I signed up for WeightWatchers on May 30th, 2008. As of tomorrow, I’ll be halfway through my trial period. This post is an update to what’s been happening, how much I’ve lost, frustrations I’ve met, and things that have helped me out over the last month and half.

Let me begin by saying that I’ve lost 8 pounds. I expected to have lost more than that by now, and I’ve been fluctuating between a 6 to 8 pound loss for three weeks. Am I experiencing a plateau? I’m not sure. But I’m going to continue and hope that the next couple of weeks bring me higher numbers.

One of the reasons I’m so irritated by the plateau is because I’m working out as well. (Although, I just started with a regular daily routine last week, so perhaps things will pick up?) But I feel like I should have lost more weight by now. Maybe not. Who knows.

All in all, this diet is much easier to follow and stick to than South Beach. I tried South Beach several years ago and while the diet works, I wasn’t able to stick with it and I felt like I was hungry most of the time. I was on it for about 4 months. I lost 19 pounds. The diet was trying, however. And I gained it all back.

The South Beach diet just wasn’t one I could stay on indefinitely. I feel that WW is.

One of the reasons I like WW diet is because of the bonus points you’re given on top of the daily allotment. There have been some weeks where I am doing just great and then BAM! we order pizza and I devour 3 slices in one sitting. There were two days last week where I blew right past my 21-point weekly allotment. One day I consumed a massive 45 points!

But that amount comes out of the weekly “bonus” points. And so you’re not beating yourself up quite as much as you might on other diets.

Another reason I like WW is that the product line is oustanding. Let me begin by saying that I’m not super keen on eating foods with a long list of ingredients, but I decided that this time I’d blissfully ignore my inclinations and just go with it. At this juncture, I have tried several of the packaged meals offered by Smart One’s. (Only the vegetarian ones, however. We prefer our meat come from local farms), I’ve tried several of the desserts, and a whole bunch of bread products. This has helped me get a grasp on point allotment. It also helps me feel full. (Sometime down the road, I plan to take off my training wheels and give up the packaged meals. I may continue to buy their bread products, however. You simply can’t beat a bagel for two points and a whole grain english muffin for one.)

If you don’t mind eating food with a long list of ingredients, I highly recommend trying out their pre-packaged meals.

I’ve learned that foods high in fiber and low in fat are golden. So, cheese glorious cheese? Not so glorious for the midsection. Incidentally, that’s been the most difficult thing for me to give up. I am a cheese lover. But when it comes to hunger and point allotment to fulfillment ratio, cheese ranks as one of the foods to avoid.

I’ve learned that you can have unlimited amounts of vegetables and almost as much fruit as you can stomach. (I love fruit, which could be another reason that South Beach proved difficult for me.)

Wine and beer? Avoid it. It won’t do anything to make you feel full plus, it messes with your metabolism (as does caffeine, actually. But I’m not about to give that up). Beer is higher than wine, naturally. But lite beer is better than regular. (I tend to prefer the dark stuff, so beer hasn’t been something I’ve touched lately.)

Salad dressing is the devil, for the most part. Seriously. In fact, I have joked and said that if every American went into their fridge right now and threw out every condiment, we’d be a lot thinner in only a month’s time. I think there’s truth to that statement.

If you’re a snacker, you have to figure out what type of snacks to eat. I have gotten through some salt cravings by making Newman’s Own popcorn (96% fat free). I usually add Lawry’s Seasoned Salt and I have myself a relatively healthy snack. (Well, if you ignore the sodium content in the Lawry’s. heh.)

My favorite snack, however, is a cucumber salad my mother made us when we were growing up. I’ll cut up one cucumber, add a spoonful of lite mayonnaise (or fat free), and some white balsamic vinegar. Sprinkle on some pepper, and you have yourself a tasty treat. (This has gotten me from one meal to the next dozens of times over the last month. Plus, it’s awesome.)

In a nutshell the diet is working albeit slowly and some days I get really annoyed especially when my weight fluctuates. But putting on weight is much easier (and more fun but not as rewarding!) than losing it.

I am going to stand strong and readdress my situation when my 3-month trial ends. At that point in time, I’ll decide if i want to pay the month-by-month fee and continue, or if I need to figure something else out (like liposuction and a breast reduction). But I’m pretty satisfied with the way things are going, however, I’d be a LOT more satisfied if WW sent me free products and in turn I’ll write reviews and give them free advertising, because buying this stuff costs money we don’t have. I get email all the time asking me to agree to blog post sponsorship and I always say no because I worry about what I’ll have to agree to. But if WW came to me and asked me to do such a thing? I’d do it in a heartbeat.

That’s all for now. As always, feedback and/or suggestions welcome.

I am looking for information about Weight Watchers. I know I could probably get a very thorough description of how it works on the Web site, but I’m not looking for a sale’s pitch. So, have you ever done Weight Watchers? Did it work? What were the pros and cons? Is it worth the money?

I am considering an online trial. I want/need to lose 20 pounds of weight. I simply have to. I’m tired of saying I’ll do it and then failing miserably. Also, if anyone cares to join me, I’ll be your online dieting buddy!

Any or all help welcome. If you tend to shy away from comments, feel free to email me.

