ready for another human who is 1/2 me and 1/2 Nick?"

Yes, friends, family, and loved ones, the day has finally arrived, if you haven't already guessed from small leaks (or as Nick would say, "...the weakest links in our circuit of family and friends,") that we are expecting a little one to grace our lives and expand the family. I am pregnant!

Oh, the anticipation...oh the relief of FINALLY being able to blog and write about the past 9 weeks.

Let me tell you, keeping a secret is just not my thing, especially when it's so joyous!

Roughly 7 weeks ago, I knew I was pregnant even before those stick tests told me so. Here were the big clues:

1) I've been a deep sleeper since I was born. I can sleep through a hurricane. Out of nowhere, I start waking up in the middle of the night, uncomfortable.

2) I start getting horrible abdominal gas pains and my body is bloated like a marshmallow.

3) Everything, even the taste of water, is bitter and tastes like liver in my mouth.

4) I feel, how shall you say, different.

I just freaking knew. I mean, I just knew. But 6 pregnancy tests later, it was confirmed and what a day it was....

It was a Sunday. I woke up at 6am because I couldn't sleep (remember clue #1) and Nick woke up about an hour later to find me sitting up in bed, thinking. I took the test and left the stick in the bathroom, yelling at Nick to get out of the bathroom, "WE WON'T LOOK AT IT! WE WON'T LOOK AT IT! IT'LL BE TORTURE! LET'S GO TO ANOTHER ROOM FOR TWO MINUTES!"

So we go to the bedroom and pace the floor. Well, Nick paces the floor and starts blabbering about the 101 reasons why the test could be false negative and we should look at the chances of it being wrong and how we should definitely take another one tomorrow and how so many factors could disrupt the accuracy of the results...When Nick is reasoning aloud really fast, he makes me even more nervous because he's never nervous.

When two minutes are up, I charge into the bathroom and see a very large PLUS sign and worldlessly go up to the Papa to be and present the test two feet above my head, aka, Nick's eye level. Never, in all the years I've loved Nick, ever saw his face look so purely joyous and excited (not even when he married me, imagine that...). We didn't say a word, just hugged for a long time while I started to cry of course.

Then we flopped ourselves on our bed and were quiet. Finally, I broke out and said, "So, there's a baby inside me and we're gonna be parents."

Nick flops over to look at me, "I know, it's crazy isn't it?"

"Crazy? Try insane and unthinkable. WE. US. WE ARE GOING TO BE PARENTS. Like, a life is OUR responsibility."

But nothing could taint our joy, disbelief, and excitement.

Nick left for El Salvador two days after our big news and it was torture not to tell anyone. So I burned the secret to my sister, Christina here in Cleveland, and my mom. I was DYING to tell someone and Nick was gone for 5 days. I just couldn't wander the world without anyone to share it with.

We've had two doctors appointments and everything looks excellent. We already heard the baby's heartbeat and are floored by each little miracle of our little pinto bean growing inside me. It's so wonderful and simultaneously terrifying.

A lot of people wonder how we told people so early. Our doctors warned us that we shouldn't spill the beans until the 11th week or so. Nick and I thought awhile about that and then finally came to our conclusion: understandably, you don't want to get everyone excited when there's such a chance of miscarriage. But, all the people in our lives who we trust and would want to know we had a miscarriage would also want to know if we were pregnant. The same people we'd turn to in times of sadness are the same people we'd turn to share our miracle. And so we decided to tell folks around 6 weeks and pray for a safe journey for our little one.

We tried to tell as many people face to face as we could, but alas, life is complicated and news travels fast.

Little Pinto is expected to come into the world January 1, 2010.

So, like I said...it's not a matter if WE'RE ready, but is the world ready?

Get on the Train

Thanks be to God for the glory of spring. But, why God, why, must the lush green beauty come at such a price to my health?

My throat and nose are clogged with green as well. It's just disgusting and not the lush kind green outside, but the sick, disgusting kind that come with colds, sore throats, and infections. GROSS. I hate germs. Like, more than you ever will or can possibly fathom. I HATE things that are in the family of centipedes, bacteria, sickness, and contamination. And fungus.

But, as the die hard Cavs fan that I have grown to be, my sickness did not preclude me from going to Christina and Brian's house (pretty much Nick and my best buds here in Cleveland) to watch Game 2 of the Cavs/Magic of the Eastern Conference NBA finals.

