Year Two!

Another year has come and gone... my baby girl is two!
(here's a link to last year's answers to see how much has changed in just one year)

YEAR TWO:

How old are you? This many *holds up two fingers*

What is your nickname? Still nothing consistent- sweet potato and sweet pea have remained, in addition to: boo, honey, cutie pie, bug, little bug, and buggy

What is your favorite color? Not quite sure there's a favorite yet. Sometimes you call the black crayon "puppy" because that's the color daddy uses to draw Riley :)

What is your favorite animal? You really like looking for lizards (or "wizards"). Going to the zoo is your favorite thing to do, apparently. But you'll settle for a quick trip to the pet store to look at the fish.

What is your favorite book? Anything that is a book. "Hop on Pop" was your favorite for a majority of the year, and the first one that you memorized. 

What is your favorite TV show? You love "Bubble Guppies" "Yo Gabba Gabba" and the "Elmo's World" segment of "Sesame Street"

What is your favorite movie? You still haven't watched a full movie, and I don't think you really care.

What is your favorite song? Old McDonald. You make us sing it over and over again. And you don't want us to sing about the animals on Old McDonald's farm... oh, no. You want us to sing "and on that farm he had a mommy/daddy/Elmo/blanket/Chubby Bunny/fan/baby/etc." In your mind, Old McDonald's farm is full of your most treasured things, and it's pretty cute.

What is your favorite drink? Milk. It would probably be juice if we ever let you drink it, but it's very rare that you have it. We don't want you becoming a juice-head.

What is your favorite dinner? Macaroni and cheese, or, as you say, "mocky sheeze"

What is your favorite snack? Fruit pouches ALL DAY LONG. But you also rarely turn down yogurt or raisins.

What is your favorite outfit? You haven't become attached to clothes yet, thank goodness. You pretty much just wear what we put you in. For now.

What is your favorite game? You still like Peek-a-boo but the concept of a "game" hasn't really sunk in yet. 

What is your favorite toy? You love books more than anything, but also crayons, Mega Bloks, and you're really enjoying the Little People house we got you for your birthday.

Who is your best friend? Probably Grammy. But you do seem to like Mommy and Daddy these days.

What is your favorite thing to do? Read books! 

What is your favorite holiday? You don't really know what a holiday is, but we'll just go with Christmas on this one. 

What is your favorite thing to take to bed with you at night? Elmo. You HAVE to have your Elmo to sleep with, and you put the back of his head up to your mouth to soothe yourself. You also need your Chubby Bunny (sometimes called "Tubby"), two fluffy blankets (thanks, Daddy, for starting that), and one lightweight blanket because you like to be covered up, but it gets hot in your room.

Where is your favorite place to go? The zoo, the pool, the park, the pet store, and Target (Daddy takes you to Target every Tuesday and lets you read books)

Where do you want to go on vacation? Someplace with a zoo and a pool, would be my guess.

What do you want to be when you grow up? At this rate, you'll be a zoologist or a veterinarian. You LOVE animals.

What did you do on your birthday? We celebrated your birthday yesterday, since Daddy had to work today. So yesterday, we went shopping and bought you an Elmo balloon, gave you your presents (a Little People house, an Elmo t-shirt, an Elmo coloring book, an Elmo snack box, a new book), you ate a burrito for dinner and had a cupcake for dessert, but didn't like being messy and didn't eat much of it. Today, you spent the morning with Mommy and then spent the afternoon with Grammy and Pop so Mommy could go get your birthday party supplies and rest because I'm still recovering from surgery. Your birthday party is 7/12 :)

I Can't Win

I feel like death today.

Forgive me in advance if this post feels a little self-pitying. I try so hard to stay away from feeling sorry for myself, but good Lord these last few days have been nothing short of terrible.

Just when I started to feel like I had more energy and didn't have to walk around in an awkward position because of my swelly belly and incision pain, my body revolted.

My surgery was June 17th. On June 28th (a Saturday), I ended up back at the cancer center in their direct referral center (like an emergency room) because I was bleeding pretty profusely. Of course, by the time I arrived, the bleeding had mostly stopped. The doctors asked me if I had a bleeding disorder. Nope. Are you sure? Yes. Did you have heavy menstrual periods? Yes, but only because of the 1920987456 issues with my reproductive system. Frequent nosebleeds? Nope. Bruising easily? NO. For the love of God I don't have a bleeding disorder!  After pulling a few golfball-sized blood clots out of me, the resident and fellow declared that everything was fine and my bleeding was normal. And then sent me on my merry way. I felt a little dismissed, and a little irritated that the amount of fresh blood leaving my body 11 days after surgery was deemed normal. I went home and rested a bit.

The next day was hubby's 30th birthday, and I felt awful that I couldn't make it a special day for him. I opted to let him sleep in, and watched the baby for the majority of the day for him, but I felt pretty ok. Exhausted, but ok. The next day, hubby returned to work and my in-laws watched the baby for me so I could rest. It was much needed, because I was in a decent amount of pain all day. I was getting discouraged that it seemed to be taking so much longer for me to heal than I had anticipated. The next day was fine, but again, I felt pretty tired and was in some pain. I was also "spotting" or bleeding just a tiny bit, but nothing dramatic.

My 2-week post-op appointment was scheduled for Wednesday July 2nd. Between 6/28 (when I went to the hospital for bleeding) and 7/2, I had bouts of bleeding that would increase, and then suddenly decrease. I didn't think much of it, but was tired of all the blood. During my post-op appointment, the doctor decided to take a look and found an area of active bleeding, which she said was "unusual" for two weeks after surgery. She cauterized it with silver nitrate and omg it sucked so bad. I remember her saying "this might sting a little" and it did sting a little. Then it stung A LOT. Having been traumatized so many times over the last few months, I feel generally dizzy and lightheaded any time I'm being examined in the first place. Add some pain to that situation and I felt like I was going to pass out. But I didn't, and it was over pretty quickly, although she used at least 6 silver nitrate sticks, which look like really long matches and also feel like someone is putting burning matches into you. So the appearance was appropriate.