The laser work I had done yesterday didn’t hurt nearly as bad as I anticipated. I really worked myself up about it too. I was so freaked out yesterday, I sent a text message from the waiting room letting him know. He wrote back, “Don’t be! I know it’s easy to say. Remember: courage is about facing fears, so you can’t be courageous without fear.”

Whenever she called me in, I was told to lie back in a chair. I put on metal goggles. They looked like the kind you’re given while using a tanning bed. (Believe me, I see the irony here.) Only they’re a lot heavier. The doctor walked me through everything verbally since I was unable to see. The metal gun spit cold ice first and then it hit me with a laser. I smelled burning flesh, but it wasn’t all that bad. It felt exactly like she said it would: like being flicked with a rubber band.

I look like this today. I am told it’s going to get worse before it gets better.

I hope makeup will cover it up until then.

Speaking of things aging, withering and dying, my Hindu Rope plant isn’t doing well. It looks like this:

Last year at this time it looked like this:

What am I doing wrong? This is depressing me far more than it should.

Lastly, if you didn’t see the post from yesterday, please go there now. Write the Mayor of Randolph, Iowa. Let him know what he’s suggesting is wrong.

UPDATED TO ADD: See this link about how you can help reach out to the Mayor of Randolph, Iowa. Apparently they DO NOT have access to email. (I wonder where my email went?) I wonder what happens you call the number? I’d happily call right now but the only sound they’d hear is the sound of a baby SCREAMING his head off because he doesn’t want to sleep. Perhaps that could work? I’ll just hit redial and let Emory scream into the phone.

My day? NOT EVEN CLOSE TO AWESOME.

I’m scheduled to have laser surgery done on my face today at 4 PM. (See previous posts here, here, and pictures here.) I’m not at all looking forward to this. Last time I went in for followup, my doctor injected the scar with steroids and it hurt like hell.

Here is what it looks like today:

I am having trouble capturing it and I know I may be more critical than others, however, the scar is pretty damn obvious. It looks like a much enlarged version of what was removed. It’s puffy and white. It looks like a blister or a burn. It’s not pleasant and it’s not easily covered with makeup. They’re trying to remove it, lessen it to some degree.

Anyway, I’m preoccupied because I hate having needles shoved into my face. I hope this doesn’t hurt. I hope it doesn’t actually get worse. I hope I don’t have to walk around again with a big red sore on my face. I hope to one day be able to put this MOHs thing behind me.

I did download the (very few) pictures we took digitally while we were away. There are more of the film variety that we need to get developed. I’d do it myself but they’re color.

Here’s a shot of Emory at The Animal Kingdom. He’s watching kids feed the ducks.

And here’s one taken while we were riding It’s a Small World. (Unfortunately, dumbass me brought only the 50 MM lens making it impossible to capture anything more than close-ups of someone’s face.)

Here’s a picture TobyJoe took of me giving my kid a manicure.

We’ll have more once we have the film developed.

The New York Times released an article about how metabolic syndrome is tied to diet soda.

We don’t drink much soda in our house, not that I have anything against it, really. I was just never much of a soda drinker. (Well, besides something called Wink. Do you remember Wink? That’s what given from time to time when we were kids.) TobyJoe and I try and avoid high fructose corn syrup entirely, so until we can easily get Coke made with actual sugarcane, I don’t think we’re going to become a family of soda drinkers. (Seriously? Why can’t we have soda with actual sugar in it? Why the need for all the high fructose corn syrup?)

We don’t drink diet soda either. I’ve always been a little wary of the fake stuff, which is why I never really developed an attraction for diet soda. I did have an affair with Splenda once. That lasted for a few months before I realized that it left a terrible aftertaste. Plus, when I found out how it works I got a little freaked out. (Also, having discovered that “sugar alcohol” is also some chemistry weirdness, we stopped buying South Beach bars as well. No more of that stuff. I’ll be fat if I have to be, thank you.)

I’m curious to hear what others think about this. Why do you think this is happening? Are you going to give up your diet cola? Do you care at all? If you were pregnant, would you avoid fake sugars entirely? Did you? Are you going to go grab a Diet Dr. Pepper right now?

While we’re talking sugar, do you give your little ones juice?

Testing, testing, is this thing on?

I’m still having medical issues and they still haven’t been worked out. In time, I hope that a doctor will be able to help me. I’m currently sorting this out on my own. It’s been hard. I do not trust my emotions right now to know what’s coming or going. I do not know what’s real and what’s thyroid induced so I second guess myself daily at least a dozen times. But I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to having some trouble adjusting to motherhood.

Emory is changing everyday. That’s normal. I know. But last Wednesday, he threw out all the cute, fake coughs and replaced them with ear-piercingly loud screams. I tend to exaggerate sometimes, but these screams have actually caused the constant ringing in my left ear to worsen. (They are so unbelievably loud.) They’re terrible. He does this whenever he decides that we are not paying enough attention to him. And for Emory, that’s almost always. I am at my wit’s end. If I ignore him for a bit, the screams intensify, he gets worked up, and eventually starts to cry. (That has only happened twice, however, because I can’t let the screams go on for that long. Plus, since he rarely cries, it’s hard to watch that happen.) I usually give in after a few of the screams and pick him up. The screams almost always immediately stop. (Of course they do! He’s getting his way, right?)