Just as in game 1, I start off pumped and make all kinds of significant commentary about the lewd history of Marv Albert. And then I fall asleep at half time while Nick massages my feet and talks stats with Brian. I wake up with 3 minutes left of the 4th quarter and blast the Cavs for blowing yet another large lead. And then LeBron makes a LeBeautiful 3 point shot at the buzzer and I forget I have bronchitis and scream to the heavens. And the four of us high five each other. NOTE: We're not high fiving kinds of people. That's how pumped we were.

The one thing I could not get over and kept pointing out as much as the marvelous physique of Dwight Howard, is how Stan Van Gundy (head coach of the Magic) has a striking resemblance to JOHN LOVITZ. I mean, seriously.

This is Me on Drugs

I had surgery yesterday.

I am in recovery now, about 60% "with it" as the anesthesia continues to wear off and the painkillers begin after the upteenth trip to the pharmacy.

Let me explain.

Back in 1999, the summer before my junior year at Xavier, I had a big surgery, the kind where they actually open you up, to remove ovarian tumors and cysts that were causing sharp abdominal pain. After biopsy, the report read BENIGN and confirmed they were dermoid tumors - relatively harmless, usually benign, but complicating the life of women like me nonetheless. I fully recovered and healed and went on my merry way of life.

After I got back from the Philippines, I went hunting for a good doctor and went through the whole assessment testing, which included an ultrasound given my medical record. According to my results, things looked a little fuzzy around my ovaries again and my doctor began consulting with a specialist. Nick and I started meeting with doctors over the past two months and they recommended Laparoscopy to take a look inside and remove anything that shouldn't be there - scar tissue from my previous surgery and these new growths that are being spotted again.

Laparoscopy pretty much reminds me of a three armed Inspector Gadget like person sticking one hand - camera and flashlight device - right below my belly button, and then two hands on each side of my waist which are like robotic hands to manipulate my organs and remove anything the doctor deems problematic.

Simple enough.

So, around October, my doctors told me I'd probably need this but a billion reasons to wait came up. First I needed to do additional appointments with another doctor who would be doing the surgery. That took 5 weeks. And then December started getting crowded. And then no operating rooms were available. And then insurance compatibility came into question. And then Sunday night I had 102 temp with a case of strep. With antibiotics, the doctor at urgent care wasn't sure if I'd be able to have surgery. We placed a frantic call to my doctor/surgeon. He said as long as we tell the anesthesiolgist, we should be ok.

FINALLY though, it all came to fruition yesterday. After all the months of waiting and getting sick earlier this wake, it was finally here.

My surgery was scheduled for Wednesday, December 17 at 1:30 and we arrived an hour early like they suggested. I had been so ready for this surgery, I didn't really feel all that nervous and I knew it wasn't go to be as extensive as the one I had almost 10 years ago. So, Nick and I hung out, admiring my name on the wipe board and gave the socially awkward nurse a new name - George. One, he looked like George Kostanza from Seinfeld and two he was a bit like George O'Malley from Grey's Anatomy.

Dr. Liu, the chairman of some uber important department at Case Western and supposedly the best in his field, was my surgeon. Grateful isn't a strong enough word when you have excellent healthcare and benefits. While he doesn't have a lick of Dr. McDreamy/Patrick Demsey in him, he was a thorough and surprisingly giggling doctor. At first, I was taken aback by his constant smiling and small laughs that followed everything he said, but Nick seemed to like it. He thinks anytime a doctor is not somber it shows your case is not that serious.

The nurse looked disapprovingly at my nose and said, "You'll have to take out all body piercings," but her look said, "WHY DO YOU YOUNG PEOPLE HAVE TO BE SO RADICAL?"
I asked if there was anyway to keep it in because I was afraid of the hole closing. You'd think from the look she gave me that I asked for a push of crack before I went under.

Anyway, the narcotics and drugs started pouring in around 1:50pm and the last thing I remember is watching a needle go in and a doctor's voice say, "this is a narcotic, it's going to feel like I gave you a shot of tequila..." and Nick saying, "Oh, it won't take much, believe me..." and then laughter. I felt my eyes roll into the back of my skull and the doctor yelp, "Woah!" as I slumped and don't remember anything else.

I awoke as they were prepping me in the O.R. and noticed it was all men fussing over me and tucking in my arms really tight at my side and wrapping me with blankets. I wished someone would talk to me as I started seeing little shapes in the air float around. One of the last things Nick said to me was that if his mom had been there as the nurse, she definitely would've talked to the patient, but everyone was too busy being nurse, doctor, or anesthesiologist to make small chatter. Too bad.