I met hubby for lunch and kept having this awful shooting pain from where the silver nitrate was applied that shot up towards my belly button. I told hubby that I wasn't sure I'd be able to go grocery shopping if the pain continued and that I needed to go home and lie down. I got a new prescription for some non-narcotic pain meds, went home, and plopped into bed. The shooting pain continued, but I happily posted on Facebook that I was released from the cancer center because there was no evidence of invasion and therefore no need for further monitoring by the oncologist since all of my girly bits had been taken out. Woo! I could finally start to put this behind me. And then... I felt a gush. Eff.

Yep. I was bleeding again. **Here's the part you may want to skip if you're squeamish about blood. I called the doctor's office just before 3pm to explain that I had just been there earlier in the day but was now bleeding pretty badly. The nurse who took my call didn't seem to think it was that big of a deal, and said "hopefully someone will call you back today." After about an hour, I called back and spoke with someone else, who clearly understood my concern and went to find my doctor. At this point, I was at the "bleeding through a sanitary pad an hour" level of bleeding, which is the benchmark of "something is wrong." They called back and scheduled me an appointment for first thing the next morning, but told me I could go to the ER if I wanted to. This lady was incredibly sweet, and warned me to lie down for the rest of the night and she was hopeful that all of this awfulness would stop. If I was comfortable waiting and monitoring overnight, I could be examined in the morning. But if at any point I started to bleed through three pads an hour, I HAD to go to the ER. There was no choice if I got to that point. The direct referral beds were full when I spoke with them just before 5, so going back down to the cancer center wasn't an option. Being stubborn as I am, I told myself that there was no way I was going somewhere in the middle of the night, and certainly not going to the ER if at all possible. Hubby came home with the baby and got her ready for bed, and I tried my best to stay calm and lie down.

There's a level of panic that is unavoidable when your body is losing so much blood at one time. By about 9:30, I knew my plan of watching-and-waiting was out the window. I called the on-call doctor, who told me to wait another hour. If my bleeding continued at the level it was at, or got any worse, I was to call back and he would see if there was a bed available at the cancer center. An hour later, I called back. It hadn't gotten any better, and now I was getting scared. On top of being scared, I was in pain that was rapidly increasing. There was a bed available, and off we went (after my dear stepmother-in-law came over so someone was with the baby overnight). I remember feeling awful that we'd come back in the middle of the night and have to wake her up. I was wrong about that.

The ride to the cancer center takes about 45 minutes. I was in horrible pain the whole way, and terrified. I had been down this road twice before, but not like this. The bleeding was far worse, and there was incredible pain and pressure. I prayed that my insides weren't falling out (that can happen after a hysterectomy but do yourself a favor and don't google it). When we arrived and I got out of the car, I was greeted with a gush and warmth down my leg. Awesome, now I get to hobble into the hospital with blood all over my pants. They immediately got me into a room, and my attempts at staying calm were becoming futile. I was losing so much blood and was in so much pain that I couldn't think straight or form much of a complete thought. Luckily my nurse was a-maze-ing and made me feel at ease. He kept things lighthearted and refused to let me get crabby. Once I was all hooked up to the machines, the direct referral center's doctor came to see me. The nurse let him know that my blood pressure was 145/101 and my heart rate was 115. The doctor was cool as a cucumber, but clearly concerned at every stat they threw at him. Great. The doctor told me he'd let the gyn on-call do the exam, but was worried about my symptoms and blood loss and that, depending on the results of my labs, I may need a blood transfusion. Omg. Please no. I begged for something for the pain, and they gave me a tiny dose of morphine which did nothing at all.

When the gyn resident came in to see me, she told me she was going to examine me. I'll spare you the details, but there was blood everywhere. Like, everywhere. Even all over my shirt. One look, and the resident clearly knew this was beyond her ability and paged the on-call fellow. They gave me something stronger for the pain. When the fellow came in, things got hairy. The pain was so intense, and there was so much blood, that we didn't really get  very far. He felt my stitches were intact, but was really worried about how much blood I was losing. They decided to admit me for the night and do a CT scan to make sure there was no internal bleeding. It was almost 3am by the time they were done with examining me. I don't typically cry from pain, but I was hysterical after they were done- partly from pain, and partly from the trauma of the whole situation. Then they brought me my contrast solution to drink for my CT scan. I had my scan at about 4am, then finally got to my room. By then, the pain was gone. As it turns out, there was such a large volume of blood clots that it was putting some major pressure on my innards and causing me such great pain. So once the clots were pulled out, the pressure and pain went away. I finally got to try to sleep around 5am, but was up again at 6:30 and every hour after that with doctors and nurses coming in, asking me questions, and drawing blood.

For some unknown reason, the bleeding slowed way down on its own. The CT scan didn't show any internal bleeding (whew) but my hemoglobin and potassium levels crashed, so I had to stay overnight again. They gave me IV potassium which ruined any shred of comfort I finally had. My whole left arm felt like it was going to fall off, even after they slowed my infusion rate by half. The doctor finally agreed to let me eat (did I forget to mention that I hadn't eaten anything since a Greek yogurt at 9pm, and before that was just the lunch I ate with hubby after my appointment?) at about 1pm on 7/3 and they discontinued the potassium via IV, and opted for potassium pills instead. Hallelujah. I went downstairs for another exam, but only after being given oral Ativan and IV dilaudid to calm me the hell down before my exam. The doctor got smart, realizing how traumatized I've been over the last few months of lying on tables having massive blood clots pulled from my body. The exam went well and the doctor patched me up, and felt confident that my bleeding was done, at least for now. After the Dilaudid and Ativan combined with the complete lack of sleep from the night before, I was pretty much dead to the world from about 7:30pm until the next morning. I was finally free to go home in the morning on 7/4. Happy 4th of July to me.

I don't have a bleeding disorder. They tested my blood clotting three different times and all was normal. So no one has any idea why I've bled so badly so many times after these last two surgeries. Upon exam, the area that was bleeding was so tiny, that it really didn't explain why I bled so much.