I didn’t go to school for this. I went to school for photography, graphic design, and visual arts. I admit it. I have no freaking clue how to be a mother. I have no idea what’s right and what’s wrong. I have no idea how much time I’m supposed to pay attention to him and how much time I’m supposed to let him work it out alone. And I’m his full-time teacher! I am a stay-at-home mom. I have no daily help. I don’t have a nanny or a babysitter. (My mother comes over sometimes to help, but I don’t call her hired help. She’s there for support. She’s not a nanny. I wouldn’t want her to be a nanny. I want her to be my mom). It’s just Emory and me for the most part, which is precisely the way I wanted it to be.

But the last two weeks have been trying. I find myself staring off into space wondering what it would have been like to go back to work part-time, hire someone to look after Emory every now and again. I wonder what it would have been like to drop him off at a daycare every now and again so I can get things done – a haircut, visit the doctor, walk around and get lost taking pictures.

And that makes me feel worse. Selfish. Immature. I feel like I’m failing him and myself. I feel like I’m failing period. People have done this for decades! Women have raised many kids and alone! What is wrong with me? Why am I having so much trouble juggling everything, mentally dealing with the transition into motherhood? How in the hell do you people do this so well!

It troubles me that if I get this wrong, I can’t really go back again and retake the course. This is it. I need to get it right the first time. That’s a little bit terrifying.

I have been self-diagnosing myself lately because I haven’t made it to a doctor and I’m not sure when I’ll do that. I stumbled on a term recently over at Ask Moxie about being Touched Out. Women were discussing the physical relationships (or lack thereof) they have with their husbands after having a baby. Some said they were too tired to snuggle with their husbands. Others said they just didn’t want to be touched at the end of the day. I started thinking about this phrase: “Touched Out”.

I spend every day, all day, with Emory. I am very affectionate with him. He is a very needy and loving little boy. He likes to be near me and he loves to be smooched and tickled. I spend every day giving him all of my physical and emotional attention. Whenever TobyJoe gets home, I barely remember to hug him let alone give him a kiss. I hand the baby over and shower or clean or do whatever it is I wanted to do and couldn’t because I didn’t have the time. And that’s terrible! Am I failing my husband as well? When does everything get back to normal? Ever?

I just feel like I’m failing. I failed at the work I tried to continue with after Emory was born. I barely find time to write and whenever I do, I don’t reread it so it’s strewn with errors and half-thoughts. I barely shower. I barely go out. I barely cook. I barely clean. If I gave myself a grade this week, it’d be a failing grade.

I was joking with TobyJoe about how I currently sum up my daily routine. We live in a railroad apartment. The front of our apartment (our bedroom) faces east and the back (our kitchen) faces west. The sun wakes up every day and greets me through our bedroom window. At the end of the day, the sun sets over Manhattan, saying goodbye outside our kitchen window. That’s my punctuation, my front and back cover. Everyday, I pick up the same book. I read the very first sentence at the beginning of the day and the last sentence at the end of the day. And I know there’s a whole lot more taking place as the sun makes its way from the front of our apartment to the back, but I don’t see it happen. I don’t read that part. I don’t show Emory what the sun does. I know nothing firsthand of its journey. (Does a cloud ever get in its way, a bird? Is there a rainstorm? A rainbow?) I don’t take him to the backyard to show him the sun at high noon because, well, we don’t have a backyard. And the backyard we do have (which is off limits to us anyway) is currently occupied by a very drunk and belligerent hobo.

How am I supposed to teach this little person about what happens to the sun when it’s out of view if I don’t know myself?

I probably have the post-birthday blues or something. I turned 34 yesterday and I repeatedly had to remind myself that it was in fact my birthday. I had a dermatology appointment first thing in the morning, where she stuck a needle full of a steroidal into my MOHs scar/wound because it’s not healing well. That obviously sucked. But what makes yesterday really quite funny isn’t that I had a needle stuck into my face on my birthday, it’s the fact that I got really dressed up in order to do so.

But, hey, at least the sentence that punctuated yesterday morning was different from all the rest.

A couple of months ago we declared war against bisphenol A, an organic compound that mimics estrogen and can mess with a person’s hormones and development. This is especially alarming for babies who rely so much on what they ingest in order to develop.

My understanding is this: bisphenol A was created as a estrogen replacement and/or supplement. At some point, diethylstilbestrol turned out to be more powerful. Bisphenol A was shelved. Later, chemists discovered that it could be polymerized to form polycarbonate plastic. But the bond is not stable so BPA leaches into whatever it’s protecting. The government has tested many of these plastics individually and the amount that leaches out is very little. But as far as I know there haven’t been tests run on the overall usage of BPA leaching components. Basically, the sum is much greater than its parts.

As with anything, the more you know the better off (or worse depending on who you ask) you are. But with bisphenol A the more I find the worse I feel. I started this post a dozen times before now and each time I get so overwhelmed, I give up. There is just too much to find and discover!

