Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Carpenter's First Year
I sat up late last night, unable to sleep, and decided to put together a little memorial for my sweet boy. Tomorrow, I'll write. Today, I'll let pictures speak for me. Goodnight, dear friends.
Monday, February 18, 2013
I'm Not Ready
Tomorrow is Carpenter's birthday. I have written and rewritten this post almost five times today. And I still feel just as disjointed and confused as with the first draft. This probably makes no sense, but I believe that posting as-is will be honest. And I prefer to be honest about what's going on in my heart and mind through this process. Because not one minute of this journey has made sense.
I drove home from a meeting tonight. It was dark. The radio had been left on NPR and it was pretty quiet. And it totally hit me how alone I was. I called Mike to let him know I was on my way. He didn't answer. I realized that people I had called earlier in the day had not called me back. I called a few other friends. None answered. I called Mike three more times. He did not answer. So I started to panic. The grief finally had a crack to slip through, and it did. Of course, Mike and a friend both called me, and I got a text pretty quickly, but the seed had already been sown. And I knew finally what my big issue had been all day long.
This is the loneliest I've felt in a year.
You imagine your child's birthday as a grand celebration where you're surrounded by family and friends. People come from all around to see the person-of-the-hour, bringing gifts, hugs and kisses. Everyone wants a slice of cake. Everyone wants a picture with the birthday baby. Everyone.
Unless the birthday boy died. Then...well, the invite list is pretty short, and not because you're feeling selective. The number of people willing to celebrate the 24-week-life of my son is pretty damned small. And that pisses me off.
I am pissed off.
Because people SHOULD care. People should remember. How is this not seen as one of the greatest tragedies in the world that such a handsome little boy is no longer among us? Where is the uproar? Where are the memorials, the remembrances, the throngs of mourning fans?
Right here. Sitting on our bed in our bedroom.
I came in the door sobbing, demanding to know why the nation would fly the flag at half-mast for Whitney Houston when she overdosed after a long, exciting life, but only an intimate few recognize Carpenter's anniversary. I stood defiant, willing Mike to hug me and cry injustice as well. Instead, he cut right through all of it.
He said, "I guess we're luckier than a lot of people."
And he's right. Carpenter does have friends and family who will remember him tomorrow. Some will mourn with us. We will not be alone.
So while I still rage against the injustice of a dear life oft overlooked, I will try and appreciate how lucky we are. And I pray that those who make us feel that way know how much they mean to us. Because without those select few, I would have drowned in this sea of grief a year ago.
I'm off to tread water. Or cry myself to sleep. Goodnight, dear friends.
I drove home from a meeting tonight. It was dark. The radio had been left on NPR and it was pretty quiet. And it totally hit me how alone I was. I called Mike to let him know I was on my way. He didn't answer. I realized that people I had called earlier in the day had not called me back. I called a few other friends. None answered. I called Mike three more times. He did not answer. So I started to panic. The grief finally had a crack to slip through, and it did. Of course, Mike and a friend both called me, and I got a text pretty quickly, but the seed had already been sown. And I knew finally what my big issue had been all day long.
This is the loneliest I've felt in a year.
You imagine your child's birthday as a grand celebration where you're surrounded by family and friends. People come from all around to see the person-of-the-hour, bringing gifts, hugs and kisses. Everyone wants a slice of cake. Everyone wants a picture with the birthday baby. Everyone.
Unless the birthday boy died. Then...well, the invite list is pretty short, and not because you're feeling selective. The number of people willing to celebrate the 24-week-life of my son is pretty damned small. And that pisses me off.
I am pissed off.
Because people SHOULD care. People should remember. How is this not seen as one of the greatest tragedies in the world that such a handsome little boy is no longer among us? Where is the uproar? Where are the memorials, the remembrances, the throngs of mourning fans?
Right here. Sitting on our bed in our bedroom.
I came in the door sobbing, demanding to know why the nation would fly the flag at half-mast for Whitney Houston when she overdosed after a long, exciting life, but only an intimate few recognize Carpenter's anniversary. I stood defiant, willing Mike to hug me and cry injustice as well. Instead, he cut right through all of it.
He said, "I guess we're luckier than a lot of people."
And he's right. Carpenter does have friends and family who will remember him tomorrow. Some will mourn with us. We will not be alone.