I lost about 10% of my blood volume in just a few hours. My hemoglobin dropped from 13 (when I arrived at the hospital) to less than 10 by the next morning. My body reacted in some pretty dramatic ways- My white blood cell count shot up in response to the amount of blood I was losing, and my pelvic lymph nodes swelled. My body was preparing for the worst and sending in the troops to fight the battle.

I slept for about two hours yesterday afternoon. I still feel awful... I'm nauseated, exhausted, and weak. If I stand up too quickly, I feel dizzy and lightheaded. My arms and legs feel heavy, yet I look like a frail old woman; I've lost about 6 pounds since my surgery, and I was already slightly underweight to begin with. The last few days are pretty much a blur.

I'm hoping it's not long before my energy level returns... I'm supposed to return to work in a week or two. That's if I don't start bleeding again. Hmph.

Factory Closed

It's over. It's done. It's out. My uterus has left the building.

As was the case from my last post-surgery post (from the day after my cone biopsy), please pardon this possibly-incoherent blog entry as I'm currently under the influence of narcotics.

We arrived at the cancer center bright and early- 5:15am. Ugh. We got all signed in, and then the waiting game began... consisting of answering the same questions repeatedly: "are you allergic to any medications? Allergic to latex? Do you have any dentures or removable devices in your mouth?" etc. The only thing I was looking forward to was my nice dose of Versed before they wheeled me into the OR. The PACU nurse injected me with Lidocaine prior to putting in my IV line, and wouldn't you figure, she got it on the first try without digging around. For my cone biopsy, I asked if they could use Lidocaine and they said they usually don't use it, and then proceeded to blow two veins and dig around like crazy. Ouch. Oh well, my IV line went into my left hand without a hitch and I didn't even feel it. Score. So after meeting with the anesthesiologist, nurses, doctors, and everyone else in the whole building (or so it seemed), I got my happy meds, kissed hubby goodbye, and was wheeled into the OR. Things got pretty fuzzy... I somewhat remember getting onto the operating table and trying to wiggle into the right position and them putting the oxygen mask on me, but that's about it.

I woke up in post-op after a long struggle to regain consciousness. I've been under anesthesia four other times and have never had such a hard time waking up, but then again I'd never been under for that long before. After my other operations, they'd wait until I was pretty well awake before wheeling me into my recovery room, but this time I was sent up to my room while I was still unbelievably groggy. I vaguely remember the feeling of relief when the nurse said she was taking out my catheter before she took me up to my room (hooray!) and I also remember her wheeling my bed around the corner and me seeing my husband standing in the hallway smiling at me. The next few hours were hazy.

The doctor told my husband that my surgery went exceptionally well and was one of the easiest hysterectomies she's done. There were no complications whatsoever and the doctor toyed with the idea of sending me home that day (!!!!) but apparently decided against it. It's fine- I wasn't quite ready to go home anyways. It was comforting to have nurses available to shoot me up with Dilaudid when the pain got to be unbearable.

Since I had to do a bowel prep the day before surgery, I was understandably hungry a few hours after surgery, but my mouth was so dry that eating was uncomfortable. I was able to eat some diced peaches and a few bites of salad, but that was about it. I was able to eat a little better when dinner time rolled around, and was beyond thrilled to eat the ice cream I ordered. Seriously- there is nothing on earth that is better than ice cream after surgery. The dry mouth combined with the throat pain from being intubated is miserable, but ice cream makes it all better :)

I didn't sleep well the first night. It was a combination of being on Percocet (can't sleep well when I take it), being in pain, and trying to sleep in a hospital. When the nurse came with more meds around 3am, I asked for something different so I could sleep. She offered me some more Dilaudid, which somewhat did the trick. She also told me that the doctor wrote a script for Ambien but it was too late for that... yea, no. I've heard too many stories about that stuff. The last thing I want is to take it for the first time while I'm surrounded by strangers in a hospital. Knowing me, I'd wander out of my room and try break dancing in the middle of the hallway in my hospital gown and not remember it.

I was discharged the morning after my surgery and felt reasonably ok. The tech removed both IV lines and I didn't even feel it, which is either a testament to her skill, or a sign of how strong my pain meds are. Or probably both. They put a second IV line in my right hand while I was under anesthesia, which I later found out was so that they could have a bigger line just in case they needed to deliver certain kinds of medications that can only go through a bigger gauge. They very clearly missed twice in my wrist and were successful in my right hand. SO glad that I wasn't awake to experience that. But imagine my surprise when I lifted my right hand for the first time and found an IV line in it...

Having had two laparoscopic abdominal surgeries before, I knew that the swelly-belly would suck and the umbilical incision would be awful. I was right. Day one is misleadingly good, day two marks the start of incision pain, and day three is when the back pain starts. Bleh.

BUT. It's such a relief to know that the cancer cells are out of my body and I can start to put this behind me. I'll have to be tested every four months for a year, then every six months for a year, and then yearly after that just to make sure that it doesn't come back.

I've had a few "wait, what?! I had a hysterectomy the other day?" moments. Even though it initially felt like an eternity between the date I saw the oncologist and the date of the surgery, it actually went by pretty quickly and I don't think I fully wrapped my head around it. Maybe it's just not even possible to wrap your head around someone taking out an organ that's been in your body since before you were born, which also happens to be the organ that brought your child into this world. Weird. But it's for the best. I've also had a few self-pitying moments as well, but that's to be expected. I'm not happy that this has all happened to me. But I also live by the saying "Above all, be the heroine of your life, not the victim." I have to say, it's an empowering quote to live by. I encounter people all the time that live like victims, constantly looking for someone to pity them. They're always complaining about being tired, stressed, life's not fair, blah blah blah. Screw that. I try to approach every day with a smile on my face. You'll rarely see me frown.

My little bug has been a great nurse... she came in to see me after she woke up and gave me sweet little kisses. Then gave me the remote, chapstick, and my Kindle off the night stand while saying "here you go" each time she handed me something. So stinking cute. She also said "good morning" and "I love you" and it made me momentarily forget about the incredible pain I was in. I missed her so much when I was in the hospital! But I'm glad I'm getting this all out of the way while she's so young. She won't even remember all of this, and hopefully she won't have to deal with a sick mommy when she's older.