Then I was knocked out again.

I awoke to a nurse calling my name and feeling like a train ran over me. She was asking if felt alright and I nodded thickly, wanting to see Nick but not having ability to move. Something was up my nose and I felt like I was the only person in the hospital.

She leaned over and semi-yelled, "Would you like to take a nap?"

I tried to muster the strength to yell back, "Yeah if you stop screaming in my ear. I had tumors removed from my ovaries not my ears." But I just nodded and went back into a dream world.

I awoke to find Nick and my sister. And something in my right eye.
I could barely talk or walk to the bathroom, but felt like there was a grain of sand tucked behind my eyelid.

It was around 8pm by now and I thought I'd be home by 6pm. It was taking much longer than we anticipated. It was right around that time when I realized I was hungry. I wasn't permitted to eat since dinner the last night and felt weak and nauseated from my empty stomach. Nick placed a graham cracker on my lips and I took a bite.

It might have been the drugs. It may have been the fact I was so hungry I could have eaten a hippo, but I tell you, that graham cracker exploded on my tongue with flavors I've never experienced. The honey and sugar melted all over my tongue and coated my dry mouth. And the ginger ale! The sweetness waved over my teeth and I thought it tasted like heaven. My taste buds were reborn. I wanted to savor it.

In the meanwhile, lovely nurse Julia who I didn't rename because I liked her pulled some doctor from boofoo to look at my eye. The pain was worsening and he took one look and said I'd have to see an opthamologist to diagnose it. Thanks genius. I think my 3 year old nephew could have given that medical advice. The best part is that he was walking away as he said it. Nice attitude.

He came back and said to the nurse, "Well, just say that I examined her and it could be something. It could be nothing. You won't be able to find an opthamologist at this hour (harr, harr, he laughed - what the hell is so funny about that? I have a grain of sand in the back of my eye - how comfortable do you think THAT is)."

The he says, "Maybe conjunctivitis."

That's when I said in my head to myself because my lips were immobile, "Get this fool out of here. Even I know it's not pink eye and why in the hell would I have pink eye after I wake up after surgery."

He looked at me for once, "How do you feel?"

Pissed off at this Dr. Faux, "Terrible."

Lovely nurse Julia privately didn't like the doctor either. She kept saying it wasn't right to send me home in pain if it was caused by my surgery and didn't give me meds for it. She proceeds to call all these different doctors - all of whom, I'm sure - are eating their roast beef dinners in their condos or lake front houses. Dr. Liu, my surgeons is finally reached and gives a possible diagnosis that makes sense: corneal abrasion.

During the procedure it's possible that my right eye wasn't completely closed and without the lubricating protection of a blink or being fully closed, the gas used to pump up my body during the procedure had caused slight damage.

Fine. More drugs.

At this point, I feel old.

The eye drops feel like I threw rubbing alcohol into my eye and I nearly screamed in shock when they coated my eye. Nurse Julia, "Yeah, that's definitely an abrasion if it hurts." Great.

More drugs to combat nausea.

More graham cracker heaven and ginger ale.

We drive home.

It takes me eons to get on the living room couch and ask Nick for a strange compilation of foods: graham crackers, milk, peanut butter, banana. mashed potatoes, green bean.

I have no idea what that's about, but he writes everything down and jets off to the store while I am falling asleep sitting up.

The drugs are messing with my brain. I wake up three times with my arms in front of me, wacking the air and vision of neon parakeets flying in front of my face. I'm yelling, "No! No!"

Poor Nick has to deal with his psychotic wife who has delusions of a parakeet and needs mashed potatoes.

This is the prognosis that Nick gave me from my doctor:
The surgery was much more complicated than expected, but it was successful. There was considerable scar tissue from my previous surgery which took a long time to remove. Small dermoids were removed from my right and one larger one was removed from my left. The procedure, which he first estimated to take 1 hr and fifteen minutes took over two and a half. Poor Nick was in the waiting room with no one informing him of what was taking so long until George Kostanza/O'Malley came in to tell him everything went well. That was five minutes before the doctor came though. Nice effort, George.

So, right now, I'm in a lot of pain and keeping my mind busy so I don't think about it.
We thank everyone for their support and prayers. Recovery time should be about two weeks. I'll be able to travel for the holiday but will be sitting most of the time and steering clear from the stairs.

And just as 2009 arrives, I'll be as good as new.

Again, thanks to all for their prayers and well-wishes. Once I'm off the drugs, I can thank you properly in person.