So while I still rage against the injustice of a dear life oft overlooked, I will try and appreciate how lucky we are. And I pray that those who make us feel that way know how much they mean to us. Because without those select few, I would have drowned in this sea of grief a year ago.
I'm off to tread water. Or cry myself to sleep. Goodnight, dear friends.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
3 Hour Glucola with Gifs
Well, I had always hoped I wouldn't be here. Sitting in a quiet room for three hours while nurses randomly stick me with needles.
If you've gotten this far in our relationship, you've probably realized needles and I have a torrid love-hate relationship. I hate, hate, hate them, but they pretty much keep my kids alive. So. Yeah. Shut up with the whining...right? Wrong.
I thought, if I have to go through this, I'm taking someone down with me. And why not the millions (dozens...handful) of people who read this blog? So, as I sit here, waiting for the next vial to be siphoned off, I will chronicle my experience. For science.
7:45 AM
I was told to arrive "by eight am." Being chronically early for appointments means I was here at 7:45, ready to go. Of course, no one else was. I stood outside the office in what can only be described as the atrium to a small-town mall, complete with exotic plants in ugly planters and tile leftover from a hospital. I know now they tell you to get there by eight am because they have every intention of leaving you in the hallway. Part of the fasting beforehand is watching a few dozen nurses walk by with McDonald's bags and Starbucks cups. If you keep from tackling a slow one and licking the leftover wrappers, you've passed step one.
8:00 AM
The nice nurse/receptionist checked me in. I was obviously the first one here, so there was no fooling around, luckily. I've got other doctors appointments today, because I'm high-maintenance like that. She had me sign some papers, and then sent me down a hall to a little room with a single blood-draw chair facing a mirror. Fun. That's what every pregnant girl wants first thing in the morning when she's crabby and underfed. To stare at herself head-on under fluorescent lights. But I'm a fainter, so I got upgraded.
They moved me to a nicer room, which looks like a really comfy waiting room for one, I guess. I rolled up my sleeve, and started to warn my nurse that I'm scared to death of needl---holy crap she skewered me. She's like a vampire-ninja. Snuck right up, wasted no time, and stabbed me. I guess it's over, at least.
Then I got to choose what flavor pain I wanted next. Your choices are normally Fruit Punch or Orange. I had Fruit Punch for the one-hour, so I figured I'd mix it up. Too much of a good thing, you know? The Fruit Punch tastes like Hawaiian Punch thickened by hummingbird food. The Orange was not nearly as sweet, thankfully, but just as thick. I'll be brushing my teeth for an hour just to feel normal again. (Have I ever mentioned I'm in love with brushing my teeth? Nevermind.) So, you have five minutes to chug down the juice. It's not horrible at first. It's really the dregs at the bottom that'll kill you. You can see how thick it is then. But I chugged it, tossed it, and laid back for the next three hours of medically-induced sugar-high.
8:15 AM
HOLY CRAP I JUST REALIZED WHERE I AM! I was just sitting here, thinking how delightfully cushy the fainters have it in comparison to the rest, and it hit me. Wait for it...you have to stumble on it like I did. I'm in a room with a heavy door toting a sign that warns "Do not enter, procedure in progress." The room has two very comfy 80's recliners, a table, and a tv. I can adjust the lighting however I please with lamps and warmer overhead light. So, I'm sitting here, in the recliner, with a trash can beside me, a table with tissues in arm's reach, and a TV/VCR combo ahead of me. On the table is a statue of two parents holding a baby. And there is a basket in the corner that has a blanket haphazardly thrown over it, as if covering what's inside from the casual observer.
I think...
I think I'm in the room where guys go to...
You know...
Deposit their genetic materials!
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Okay, back to business...waiting for the next hour to pass by.
8:30AM
I need a nap. And I'm not sure if it's the sugar or the fact that it's 8:30AM and I'm merely 100 yards from Starbucks. Matt's pretty excited to be here, though. No kick-count app needed...he's up and ready for action.
9:00AM
Always a glutton for punishment, I'm about to hunt down a nurse to do my next blood draw. Shouldn't they be here already? Should I go out there? Did my nurse leave and suddenly everyone is worried there's some poor guy in here trying to make a deposit by watching "Murder, She Wrote"?
I guess I'll go out there and save these poor people from their imaginations.