Truth be told, bisphenol A has become a bit of a monster here at our house. It lurks everywhere and in an industrialized country like the United States, it’s downright impossible to avoid. It’s something we’re trying very hard to rid our lives of. And believe me, that’s a lot harder than one may think.

I’m not going to mention all the side-effects associated with bisphenol A. And instead of trying to work them into a perfectly packaged paragraph (I am not nearly that good of a writer), I’m going to list a few of them below.

• Low sperm count and infertile sperm
• bisphenol A during development has carcinogenic effects and produce precursors to breast cancer
• neurotoxicity
• linked to obesity. (triggering fat-cell activity)
• developmental toxicity
• damage to eggs and chromosomes
• hyperactivity
• early puberty

As with many scientific studies conducted today, these are concluded after large amounts are injected into our fuzzy friends. (Thanks for taking a million and one for the team, Mickey and Minnie.) Many supporters of bisphenol A think the results are skewed. Opponents feel the findings are alarming and that the compound should be scrutinized by the FDA to find out if it’s safe for our children.

In a perfect world, a baby would drink only breastmilk straight from the breast for (at the very least) the first year of his or her life. Unfortunately, this isn’t possible for many women. In the states, women are granted 3 months maternity leave, forcing them to hit the pump. Some woman have trouble breastfeeding and turn to the pump and/or formula. Either way, the majority of women in the U.S. are going to give their baby a bottle during the first year of his or her life. Unfortunately, most of the plastic bottles on the market today are lined with bisphenol A.

Before Emory was born I had determined very early on that we would use (glass) bottles. A friend from San Francisco purchased some EvenFlo bottles from our registry. I was so out of it, exhausted and depressed for the first two months postpartum, I used Dr. Brown’s bottles instead, which worked really well with easing gas pains. Unfortunately, they are made with BPA. So, for the first two months of Emory’s life, he was being served pumped breastmilk from a bisphenol A-lined plastic bottle. What’s more, the more you heat them up, the more the chemical leaches from the plastic and into the milk. (I use our electric kettle to heat water. I then dip the bottle into a mug for a few minutes.) Eventually, we remembered all the plans we had and ditched the plastic bottles for the glass ones.

Along with retiring the Dr. Brown’s bottles, we’ve gotten rid of our Brita filter, our plastic french press (replacing it with a glass one). We’ve stopped drinking anything out of plastic that includes all store bought bottled water. I figured the tap water here in Brooklyn will do us just fine. (We do drink it every time we go out to eat and I haven’t ever once used the Brita to filter our ice.) We’ve been drinking tap water for 2 months now and neither one of us has had any unwanted leakage or strange bellyaches.

We now avoid all cans lined with the BPA. (Canned tomatoes are a big culprit.) Thankfully, we never purchased baby formula lined with it, but it is out there. I have read conflicting reports as to whether Medela’s bottles are BPA-free. (I do not think they are entirely BPA-free but I’m hoping someone reading this might be privy to that information.) Medela bottles are entirely BPA-free. Thanks to a commenter for clearing that up.

When you start looking for it, you’ll find that BPA is everywhere. It’s in everything with a recycle number 7 on it. It’s in cellophane, tupperware; It’s even found in pacifiers.

The good news is, many people seem to be catching on. It seems more and more organizations are coming out with alternatives. Born Free makes plastic bottles that are bisphenol A free. (We purchased a few of these bottles just last month.) Natursutten, came out with a BPA-free pacifier. Brita hasn’t caught on yet, which is frustrating. To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure how America got off on such a filtered-water tangent to begin with. I remember when it happened but I’m not sure how or why. It seemed that all of a sudden, people decided the tap water was no longer safe to drink. Perhaps the bottled water corporations such as Pepsi and Coke had a lot to do with it? Either way, drinking bottled water and water pushed through a filter first seems silly and excessive to me, unnecessary even. And wouldn’t it be ironic if we finally discover that the plastic we’re using is more detrimental to one’s health than the water being pumped through our pipes?

By now, I’m certain that many of you have rolled your eyes at least once during this post. And I’m OK with that. I know I annoyed the crap out of some folks after we ordered an organic mattress. But I invite you to take a minute and answer one question:

If we are able to cut down on the amount of chemicals we unnecessarily pump into our children, don’t you think that we should?

It took months worth of research for me to get behind vaccinations. The more research I did, the better I felt about immunizing my little guy. The opposite can be said for BPA. The more I read, the more wary I become of its role in our everyday lives.

I don’t expect everyone to get on the anti-plastic bandwagon. But I might suggest doing the research on your own and then deciding for yourself. After all, the government doesn’t always have the best interest of the individual in mind.

If there is one thing I have learned in the past year that I can state with absolution, it’s that this parenting thing takes constant research.

I visited the specialist yesterday. I picked up my blood results beforehand from my primary care physician. The levels meant absolutely nothing to me. For example, I had no idea a low something-or-other equalled an overactive thyroid. My laymen guess would have been high equals high but lo and behold, those zany medical people have to confuse us normal folk with their fancy medical terms. Or something.

