Chapter… whatever

So, pregnancy was as smooth as sandpaper with nails sticking through it and encrusted in broken glass. By some miracle my boss was very understanding of my little life-altering surprise and allowed me to take on the lower-stress position of Bill Collector/Bounty Hunter/Call People and Bitch at Them. We shortened the title to Collections though honestly I prefer Goddess of Company Wealth.

Though the position was far different from any other I’d ever held, I actually wasn’t bad at it. The company was small but growing, and the Collections area needed a creative makeover. It was actually quite fun figuring out where all the problems were and finding creative solutions for them. I think I even surprised myself with some of the major changes I made in inter-company communications (I knew that degree would come in useful some day).

As my belly grew, so did my job responsibilities and, oh yeah, my blood pressure. High blood pressure is a bad thing when one is not pregnant. When pregnant, it’s like an evil mother-in-law taking up residence in the room right next to the master suite… on the headboard side of the wall. Though I did my best to take it easy, the numbers on my home blood pressure monitor climbed steadily. By 20 weeks my doctor wanted me to stop working. Of course I stopped working immediately. Immediately after the tenth of the next month. First he throws Prunes at me and then he acts like paychecks grow on trees. What was up with this doctor?

At 28 weeks of pregnancy I made the mistake of going in for a routine fetal non-stress test. The “bun” proved to be doing just fine, but the “oven” was getting a little too hot. The staff would not even let me go out to the parking lot to grab a pre-packed suitcase from the trunk of my car. I was given one of those lovely fanny emphasizing robes that ties in the back, and being 28 weeks pregnant I had to have help with those poorly-placed low-tech fastening devices.

Taking up temporary residence in the hospital was an experience. There’s nothing like sleeping on a plastic-covered mattress loosely covered with one thin sheet in the one ward of the hospital that is kept extra warm. Finding a comfortable position while pregnant is hard enough without attempting to stuff a plastic pillow between your knees for hip support. I was given the option of laying on my left side or getting repeatedly reprimanded for shifting to my right side when my left side became sore. By day two my old back injury was acting up, and by day four I called one of my best friends who happens to be a Chiropractor to come “visit” me. I felt so much better by the time she left that my blood pressure went down to 150 over 98 for an hour or two.

By Sunday, August 6^th my blood pressure was back up just a bit. My doctor seemed to think 168 over 112 was a bad thing. He asked me to call my husband and to be ready to go into surgery in the next hour. (And he thought my blood pressure was high before?)

I grabbed my cell phone and called my hubby’s number. No answer. I called his other phone. No answer. I called the first number again and almost started to freak. As I was about to try the number again I received a text message that simply said, “HOLD ON!” I was about to get wheeled in to have a baby, and he put me on HOLD behind an “important” phone call!

I did the only thing a woman who’s not allowed to get out of bed could do. I called some friends and told them to go kick my hubby’s ass. Well, I did mention I was about to have the baby, and they said they would drive right over to our house and get him if necessary. Luckily when they called his phone, he saw it wasn’t me and answered. Needless to say I got some good apologies after that cute stunt.

Though I’d had two needles in the spine before for my other two c-sections, the third time was not the charm. Though the area was supposedly numbed with Novocain, I could still feel it just fine. I love it when they say “you’re going to feel a little pressure…” Pressure my butt! That HURT! On top of that I could feel the needle going to the left of the centered target. By the time I was on the operating table I was numb from the torso down, but my blood pressure was higher than ever. In fact after the whole ordeal was done, Dr. Prune confided that he’d never seen blood pressure that high in someone with an epidural. He was actually worried I’d arrest during the surgery. I love hearing delightful tidbits like that.

I’d love to tell you every detail about the surgical experience that day, but I had been put on a Magnesium drip to prevent seizures. For those of you lucky enough to never have experienced high volumes of Magnesium infusing the bloodstream, it’s a unique experience that is somewhat comparable to being seasick while on a bad acid trip. I’ve never tried acid, but I’ve heard stories. I have now actually seen the walls breathe. I vaguely remember the anesthesiologist on my right saying “Put your arm down. Can you hear me? Please put your arm back down.” Huh? What arm? At the time I had no earthly idea what he was talking about, but I am guessing that one of the side effects of Magnesium is arm levitation.

The only clear memory I have is seeing my beautiful 2 lb. 7 oz. daughter being wheeled out in a small, plastic cart. She was pink and breathing on her own. She was absolutely beautiful. And that’s when the anesthesiologist gave me the good stuff.

I woke up (somewhat) in the recovery room. Generally at this point new mothers are wheeled to the Post-Partum ward, but they were too afraid to move me very far. In fact I was put in the room directly across the hall from the recovery room. I remember very little about the next two days. I know I was longing to see my tiny daughter, but neither she nor I could be moved. When my blood pressure was finally a little lower and the walls had stopped breathing, I was wheeled in a stretcher to the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit). Though Danika was tiny, she was doing better than we had dared to hope. I was even allowed to hold her for a minute before being taken to my new room in the Post-Partum ward.