So if there's anything you take away from this story, it should be this: get your yearly exams done, ladies! It can take up to ten years for an HPV infection to turn cancerous, but my case shows that it can also happen very rapidly. There's no excuse to not have a checkup!

Monkey Cheese da Weasel

Things that are now "normal" parts of my life:
Having a tiny human shout "YAY MOMMY!" with subsequent hand clapping when a toilet flushes.
Sticking my hand out to catch the half-chewed mush that my toddler spits out while eating.
Singing "Yo Gabba Gabba, Yo Gabba Gabba, Yo Gabba Gabba, YOOOOOOOO" under my breath at random.
Using the phrases "ketchup sauce" and "whoa bite"
The automatic zombie-like response of hunting for a stinky Elmo when the words "find Elmo!" are uttered from my kiddo's mouth.
Taking orders from a less-than-two-year-old that sounds like a squeaky, angry Arnold Schwarzenegger ("MO SAWSE," "SEET DOOOOOWN")
Doing some incredible contortionist moves in the car at a red light because the monster in the back seat dropped her Elmo, prompting a chorus of "drop Elmo! Mommy! Mommy get Elmo! Oh nooooo!" And Elmo almost always falls between the car seat and the car door. And I'm really short.


I vividly remember my husband stating, about one year ago, that our sweet little muffin would never be that cute ever again. I told him to wait until she's two and, I was right. My god this little thing is adorable. And the most adorable part about her? Her little mouth.

Yes, it's probably karmic retribution that I have a strong-willed, sassy, intelligent child who is far too smart for her own good. But dare I say it- I'm enjoying that little bundle of energetic sass. Her verbal skills are still progressing at a steady pace- she's on to full sentences now. When we came home the other night and Daddy wasn't home, she started looking around the house for him and proclaimed (unprompted) "He's not here." When we were at the pool the other day, she shouted "Get the beetle out!" when she saw a beetle floating nearby. That child gets incredibly upset if there's anything floating in the pool or her bath for some reason (maybe she's more traumatized than I am by her bath-poop days). Anyways, she shocks me on a daily basis with the words and phrases she says out of nowhere and in perfect context. She knows the difference between a horse and a zebra, a bear and a panda, etc. She can use the words "this" "that" "other" "different" and "too" appropriately. And now she's working on pronouncing her words better... our dog's name is Riley, and she started pronouncing it "Ridey" recently. I told her to look at my face, and then clearly pronounced the 'L' sound, and since then she's been saying "Riley" with that little tongue sticking out to ensure that 'L' sound is there. Just too cute. But my favorite phrase, by far, is "love you, mommy."

My little jabber-mouth loves to sing now... of note:
"Round and round the whoa bush. Monkey cheese da weasel. Monkey thought all fun. Pop goes da weasel!"
"Kwinkle kwinkle little star. How I wonder what you aaaaarrrrrrre"
"Old McDonald. Farm. E I E I O. Moo here. Moo here."
"Baa baa bwap sheep. Have a wool. Yessir, Yessir. Free bag. Fuuuuuuuuullllll" (she likes a dramatic ending)

She can count to 10 like it's no big deal, and understands that counting is quantifying- she'll point at things and count them for you. So it's not that she's memorized a sequence of words, this kid can actually count. It blows my mind. Although sometimes she thinks it's "one, two, three, jump!"

Motor skills-wise, she's doing really well. She can almost jump and get both feet off the ground, she can throw a ball, kick a ball, run, go up and down stairs, slide, and is getting great at scribbling with crayons. And she does all of those things back-to-back in a span of about three seconds.

And suddenly, out of nowhere, she's trying new foods without turning them away instantly. We can get almost any food into her mouth at least once, without all of the fussing and crying that we endured previously. Last night, I made some black bean and corn salsa and she asked for a bean when she saw them in the can. She ate one, then another, then another... I sat her down with a small dish of black beans and corn and she ate a decent amount. Internal happy dance! She scarfed down some meatloaf one night (and it was reasonably spicy, too because it had Rotel in it. Mmmmmm...) and has started eating meat here and there. She's a typical toddler- she loves mac n cheese, chicken nuggets with BBQ sauce, yogurt, and goldfish crackers.

Oh, yes... and that whole sleeping thing. My great sleeper disappeared for a bit and spiraled into a ball of overtired hyperness. She started waking up between 6:15 and 6:45 compared to her previous 7:30 wakeup time. Then she'd sleep for 1.5 or 2 hours, then be running circles around the house and screaming at the top of her lungs by dinner time. Oy. She's still not completely back to her previous schedule, but she's getting closer. The good thing is that she stays in bed in the morning until I come and get her, so at least I still have time to shower and get ready for work without worrying about her trying to climb her dresser.

I can't believe she'll be 2 in a few weeks! Geez. And she's a little peanut too- she's 24 pounds and about 32.5" tall. She's been in the same size clothes for about a year now (hooray!) and aside from her pants being too short, they still fit just fine and are even a little too big around the waist still.

Have I ever mentioned that I just LOVE being her mommy? She's the best, most adorable little kid ever. And I've been getting some cuddles out of her lately, too, which makes it even sweeter. I could hug and kiss on her forever and never get tired of it. Parenting doesn't feel like a job or a chore at all- I thoroughly love seeing her sweet little smile and chubby cheeks every day.

So tomorrow is my surgery... I'm the first patient, so I get the pleasure of having to be down at the hospital at 5:15am. Ugh. But at least I'll get a nice, 2-3 hour long anesthesia-induced nap :) I'm on a liquid diet today so I'm hungry and miserable. All I want is to stuff my face with Cheetos. Thanks to everyone for the well wishes and kind words... I'm looking forward to being healthy again and putting this all behind me. I'll update everyone when I'm coherent enough to put together a complete thought.

When it Rains

Incoming mommy post.

I'm going through a really difficult breakup right now, and it has nothing to do with my husband, or my car insurance company.