I began by apologizing. I was supposed to have one more blood test before visiting the specialist. My primary care doctor assumed he had time to do so since he didn’t think that I would get an appointment with the endocrinologist until after the holidays. That wasn’t the case due to a last minute cancelation. So I ended up visiting the endocrinologist before having that blood work done, hence the apologies. He interrupted me after a bit and said, “Well, Michele, say no more, clearly there’s a problem here. This isn’t normal at all.” Someone, other than myself, has finally decided I’m a Crazy Nut!

I had half a mind to have him write it down as such.

He did some testing which consisted of having me look in certain directions, show him my legs, my hands, my eyes. He also made me swallow a lot. He asked me a lot of questions about my behavior and my sleep patterns, my pain and my pregnancy. He prescribed to me some temporary medication in order to keep my manic behavior at a minimum. (Toby thanks him. This morning I woke up and didn’t immediately put him to work cleaning the house.)

The good news is, this could all be due to postpartum. (Just as many of you suggested here and via email.) He said that some women experience this after pregnancy and that it does sometime work itself out by 6 months. So, I may be coming down off crazy. The unsettling news is, if it is due to postpartum, that doesn’t explain the last six years to TobyJoe and, well, the last 10 to me. The doctor is going to run a few more tests to figure out if this is permanent or if it’ll work itself out over time.

The next step is to have a snapshot done of my thyroid, which is scheduled for the beginning of January. My thyroid stimulating hormone levels are low enough that he’s worried about my heart palpitations and my heart rate, hence the drug I was prescribed. It’s only purpose is to keep my heart from exploding. And I do feel calmer today. I haven’t had any sudden jolts or spasms and my heart feels pretty even. I even slept finally. (Usually, I wake up every other hour and have trouble falling back to sleep.)

The bad news (which I have come to terms with) is that I am no longer able to supply breast milk for Emory. But since my supply tanked from an already low supply, it’s not a huge change or surprise. He’s doing well. He’s strong, healthy, and I gave him almost five months worth of milk. I asked the doctor if hyperthyroidism could be responsible for my very low milk supply (10 oz now, 23 at my highest) and he said yes. Granted, things could have been different had Emory and I worked on a latch, but for whatever reason, we never got that worked out. Maybe my supply was too low and he became frustrated. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough (although I tried all the time back then and I continued trying up until about two weeks ago). I realize I have talked about this a lot (too much). I even said it’d be the last time I talked about it a hundred times before now. It’s hard to let go. Plus, I have received dozens and dozens of email (a beautiful one just yesterday) from mothers who have run into problems breastfeeding. Many have met nothing but nastiness from other women. A fact that will never stop shocking me. I can’t figure out why women do this to other women. I am reminded of a paragraph from A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

“Most women had the one thing in common: they had great pain when they gave birth to their children. This should make a bond that held them all together; it should make them love and protect each other against the man-world. But is was not so. It seemed like their great birth pains shrank their hearts and their souls. They stuck together for only one thing: to trample on some other woman… whether it was by throwing stones or by mean gossip. It was the only kind of loyalty they seemed to have.”

Now, even I think that’s a little harsh, but you get the point.

I (what pumpers call) “hung up the horns” last night and I started to cry a little bit. I turned to TobyJoe and said, “If it’s this hard for me to put a pump away, it must be really difficult to wean a child.” (Breastfeeding mamas, you have my sympathies.)

I’ll know more in January. And I’m trying not to think about the possibility of having my thyroid irradiated because the thought of being away from Emory (and EVERYBODY) for several days makes me want to break down and cry in place. Right now. So, in the meantime, I’m going to smooch my baby boy, take care of myself, be nice to my husband and eat as much crap as I want. I fell off my diet due to this ravenous appetite and have managed to stay at 148. (I wonder… if I stay away from entire chocolate cakes, would I actually lose weight from all of this?)

This is so boring, these medical posts. So, I’ll leave you with this adorable picture of my two boys.

Thanks, y’all for dealing with my crap. xoxxo

Sometimes I realize that I write about something and then I never, ever come back to it. So, if you’ve been following along (poor thing), you may suddenly ask yourself, “Wonder what ever happened to that parking ticket?” Well, today’s post is going to put an end to some of those cliffhangers.

OUR LANDLORD WOES

I am happy to report that our landlord woes have come to an end. After a not so pleasant email correspondence (one with us in the right) we won. It ended with a sweet-as-can-be phone call. Here’s the short story. We agreed to a three month out two years ago. (We’ve been here for four years. We’re awesome tenants. I mean that.) The clause was written into our lease just incase we made an offer on a house. Well, this year, out of the blue, our landlord said they didn’t want to give us that option (but didn’t tell us they removed it) and that we’d either have to sign an year lease or get out. We don’t want to sign a year lease because this is going to be the year we buy a house. There was some back and forth, some really bad logic on their part (not wanting to find tenants more than once a year, and in the winter, which, unless Al Gore’s projections are right, will be the case always since our lease is up on December 4th.) We pointed out their bad logic. (This is getting too long.) Nutshell: We were right. They agreed to it. They told us we have been awesome and they simply don’t wish to lose us.

Good news all around. Plus, we’re going to be homeowners by this time next year or I’m going to move in with you.