9:15 AM
Quick Draw and I met in the hallway. She didn't forget me. Left arm this time, since she got the right last time. I wonder if they switch each time, or if it's just because I switched recliners. Either way, I'm now sitting in the dark, feet up, back to my 1980s old-lady mysteries. I've been given permission to nap, and will go for it. I mean, geez, this is my third kid. When else am I going to nap?
10:00 AM
Just woke up to the closing credits of MSW. Yes, I am seriously watching that. It's good stuff! Jessica Fletcher vs. The KGB? Oh yes they did! Sure, when I was a kid, watching this at Grandma's house, it wasn't great stuff. But when Netflix suggests you watch something, you listen dammit. Because I've been trained to obey social media and its counterparts.
10:10 AM
Quick Draw is gone. Speedy Gonzalez is here. Speedy came in just to introduce herself, and I guess move me to another room. I warned her I was left here because I'm a fainter and she playfully huffed, "Oh! You're one of those!" and hustled back out to get her gear. Pretty awesome response given that my old OB's phlebotomist used to basically pitch a fit whenever I came in. I guess it's pretty inconvenient to walk across the hall with one vial, one needle, one alcohol swab and one bandaid. That takes the work of at least two legs and a hand! She couldn't be bothered. In fact, I believe you might know her:
10:30 AM
I now realize how I've been rambling on for the last 2 1/2 hours. I feel the need to apologize to those of you who have made it this far. ... C'mon! There has to be ONE of you left! Anyway, I'm sorry. I didn't promise any great, hilarious post, did I? Oh. I did. Well, crap.
10:45 AM
I realize I'm in the home stretch. Time has flown by with the nap and the self-congratulatory re-reading of this post. I got all distracted and didn't finish the episode of MSW, so I still don't know if the KGB dunnit. I've got fifteen minutes, though.
Of course, in order to spew this "information" (remember, "for science!"?) at you dear readers as soon as possible, I'm going to do a Boy Meets World style summary for you now, so I can head straight out the door as the credits roll.
Overall, I've had a pretty good day. The juice tastes pretty miserable, but I've drunk much worse things in a game of King's Cup back in college. (Only jerks use Bailey's for King's Cup.) The needles were scary, until I realized how delicate the nurses were. Barely felt anything. Yes, I should be used to blood draws by now, but I'm not and I don't care. It's been a very calm, relaxing experience. Basically one step above Dental Cleaning on the Relax-a-Mom scale, and we all know how awesome that can be. (Seriously, any women out there without living kids, get psyched for dental cleanings. It's the best rest you'll get for six months.)
I'll give the experience 3 out of 4 stars, with room for improvement. It would totally be better if they'd just leave you the hell alone and let you nap for three hours straight. But, then, I guess, what's the point?
Hope you've enjoyed! Love, Annie
I'm having a Clockwork Orange flashback.
 |
| Not going to hurt at all, they said. |
If you've gotten this far in our relationship, you've probably realized needles and I have a torrid love-hate relationship. I hate, hate, hate them, but they pretty much keep my kids alive. So. Yeah. Shut up with the whining...right? Wrong.
I thought, if I have to go through this, I'm taking someone down with me. And why not the millions (dozens...handful) of people who read this blog? So, as I sit here, waiting for the next vial to be siphoned off, I will chronicle my experience. For science.
 |
| Seems legit. |
7:45 AM
I was told to arrive "by eight am." Being chronically early for appointments means I was here at 7:45, ready to go. Of course, no one else was. I stood outside the office in what can only be described as the atrium to a small-town mall, complete with exotic plants in ugly planters and tile leftover from a hospital. I know now they tell you to get there by eight am because they have every intention of leaving you in the hallway. Part of the fasting beforehand is watching a few dozen nurses walk by with McDonald's bags and Starbucks cups. If you keep from tackling a slow one and licking the leftover wrappers, you've passed step one.
 |
| OH...that counts? |
8:00 AM
The nice nurse/receptionist checked me in. I was obviously the first one here, so there was no fooling around, luckily. I've got other doctors appointments today, because I'm high-maintenance like that. She had me sign some papers, and then sent me down a hall to a little room with a single blood-draw chair facing a mirror. Fun. That's what every pregnant girl wants first thing in the morning when she's crabby and underfed. To stare at herself head-on under fluorescent lights. But I'm a fainter, so I got upgraded.
 |
| They were duly impressed. |
They moved me to a nicer room, which looks like a really comfy waiting room for one, I guess. I rolled up my sleeve, and started to warn my nurse that I'm scared to death of needl---holy crap she skewered me. She's like a vampire-ninja. Snuck right up, wasted no time, and stabbed me. I guess it's over, at least.