It's... well... my uterus. And she's not taking it well... (this is a bit foreign to me, because there are certain subjects I stay away from in conversations and in blog posts; my girly bits being one of them)

In my last post, I briefly mentioned a biopsy and an outpatient surgery that I had, with aforementioned surgery happening the day before Emma's scary probably-seizures. Still haven't heard from the pediatric neurologist as to whether or not they'll see her, so I guess it's time to start making some phone calls. Anyways, here's the full (ish) story. Sans some details. And definitely sans the gory details.

I took a week off of work after my surgery on 4/24. Only a handful of people in my office know what's been going on, because it's something I didn't really want everyone knowing about. When I came back to work, the amazing girls on my team surprised me with flowers, a card, a little trinket for my desk, and some balloons. A bunch of people asked what happened since they thought I was just on vacation or something (hah! Vacation? What's that?!), so I jokingly pointed to my bruised-up arms from the failed attempts at an IV line and told them that I was on a week-long drug binge. Then I laughed and told them I was OK and that was the end of it. A few people asked what I had surgery on, and I would deflect or tell them I didn't want to talk about it. I should have told them I had a boob job. That would have been both hilarious and awkward at the same time... 

The real story isn't so great. Actually, it's downright awful- I had a little more than half of my cervix removed, or for accuracy's sake- burned out. My cervix and I have had a terrible relationship for a few years, mostly since I was diagnosed with endometriosis in 2009. My cervix hurts more often than I'd like... then it decided to give out 28 weeks into my pregnancy with Emma so, yea... I'm not really a big fan of that particular part of my anatomy. When the doctor discussed the procedure with me during my pre-op appointment, she mentioned an increased risk for pre-term birth. Ahem, been there, done that. Anything that increases that risk for me is pretty much rendering me sterile. But no worries- we already knew we weren't going to have any more children and I had already grieved that loss and put it to rest. I assured the doctor that we weren't having any more children, but I don't think she believed me. Anyways, the procedure went well and I felt much better than I thought I would after having an enormous chunk of my cervix burned out of me. I was scheduled for my post-op/pathology results 8 days after my surgery. The night before, I started bleeding, which I heard was no big deal. Coincidentally, the bleeding started after I sneezed (UGH!) and then my cervix started to hurt like hell. Like, writhing in pain on the bed and gripping the sheets kind of pain. I popped a Percocet and hunkered down for the night.

I was dreading being examined at my post-op appointment, but ready to put this whole ordeal behind me. Nope. The doctor started with "I have some bad news, but it's not that bad." Really?! That was the second time I heard something along the "not that bad" lines and I wasn't buying it. At least I didn't have to endure an exam. What I was told was this: Basically, when they do a cone biopsy (in my case it was a LEEP cone, because the doctor used the LEEP tool which burns out the section being removed instead of cutting it with a scalpel, which just sounds so lovely) they want to make sure they cut out a little beyond where they think the bad cells are so that they know they get it all. If that's successful, then the margins of the tissue should be negative. Mine were positive on more than half of the margins. So the cancerous cells had pretty much covered my entire cervix. My doctor told me she had already consulted with an oncologist, who suggested that we wait 6-8 weeks for me to heal, and then do another cone biopsy, which would leave me with very little remaining cervix.

My head was spinning. I was NOT expecting that at all. Actually, I thought there was a chance I could have positive margins, but when she told me that my margins were positive INSIDE the cervical canal, I was blown away. My original biopsy showed no abnormal cells in the cervical canal, and this biopsy showed cancer cells there. This situation was far worse than I originally thought. My doctor said she told the oncologist that she figured I'd want to be extra cautious and take a more aggressive approach, and the oncologist suggested the re-cone. She said she was confident that the next procedure would "cure" the problem, but she also couldn't rule out that the cancer cells had become invasive. If they had, then we would start talking lymph node removals and a more involved surgery. Holy whoa. Hearing the words "cancer" and "oncologist" come from my doctor's mouth horrified me.

I kept my composure until I got to my car. I called hubby, broke down into tears, and told him what the doctor said. Since his office is only a few miles from the doctor, I asked to see him. Then I called my boss to ask for the rest of the day off, and drove to see hubby. We met in the parking lot and he embraced me. It was a gloomy, cloudy, rainy day. So appropriate.

Once I collected my thoughts, I sprang into action. I knew my doctor said she'd already consulted with an oncologist who developed my treatment plan, but I wanted to speak with an oncologist myself. So I called one, and got the ball rolling on that. I got my insurance stuff straightened out, submitted my claims to AFLAC, and faxed a million documents. 

Fast forward to 5/12, about 2 1/2 weeks after my surgery. I worked really late that night, and started to feel a little run-down and like the bleeding was getting worse. I woke up at 4:30am the next morning because I was on-call and my work phone rang. Because, you know, there's never a great time to be on-call, but it will almost always happen at the worst time imaginable. I realized at that point that my bleeding was still getting worse. By 7:30, I knew something was wrong. I left a message for the doctor, and because my father passed along his work ethic to me, I drove myself to work for my back-to-back meetings. It was a terrible idea. I cannot describe the feeling of sitting in a room full of people of higher rank than you while you are losing an insane amount of blood. I just kept praying that it didn't become obvious. I called the doctor back and asked to speak with someone, and was scheduled for an appointment at 11:30am. I went back to my meeting until 11 (really, where's my employee-of-the-century award?!), then flew out the door.

This is where I spare you the gory details. But I'll say this- the doctor (not my usual doctor) looked at me and said "wow, that is a LOT of blood." And it was. A lot. Of blood. The next 20 minutes were incredibly traumatizing and I felt like I was going to faint, but the doctor patched me up and told me to lie in bed for the rest of the day. They tested my hemoglobin level to be sure I hadn't lost too much blood. Turns out, I was borderline anemic from it. They sent me home with what looked like their entire stock of iron pill samples. I was so glad that was over. (on a side note, I don't really mind talking about the details, but seeing how most people are incredibly grossed out by blood, I decided to leave all of that out. You are welcome.)