MY UNFAIR PARKING TICKET

Remember this? I got a $65.00 parking ticket accusing me of a being a dealer selling our ‘75 Volvo. They were wrong. I was right. I contested the ticket. It’s been 3 months. On Friday of last week, I got a letter stating that the judge agreed with me. I do not have to pay the ticket. (I did have to pay the one I got while giving birth, however, for an expired registration even though I had it registered but failed to put the ticket on the windshield. Ah well.) So that’s taken care of. And the Volvo has since been donated to Autism Speaks of New York City. (I miss her.)

THE HOUSE HUNT

Looks like we’re going to settle in New Jersey. We’re looking at houses this Saturday. Yay! I can’t wait to have a yard, a hose, and a floor that touches the ground.

THYROID STUFF. ANOTHER AHA! MOMENT

(This is an oldie but a goodie!)

I wrote about my shins turning themselves inside out back in 2004. We were in San Francisco at the time. The itchy, bumpy mess has happened since then a few times, usually when I’m under a lot of stress or I’m depressed. It flared up even worse right after Emory was born. I complained about it nonstop to my mother and TobyJoe. Well, check this out. (From the Grave’s Disease page Mayo Clinic Web site.)

Graves’ dermopathy

An uncommon sign of Graves’ disease is reddening and swelling of the skin, often on your shins and on the top of your feet, called Graves’ dermopathy.

Have you ever seen Chasing Amy? Remember when Banky is at the bar with Holden and he has that moment of clarity when he realizes it’s actually a lesbian bar and that Holden’s new crush is batting for the other team? Well, that’s been what I’ve been doing the last couple of days. I’m going back in time and realizing that a lot of symptoms I have had could be related to Grave’s Disease (or high thyroid levels). I have asked four doctors through the years about the skin problem on my shins. (Most recently, I talked to my dermatologist about it, the same woman who discovered the basal cell carcinoma.) Not one doctor has suggested testing for Grave’s. I have complained about heart problems (mainly palpitations and my heart rate fluctuation) and not one of them has checked my thyroid levels. (I even had a stress test done in 2005 to check out my heart.)

Crazier? The doctor who finally did test my thyroid levels actually asked me, during our first ever meeting in 2005, if I have Grave’s disease because, “your eyes are kind of buggy.” (I wrote about that meeting here but for some reason I can’t find it. My mother left a comment reassuring me that my eyes were lovely. That’s all I remember.)

What I’m saying, Internet, is this diagnosis could possibly change everything for the better. I’m manic with the possibility that I might not have to continue living the way I’ve been living for so long, which is to say erratically unhappy and happy, confused, lonely, and sometimes filled with doom. I don’t use this site to write about the dark moments. I did during my postpartum, but even then I held back. I’m hard to live with. On Monday, whenever the doctor called to say my thyroid levels were high, a moment of clarity swept over me.

On Monday I realized that I’ve been at the lesbian bar all this time. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.)

So, today I have a meeting with a endocrinologist. I am not sure what that entails, but I do hope he can make sense of all of this for me. Perhaps he can make me understand myself a little better. I’m not saying I do have Grave’s Disease, but something is askew and now I’ll get a chance to figure out what and why.

And maybe then I’ll learn how to feel normal again even though I’m not even sure what normal is.

THE WRAP UP

I suppose that’s it. If I’ve missed something, please let me know. If you’ve had some unanswered question, if I’ve left cliffhangers, let me know. I am not a fan of cliffhangers.

^{You should read this in order. Previous Chapters: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7}

Enough people have written me email or have left comments about my birth story to warrant some clarification.

For starters, I want everyone to know that when I think about my experience giving birth to Emory, I don’t think about it as a negative one. For me to see it as negative, something would have had to go wrong with Emory. And he was happy! His heartbeat never took a turn. He was totally fine throughout the entire ordeal.

I also want to talk about why I was induced. I have always had a steady blood pressure. My doctors have always described my blood pressure as perfect. So, whenever things drastically changed so much at week 40 my doctor was rightly concerned. Not only was I off the charts where blood pressure was concerned, but I was seeing little white fireflies in my peripheral every time I stood up. My doctor (who I trust with my life and my baby’s) decided it was time to take action. She gave me four days go “get things going”. If I came in after those four days and still had problems with my blood pressure, we should talk about scheduling an induction. Guess what? Four days later, things were worse.

I would not have scheduled an induction had there not been a medical reason for it. I was miserable toward the end, sure, but my discomfort wasn’t reason enough to induce. Because of my deteriorating health, Emory was at risk as well.

I also need to mention that I never really had a birth plan. A couple of people asked me why I never came up with one. I put a lot of faith in my doctors throughout my entire pregnancy and looked to them to decide what I should do. I felt both my baby and me were in excellent hands the entire time. While the actual labor may not have come off as smoothly as I may have liked, Emory was in very capable hands. I really believe that. Even when he was admitted into the NICU I felt he was safe and looked after. I will say this much: if we ever do have another baby, I won’t think twice about going back to that hospital. I would like to see that evil desk clerk fired first, but otherwise, I have no complaints.