Just as my blood pressure was coming under control, a doctor from the NICU came to my room and excitedly announced to me that she thought my daughter had Down Syndrome. Thanks lady! That was just the medication I needed to insure a swift and stress-free recovery from the wild ride from which I’d just disembarked.

Disaster Flambé

In the summer of 2005 I decided it was time to get out of the home child care scene. My own children were enough of a challenge, and my house was a disaster. Though I had four dogs at the time, the odor and stains on my carpet had not come from any of my four-legged charges. Perhaps that was a catalyst in my decision to trade in child care for doggie daycare.

I started about the same way I did with the child care, but I also took the step to rent a building in which to have my business. Now living in a Texas town North of Dallas, I checked ordinances and codes. Though the folks at Town Hall told me the existing cement floors in the building I had rented would suffice, the OTHER people at Town Hall later told me the floors would have to be sealed with epoxy. Of course by this time I had already made a bit of an investment in renovating the building.

There is a lot of stress associated with starting one’s own business. There is also stress in having a two-year-old hanging from one's ankle every minute of the day when starting said business. I didn’t realize it at the time, but we humans have a built-in gauge that measures stress. It’s called “Blood Pressure.” Though the last few times I had been to the doctor my blood pressure was a tad high, I never thought anything of it as mine had always been ridiculously low.

Around this time my sister called me and asked me to come to Louisiana. In her twenty-seventh week of pregnancy, she had been put in the hospital when proteins were found in her urine (yum!). I packed up the last of all of our baby toys, car seats, bassinets, bottles and so-on and prepared to drive to Louisiana. Mind you, this was about a week after Hurricane Katrina blew through, and though my sister lived in Lafayette, there was still a bit of turmoil across the state. My husband could not come with me, so in his stead I brought my beloved Olde Victorian Bulldogge, Brandy Ann and my Chihuahua, Devon. Brandy’s looks alone would be enough to deter any person with malice on the mind.

While in LA I took it upon myself to create the proper environment for my sister’s new addition. I had my brother-in-law move all the computer equipment and furniture out of the chosen future room of the first-born, and painted my butt off for the next two days. This is why I no longer have a butt... I wish! I should mention that I am actually NOT a beginner painter. I have enjoyed creating art on any piece of blank canvas I find. My own home does not have a white wall in any room… I take that back. My son’s room has an Oriental theme. Rice-paper white walls on three walls and a brilliant oriental red on the fourth wall. The trim around the doors, floor and windows is black, and I painted a dragon in gold upon the red wall. What? Don't all mothers paint "theme" rooms for their children?

While off on this tangent, I might as well run wild and tell you that I have always wanted Venetian Plaster and stone for walls. By no stretch of anyone’s imagination could I afford such luxuries, so I created my own plaster and stone (and brick and adobe…) with paint. I love it when visitors look about the disaster that is my home and look visibly surprised to see an arched brick window above the kitchen cabinets, or marble walls in the bathroom.

The baby’s room in my sister’s house was not finished a moment too soon. Baby Joshua was born on Labor Day (of all possible days) in 2005. He weighed in at 1 lb. 8 oz. Thank goodness the little guy had a huge amount of “fight” in him to carry him through the next few months. Knowing that my sister lived just down the street from some big NFL football player, I was disappointed I didn't have one of those stork signs on which I could paint "Louisiana welcomes it's newest future NFL lineman, Joshua. Weight: 1 1/2 lbs. Height: 12 inches!" for the front yard.

Just after Joshua’s birth, my sister’s doctor asked our family members if anyone else had high blood pressure. The answer was a resounding “No.” Shortly after the final echo of the word, I started to wonder just a little bit about my last few visits to my own doctor. Was it possible little Miss saltaholic-I’ve-always-had-low-blood-pressure could be developing a problem? Nah!

Upon my return to Texas, I made myself an appointment with my doctor to follow-up on my new migraine medication. The visit created a whole new kind of headache for me. My blood pressure was quite a bit higher than my aspirations of building a successful doggie daycare business. I started taking medications that seemed to do no more than an order of salty french-fries would. The dosage was increased almost weekly, and I was taken off all other substances that might elevate my blood pressure for any reason. I finally allowed the doctor to talk me into walking away from my floundering doggie daycare business, and into going off the birth control pill I had been on since the birth of my last child. I found a job working for a small company in a nearby town and got pregnant on my first day.

Nothing like sleeping your way to the top… and no, it’s not like it sounds. I suppose the stars aligned just perfectly on the 18^th of January, 2006. Our little celebration for my first day in a new job (and that cute little French Maid outfit my hubby got me) resulted in pregnancy number three. How was I going to explain this to my new boss after only three weeks on the job? I know – you’re probably thinking “why even tell your boss so early?” Well, I had taken a sales position that required 50 plus hours of attention a week, and my blood pressure just found a new reason to become even higher. Somehow I had inadvertently found myself in possession of all the necessary ingredients for the recipe for “Disaster Flambé.”