The next day was my appointment with the oncologist at Moffitt Cancer Center. The facility is located on the campus where I attended college, so I had driven past the building too many times to count, never realizing that I'd one day be a patient there. I also didn't realize the powerful swirling of emotions I felt when I walked up to the building and saw people with chemo ports, IV poles, face masks, and scarves on their heads. The energy in that place was undeniable... I was surrounded by people determined to beat the illnesses that had taken over their lives. There was also a sense of sadness, and like no one wanted to be there. I certainly didn't. But it was a busy, bustling place and about as upbeat as you could ever imagine a cancer center being.

Hubby and I had already discussed in great length that the best choice was to ask for a hysterectomy so I could finally put all of my issues behind me. We decided that another cone biopsy would render me unable to carry a pregnancy anyways, and having me around to be Emma's mother was far more important than the possibility of ever having another child in the future. If I were to have another re-cone, I'd have to have a pap test and cervical canal scraping (OMG so painful) every three months for years, because I'd be so high risk of developing this all over again. If any of those tests came back abnormal, I'd be looking at a hysterectomy anyways. I was expecting to have to do a full sales pitch, and was completely open to getting down on my knees and begging the doctor to agree to a hysterectomy. So when she agreed right away, I breathed a sigh of relief. The end was in sight. She scheduled me for a total laparoscopic hysterectomy and salpingectomy for 6/17- three days before my birthday. Whatever. There's always next year for birthday fun. I signed some consents for the procedure, and also consented to allowing the facility to use any blood samples and tissue samples collected by my doctor during the course of treatment for cancer research. So... I'm giving them my whole damn womb to slice and dice in the name of research.

We ended up spending the majority of the day at the cancer center, because I had to have pre-op blood work done. A power surge knocked out the computer systems and so my appointment ended up starting REALLY late. We were starving, so they scheduled my lab appointment late enough that we had time to grab a bite to eat. And- surprise! I was bleeding. Again. 

Hubby put my feelings into words that afternoon- that we were so fortunate to be walking out of a cancer center feeling relieved and happy, when so many don't get to leave on those terms. We caught this soon enough, and an end is in sight. I felt like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders. I was going to be ok, and this wasn't going to consume my life forever.

The next day, I went to work, feeling like it was any normal day. I figured I was on my period and that my uterus was clearly super pissed that I had served her with an eviction notice. So in an act of revenge, she decided to torture me one last time.

Oh, how wrong I was. That night, the gushes of blood returned. It was undeniable- I was hemorrhaging AGAIN. Off to the emergency room I went, for another round of horribly traumatic treatment and plugging of the leak. I went around 9 or 10pm, and was finally ready to go at 2am. I was exhausted, partly from lack of sleep, partly from being traumatized, and partly from blood loss. Another hemoglobin test confirmed that I was now officially anemic. Oh joy.

I made the mistake of going to the nearest ER instead of going to the hospital where I had my surgery. If I had gone there, the on-call doctor from my doctor's office would have been able to see me and probably would have surgically corrected the leaky blood vessel instead of just using a clotting solution and applying pressure until the bleeding stopped. Dangit. So the next morning (Friday), I called the doctor and the oncologist. After much confusion on who was supposed to do what, the oncologist called my doctor and told them that they HAD to see me in their office that day (after my doctor's office told me they didn't have any availability and that I should just have the oncologist look at it). I went to the doctor that afternoon, and was traumatized for the third time that week. Again, intentional withholding of details. But it involved much crying, whimpering, deep breathing, and squeezing hubby's hands so hard that I thought I may have hurt him at one point. Good thing he has big man-hands. That pain made my initial biopsy seem like a walk in the park.  The doctor had intended on cauterizing the blood vessel that was causing the problems, but it was not possible. So they sent me home, put me on bed rest for a week and a half, and told me that if I started hemorrhaging again, I'd need to go to a specific hospital. The doctor who had taken care of me earlier in the week was on-call and was up-to-speed on my situation in case I went to the ER. They even prepped the next on-call doctor on my case. Which didn't give me a lot of confidence that this was the last time I'd be dealing with this. *sigh*

So, I made it through the weekend. Today is Sunday, and while I sprang a leak again yesterday, it has remained slow and I'm just praying that it plugs itself. I'm calling the oncologist tomorrow to see if they need to push back my surgery date to allow me more time to heal, or if they can just move it up so I can just be done with this. No point in having my blood vessel surgically cauterized if they can just take the whole damn thing out, amiright?

This also finally gives me a great response to the frequently asked question of "so when are you having another baby?" My response to date has ranged from "oh, I don't know" (for strangers) to "we went through so much with Emma that we don't want to run the risk of going through all of that again and seeing another baby suffer" (for people I know well). People would argue that, saying that it's not that big of a deal and another baby would be such a great thing. Now my response will have no rebuttal: "I donated my uterus to cancer research." Bam. End of conversation.

Oh yea, and on top of all that, the dog had surgery, Emma may be having seizures, our sprinklers are leaking and jacked up our water bill like crazy, hubby's car needed to be repaired, and the dryer is probably broken. I am not even going to get into the incredible stress I've been dealing with at work. When it rains, it pours.

So there you have it. I am having a hysterectomy 3 days before my 28th birthday. I am ok, and I will be ok. A huge thanks to all of those who have supported me over the last two months. It means so much to me :) 

Rain, Rain, Go Away

Seriously, 2014, what gives?!
It's only April and I'm ready to be done with this year already...

Forgive me if this post is incoherent, as I am currently under the influence of (prescribed) narcotics. Read on.