More than a few people have hinted both passively and aggressively that I would have had a better time with a “natural” childbirth. That very well might be true. We’ll never know. But I get annoyed with how loosely the term “natural” is thrown around. In order for anyone to correctly use a word, we need a common definition. When does something become unnatural? Is human action, presence, or influence the source of the distinction? Medicine? And if it’s medicine at what point do you draw the line between “natural” medicine and all other? My point is that your definition of “natural” probably varies from another’s. Is anesthesia natural? How about using acupuncture as an anesthesia? Ice is pretty natural, right? How about being submerged in ice before a medical procedure? The truth is, the word “natural” is an empty rhetorical trick used to mask a lack of clarity or spin a simpler and more concrete distinction in favor of one side over another.

I think what people mean to say when using the word “natural” is without the use of pain management drugs or an epidural. In such a case, it would be more productive to use a term such as “birth without pain management drugs.”

I did not choose to go about childbirth without the epidural. I was frightened. I hadn’t ever done anything like it before. I hadn’t been around women who had. I know of two people who nearly lost a baby because the baby swallowed meconium during labor. And still one more person very close to me lost a baby this way. I couldn’t imagine going through nine months of pregnancy, growing attached to a baby only to see it die. The idea still terrifies me. Also, there are no known downsides to the use of modern pain management drugs aside from stepping on the toes of ideologues.

One person asked me if I felt that having doula would have made things different. I don’t know. I asked my mother to be there for my labor and delivery because she went through all three childbirths differently. My older brother was born by use of an epidural. My mother was induced for me and she was then given both narcotics and an epidural. (Which is the most preferred state when dealing with me.) And my younger brother was born without the use of any drugs or anesthesia at all. I felt (and still feel) that she was a perfect person to have around. I also wanted to share it with her. Had I been able to have more than two people in the delivery room I may have entertained the idea of hiring a doula. But it never came to that. I knew from the beginning that I wanted both my mother and my husband in the room with me.

Looking back, however, it would have been nice to have a person I’m not close to around to tell me that what I was going through and how I was feeling was perfectly normal especially after the baby was born. I really beat myself up for weeks following Emory’s birth. If doulas can be hired for that purpose, I suppose it may have been helpful. But I always thought that the doula’s role is to keep a woman from agreeing to something during childbirth that she may not have agreed to under more rational circumstances. Since I didn’t have a birth plan and I’m known for changing my mind and wholeheartedly believing in said change, a doula sounded like she could become more annoying than helpful. I’m stubborn and rather pigheaded when I need to be. I probably would have pissed off a doula and fired her midway through my labor. (Granted, this is all based on what I have heard a doula is hired for. I could very well be proven wrong about a doula’s role in all of this.)

If it’s NOT a doula’s role to make a woman feel as normal and comfortable as humanly possible after giving birth, there is a huge market for a person like this. I really could have used NOT a lactation consultant, NOT a birthing coach, NOT a midwife, I could have used a sane someone who’s been there before. I would have benefited from someone telling me that it’s OK if I can’t get the hang of breastfeeding. It’s OK if I am afraid to hold the baby right away. It’s OK that I feel like I dismantled any previous version of my life and that one day I would learn to how live the new one. I wanted someone to grab a hold of my head, shake it clean and let me know that everything I was going through was entirely normal and the sadness would one day subside. Instead, that role was filled by several hundred voices from the Internet.

If we do have another baby, I will likely go about things differently. I would like to avoid being induced unless it’s absolutely necessary. If my blood pressure raises again as it did with this pregnancy, I might asked to be watched closely by a doctor to make sure we’re both ok instead of being induced. If it doesn’t work out that way, I might ask that they NOT give me the epidural until I am further dilated. (The reason they didn’t give me enough Pitocin the first time was because they had no way of judging how intense my contractions were.) If that can’t be done, I might ask for the internal monitor from the get go so they can judge how much more Pitocin to administer.

And yes, for all those out there with a boner for a childbirth without the use of narcotics or an epidural, I might give that a try as well. Now that I know what happens, now that I’m no longer terrified to give birth, I might give it a shot. Who knows. I don’t want to make an absolute plan. If there is one thing I learned from all of this is that all of it is entirely unpredictable. I planned on so many things before I actually had the baby and when I returned home with him, I was barely able to accomplish one of them. And the seeming failures made me feel even more depressed. I really beat myself up over my failures and spent little time rejoicing in having a baby.

If you take anything away from this post and the 7 chapters I wrote over the last couple of weeks it’s the following statement:

The mental aftermath hurt far worse than the days I spent in the hospital.

And I went through that both drug and epidural free.

I woke up early yesterday and trekked into the city to have my stitches removed. I got dressed up in order to do so. That’s a sign of the frequency with which I leave the house.

I learned that my skin had grown over two of the four stitches during my week of healing. I also discovered that I’m allergic to the Bacitracin I was prescribed. My doctor told me to stop using it immediately. The site was red and blotchy and slightly raised because of the reaction I had. It hadn’t healed quite as well as she would have liked, so I may need some laser treatment when this is all said and done. I’m to see her again in four weeks. In the meantime, she gave me a steroidal ointment called Cutivate (which I just found out I should not use since I’m supplying breast milk for Emory) and a topical ointment called Biafine to help with the redness after the wound heals.