This mess kind of began in August, but everything really hit the fan within the last month-ish. I had a biopsy done in mid-March, and two days later got a call from the doctor's office saying "we have your results and you need to come into the office as soon as possible and bring your husband with you so we can discuss treatment options." Yea, never a good thing, and it completely ruined what would have otherwise been a lovely weekend because aforementioned call occurred around 4pm on a Friday. Ugh. Earlier that same day, I took our dog to the vet because she had been acting funny and, surprise! Her bladder stones were back and she needed surgery the following Tuesday.
That Monday, I went to my doctor and we discussed me having surgery. Which was scheduled for yesterday, 4/24. So, puppy has surgery and mommy has surgery. Which equals a serious drain of our savings account.
Puppy's surgery went well, and her recovery was OK. I stayed home with her for a few days because she was absolutely miserable and was unable to pee or eat without assistance... that was no fun whatsoever. My surgery went well too- it was an outpatient surgery and I didn't even feel nauseous coming out of the anesthesia. I was only under for about an hour, which probably helped. I slept for the majority of the day yesterday.
This morning, hubby said he'd get up with the baby and let me sleep. Except, that didn't happen. After he got her up, he came marching into our bedroom and told me something wasn't right with the baby. He sat down on the bed with her on his lap, and said she was acting funny. He was right- she just kind of sat there and stared off into the distance. When she would finally come back to reality, she was quiet and very still. She would mutter a few words, then space out again. He handed her to me, and she immediately laid on top of me with her head on my chest, completely still again. And if you know anything about my child, you know that the only time she snuggles with me like that is if she's scared or hurt. So something was definitely not right. When she finally started becoming more oriented and talking more, hubby took her into the other room to feed her. I sat with her while he was making her breakfast, and she seemed better for the most part. I started recording her just in case, and she had another episode that I luckily got on video. She was asking daddy for a pancake, then noticed me videotaping her. She looked at the camera and said "cheese" and then went completely blank. She stared right through the camera, without moving anything other than her hands. I rubbed her cheeks, waved my hand in front of her face, and called her name to no avail. She finally snapped out of it, looked around for a second, and then happily said "pancake" again.

All signs point to a cluster of absence seizures.

I called the doctor and they got us in right away. I was so focused on my poor baby that I didn't shower, eat, or have any coffee. I grabbed my pain meds as I rushed to get everything together and off we went to the doctor. Emma was excited to see the fish tank in the waiting area, as usual. She said hi to the fish and wanted to kiss them... love that kid. I showed the doctor the video, and he agreed that she was likely having seizures. He gave us a referral for a pediatric neurologist and that was that. It wasn't until after we left the doctor that I realized I was absolutely starving and in a significant amount of pain. And I really needed some coffee. A quick stop at Dunkin Donuts fixed all of that, and my sweet girl happily chowed down on almost half of my pepper-jack bagel. It was relatively spicy, but honey badger don't care. She gobbled it down.

I can remember two other episodes similar to this morning's, but neither was nearly as what we experienced today. The other two episodes were short and isolated, not repeated like today's were.

My goober was a big goober for the rest of the day, and you would have never known that she spent the first part of her morning in such bad shape. She had a great appetite, took an OK nap, and chatted up a storm all day long. So at least it didn't ruin the rest of her day... although it really put a damper on mine. Of course I spent the day Googling "absence seizures" off and on, in between dozing off in bed and watching somewhat of a marathon of "The Office."

I feel like this is the beginning of another chapter in our lives. More doctor's appointments, a lot of tests, and a very anxious and nervous mommy. There are no words to describe the feeling of watching your child go through something like that and knowing that there's nothing you can do to help her... and it puts a pit in my stomach to look at the neurology referral and see a diagnoses of "petit mal seizures," knowing that it's about my sweet, precious, helpless little angel. Ugh. This blows.

So prayers are appreciated, and advice is always welcomed. I'll do my best to not curl into a ball and try to hide from 2014... but omg make it stop.

Bossy Mockingbird

Incoming novel. Prepare yo'self.

My little walkie-talkie's verbal skills are INSANE these days. She started stringing together two words a little while ago, and is now up to three- and four-word sentences every so often. "Mommy eat waffle" was a notable one. An honorable mention for most hilarious goes to "mo' sawse!" (more sauce). She caught on to the concept of "two" a few months back, when she would happily grab two identical objects and identify that- i.e. "two Elmos." Now she can count to three on command. She knows all of her colors, three shapes (circle, square, and triangle) and part of the alphabet. She loves to sing "rain rain go away, come again" and "la la la Elmo song." Love this kid. She knows a lot of animal noises, and will randomly say "puppy say woof." She also tends to repeat everything we say... hence the mockingbird. But she's so rude and bossy, as is normal for a toddler, and I swear sometimes she sounds like an angry German.

I shamefully admit that I don't handle oncoming transitions in the land of parenting very well. I easily adapt to changes in my other life (do I really have a life outside of parenting now?) but when it comes to changing anything in my child's life, I'd rather run and hide in a corner somewhere. And curl up into a ball, rock back and forth, and hum "Yankee Doodle" until it's all over. It's that bad. 

It's a full-blown case of first-time parent syndrome. If you're a parent, you may know what I'm talking about. It's the completely neurotic, inexplicable need to obsess over everything about your child. The routine. Safety. Germs. Food. Sleep. And OH MY GOD THE SCHEDULE.

*points to self* guilty as charged. I often get that look of  "aw, isn't that adorable... she's a first-time mom. Look at her go..." which at first really irritated me. Now I appreciate the sympathy and continue with my neurotic behavior. Ok, ok... fine. It's not that bad. She once ate a stale puff that had been sitting in the driveway for a day or two, and I have resisted the urge to put knee pads on her now that she's getting clumsy and has scraped her knees a few times.

My real problem are the transitions and the schedule. She does so well with a good routine and schedule, and we so rarely deviate from it because we've been able to work our lives around it. And that's not a problem for us, so don't get all judgey on me. I see photos on Facebook all the time of people toting their babies and toddlers to various restaurants, events, and blah blah blah. Because that's the way they live their lives, and they incorporated their child into that. We've always been more homebodies than anything. Pre-baby, we would go out to fancy restaurants here and there and waste time shopping and buying things we probably didn't need. Kids are expensive. And I have no desire to take my little bug with us for a $40 steak. So, the schedule has been our saving grace and has given us a very settled, comfortable, happy-go-lucky kid who goes to bed well and naps like a champ (most days).