To be completely honest, I couldn’t have cared less about my face or the scarring because Emory was scheduled to have his second round of vaccinations yesterday. This fact weighed on my head, so much so, I was unable to eat. (A perfect solution to losing weight: schedule vaccinations for your new baby.)

We are having Emory vaccinated. We’re skipping a few, such as Hepatitis B (he can get that later), and the flu shot. I think we’re also going to skip the chicken pox vaccination. And there are others I haven’t even researched yet that may be added to that list. I’m taking it day by day. I do know one thing: we’re only allowing for two shots per visit. The CDC requests that you do more. If a person were to go along with the schedule recommended by the CDC, a child could have up to 6 shots in one visit. And I know what I’m about to write may not go over too well with the Internet, but I think that’s too many. I might change my mind as he gets older but right now I think that 6 injections is far too many. And so we’re giving him less and visiting more often (if need be).

Emory had two more vaccinations yesterday. He was given IPV (polio) and HIB (haemophilus influenzae type b). Both shots are associated with few-to-no side effects. Technically, he was also supposed to receive DTaP already but it tends to cause problems and will thus be given alone. DTaP scares me a bit. By giving it solo, if anything should happen, I will know exactly what vaccine to blame.

Of course Emory screamed when he received the shots. We were ready for that. And I stood outside the whole time. I joked with the nurse and pediatrician and told them I planned on visiting the bar across the street to get a couple of shots myself. Had I not been driving, I may have done so. Next time, however I may take the Xanax I was prescribed for flying. I really do not handle these shots very well.

So, he screamed and TJ did his best to calm him. We waited at the doctor’s office until he was soothed. A bottle helped.

We left. He was still fine. He smiled a lot and even laughed a couple of times. When we got him home, we sang to him and played with him. I gave him a tiny bath and then wrapped him up for a nap. He passed out at around 5 PM.

TobyJoe and I made dinner. I showered. Emory was still sleeping. Emory never sleeps for more than two hours during the day but I knew that his immune system was busy so I let him rest. At around 8 PM, Emory began to stir. And then all hell broke lose. He just started screaming.

Back up. I have said this before about my son but I really must reiterate it. Emory DOES NOT cry. He just doesn’t cry. He fusses, but he saves crying for whenever he’s in pain. He has cried now about four times in his life. So when he woke up screaming and red-faced I became worried. This was not the way my baby normally acts.

TobyJoe dropped everything he was doing and scooped him up. He tried his best to comfort him. And Emory screamed. Every time he opened his eyes, he screamed. With them shut, he screamed. When we tried to feed him, he screamed. Whenever we rocked him, he screamed. Pacification? Screamed. He just screamed and screamed and screamed and his mother nearly shit her pants.

Almost ALL of the literature about side-effects associated with vaccinations says to call a doctor or visit an ER if there’s a change in your baby’s behavior. And there was. It was clear to me that something was different. I called the doctor and left a desperate message.

I have no idea how much time went by (10, 15, 30 minutes?) before TobyJoe was able to get Emory to fall asleep again. And then it was worry time. What would happen whenever he awoke again? Would we have to endure more of this? Was he OK?

The doctor called me back when he was sleeping. I told her everything.

She gave me advice and then let me know that for reasons they are still very unsure of, some babies will wake up screaming and they scream no matter what you do. She said that often enough, once they fall back to sleep and wake up for a second time, they will never scream again. She said that doctors have no idea why they scream. She told me that if he wakes up again and continues to scream that I should undress him and look for anything out of the ordinary. If I don’t see anything, and he doesn’t calm down, then I can bring him to the ER. She also told me what dosage of Tylenol to give him. She tried to reassure me that the two vaccines he had were “mild”, which didn’t really reassure me because if my child was having this type of reaction to a mild vaccine, what was going to happen with the response to the DTaP?

We waited. We listened to his breathing, made sure that he wasn’t having an allergic reaction. TobyJoe tried to wake him a few times. Finally, we decided to be a little more insistent so we could give him some Tylenol.

The following second was reminiscent of something I’ve seen in movies during on of those bomb-disabling scenes. You know, the one where the guy is standing over two different color wires as the clock tics down to mere seconds and at the very last second he cuts the yellow wire. It was the second right after the cut. The one where you’re all waiting to see if the bomb goes off. That’s what the second between sleep and awake was like. Would he scream?

Silence. Grumble. Silence. Grumble. Silence. And then the feed me hands. No screaming. Just feed me hands.

I have no idea what made him scream like that. The experience was reminiscent of the time Homer Simpson remembered having found Smither’s Dad’s dead body and continually screamed no matter what anyone said or did.

And we were able to laugh about that today, nervously so. For I know that in just 30 more days, we’ll have to go through this all over again. But right now he’s happy and smiling and awesome.

How much do I hate this? So much. So very much. But I do know that getting him vaccinated is far better an option than letting him get sick. But it doesn’t make the experience any less horrible.

^{Notes for me: 25 Inches long and 14 pounds. Smiling. Giggling. Follows people around the room. Makes direct eye contact. Sleeps 4-hour stretches at night. Holds head up but at an angle – toward right shoulder. Blue eyes. Can hold feet.}