And then... the two-one nap switch came along. It started out rough for a couple of days, but she adjusted pretty well and it was smooth sailing. Life was great again, and the one-nap-a-day routine has been so incredibly liberating. Ah, yes. And then one day, when I picked her up from my mom after work, my mom let me know that my little bundle of one-nap-a-day joy had escaped from her pack-n-play after her nap. That was clearly a fluke. The next time she was at my parents' house, the same thing happened. I decided their pack-n-play must have been easy for her to get out of. That weekend, as she was getting up from her nap at home (a little too early), I saw her little feet lifting up off the mattress. I walked into her room JUST in time to witness her doing an Olympic-gymnast-style plank pose on top of her crib rail.

It was time to switch her to a toddler bed. ON A SUNDAY. When I had to be up extra super early the next day to be in another county for training all day long. I was not ready for this, and I felt like my little bug was not ready for this either because SHE'S NOT EVEN TWO.

So yes, my little preemie wonder child who started crawling at 11 months of age and walking at 14 months of age turned into this crazy monkey who wants to "kimbe" (climb) into and out of absolutely everything.

When we made the two-one nap switch, I was all "ugggghhhh I hope this works out and she isn't a mess."

When it was time for her first sleep in her toddler bed (ON A SUNDAY NIGHT) I was all " OH MY FREAKING GOD I AM NOT GOING TO LIVE PAST TONIGHT AND EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE IN A SHAMBLES FOR THE REST OF TIME GAAAAAHHHHHHHH"

No joke. I was so horrified at the thought of my tiny little toddler having free roam of her room when I wasn't in there that even though her room was pretty well child-proofed, I kept imagining her unplugging something and subsequently electrocuting herself. But I had no choice... the possibility of her falling off her crib and breaking her neck was too great for me to ignore. So hubby took the front off of her convertible crib (whoever invented that is a genius and I hope he/she is currently sitting in a kiddie pool full of Benjamins and drinking from a solid gold goblet because they deserve it) and put on the toddler rail. I stared at it... there was no way this was really happening. Crazy baby immediately got excited and proceeded to climb in and out of her big-girl bed like a hundred times in a row.

I took every opportunity to read other parents' stories about their first night with a tiny toddler in a big-kid bed. Then hunkered down for what was certainly going to be an awful night and... I was right. She went to bed before 8pm just fine and fell right asleep. Then, at about 10:30pm, when mommy was getting ready to turn in for the night, the little bug sat up in her crib and looked around. Then her little butt started scooting off the edge of the bed... it was time. Thankfully I read that info on the toddler bed transition, because I knew the battle that lay before me and that it would probably not last all night long. But I had to be the one with the stronger will... that was key.

I marched into her room and when she saw me, she froze and said "noooooooo." I picked her up and put her back in bed, told her it was time to go to sleep, and walked out. My fancy-shmancy video monitor showed me that she immediately got right back up again. So I immediately went back into her room. She had decided to run for her air purifier because it was so darned fun to turn it off and on repeatedly. I picked up my protesting child, and put her back in bed and again told her that it was time to sleep. And repeat. I kept reminding myself that I am the parent and, although sometimes it may not seem like it, I have a stronger will than my toddler and I would ultimately succeed in this little battle. I finally decided that the air purifier wasn't worth it (we use it for white noise) so I unplugged it and put in a new outlet cover. But then she decided that the drawer on her nightstand looked interesting. As time went on, I started not speaking to her when I would go in. Finally, I didn't even touch her. I walked in as she was still in the process of getting out of her bed, and told her to get back in bed and go to sleep. She crawled back in bed and I scooted her up on the mattress a bit, then walked out. She was pretty pissed. But she didn't get up again. By now, it was after midnight and I was exhausted. When I was confident that she probably wasn't going to get up again, I went to bed.

But sleep well? I did not. You know that kind of sleep you get the night before something really exciting or when you're reeeeaaalllllyyyyy nervous about something? That's the kind of torturous sleep I got. She didn't end up waking up again until about 6:30, which is early for her, but I couldn't shake the anxiety of her being in her toddler bed. I suddenly found myself wondering what was really in the drawer of that nightstand... and whether or not there was something in there that could injure her. Oy. I felt hungover the next day from all of the anxiety. I know, I know. In retrospect, it was not that big of a deal. But it was a huge transition for us all that I was NOT expecting to happen for a lot longer. I don't like diving into these things without being fully mentally prepared.

Night 2 was better. At 10:30, she woke up and started to get out of bed. I immediately walked in there and when she saw me, she said "noooooo" just like the night before. She knew she was busted... I told her to get back into bed, which she did. And proceeded to put herself back to sleep and slept until 6:45. After that night, she hasn't gotten up again after I've put her in bed. She's been waking up around 6:45 every morning, which is pretty early for her. Until this weekend, when she's slept until 7:30 or 8. Which is so. glorious. And when she gets up in the morning, she walks to the door and waits for me. If I don't come in right away, she goes back to her bed and lays down for a few minutes, and will then get back up and quietly wait at the door again. I'm putting that in the "mommy wins" column of my imaginary scorecard of parenting. Emma still has way more wins than  I do, though. It'll probably stay that way forever.

So that's that. Napping the toddler bed hasn't been so great, because she wakes up about halfway through and wants to wander around her bedroom. Today, she went to her door and then got back into bed. I thought she fell back asleep, but she was up again about 20 minutes later. The culprit appeared to be a poopy diaper.

AND. She put about three drops of pee in the potty today! Woo! She's definitely not going to allow us to potty train her until it's her idea, so we're not even pushing it. So three drops is a significant success.

Let's see... what else.

She has twelve teeth. She's up to about 23.5 pounds. She still hates eating anything that's not a fruit pouch. She still LOVES to read books and is obsessed with animals. She couldn't care less about her babydolls and can't go anywhere without an Elmo. She loves bath time and coloring with crayons. And has complete and total meltdowns over practically nothing. She often says "hands" and proceeds to grab your hand and drag you to wherever she wants you. She's the boss these days.

Oh, and she finally acts like she loves her mommy and daddy. Which is great.