Then I got to choose what flavor pain I wanted next. Your choices are normally Fruit Punch or Orange. I had Fruit Punch for the one-hour, so I figured I'd mix it up. Too much of a good thing, you know? The Fruit Punch tastes like Hawaiian Punch thickened by hummingbird food. The Orange was not nearly as sweet, thankfully, but just as thick. I'll be brushing my teeth for an hour just to feel normal again. (Have I ever mentioned I'm in love with brushing my teeth? Nevermind.) So, you have five minutes to chug down the juice. It's not horrible at first. It's really the dregs at the bottom that'll kill you. You can see how thick it is then. But I chugged it, tossed it, and laid back for the next three hours of medically-induced sugar-high.
 |
| Absolutely no side effects. |
8:15 AM
HOLY CRAP I JUST REALIZED WHERE I AM! I was just sitting here, thinking how delightfully cushy the fainters have it in comparison to the rest, and it hit me. Wait for it...you have to stumble on it like I did. I'm in a room with a heavy door toting a sign that warns "Do not enter, procedure in progress." The room has two very comfy 80's recliners, a table, and a tv. I can adjust the lighting however I please with lamps and warmer overhead light. So, I'm sitting here, in the recliner, with a trash can beside me, a table with tissues in arm's reach, and a TV/VCR combo ahead of me. On the table is a statue of two parents holding a baby. And there is a basket in the corner that has a blanket haphazardly thrown over it, as if covering what's inside from the casual observer.
I think...
I think I'm in the room where guys go to...
You know...
Deposit their genetic materials!
 |
| It's all fun and games until there's sperm involved. |
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!
Okay, back to business...waiting for the next hour to pass by.
8:30AM
I need a nap. And I'm not sure if it's the sugar or the fact that it's 8:30AM and I'm merely 100 yards from Starbucks. Matt's pretty excited to be here, though. No kick-count app needed...he's up and ready for action.
 |
| Ally McBeal is so old, her baby is pixelated. |
9:00AM
Always a glutton for punishment, I'm about to hunt down a nurse to do my next blood draw. Shouldn't they be here already? Should I go out there? Did my nurse leave and suddenly everyone is worried there's some poor guy in here trying to make a deposit by watching "Murder, She Wrote"?
I guess I'll go out there and save these poor people from their imaginations.
 |
| "What's GOING ON in there?!" |
9:15 AM
Quick Draw and I met in the hallway. She didn't forget me. Left arm this time, since she got the right last time. I wonder if they switch each time, or if it's just because I switched recliners. Either way, I'm now sitting in the dark, feet up, back to my 1980s old-lady mysteries. I've been given permission to nap, and will go for it. I mean, geez, this is my third kid. When else am I going to nap?
 |
| Picture the exact opposite of this. That's my life. |
10:00 AM
Just woke up to the closing credits of MSW. Yes, I am seriously watching that. It's good stuff! Jessica Fletcher vs. The KGB? Oh yes they did! Sure, when I was a kid, watching this at Grandma's house, it wasn't great stuff. But when Netflix suggests you watch something, you listen dammit. Because I've been trained to obey social media and its counterparts.
 |
| FAAAACEBOOOOK! |
10:10 AM
Quick Draw is gone. Speedy Gonzalez is here. Speedy came in just to introduce herself, and I guess move me to another room. I warned her I was left here because I'm a fainter and she playfully huffed, "Oh! You're one of those!" and hustled back out to get her gear. Pretty awesome response given that my old OB's phlebotomist used to basically pitch a fit whenever I came in. I guess it's pretty inconvenient to walk across the hall with one vial, one needle, one alcohol swab and one bandaid. That takes the work of at least two legs and a hand! She couldn't be bothered. In fact, I believe you might know her:
 |
| Seriously. Picture this in scrubs without the whimsy. |
10:30 AM
I now realize how I've been rambling on for the last 2 1/2 hours. I feel the need to apologize to those of you who have made it this far. ... C'mon! There has to be ONE of you left! Anyway, I'm sorry. I didn't promise any great, hilarious post, did I? Oh. I did. Well, crap.
 |
| Truth. |
I realize I'm in the home stretch. Time has flown by with the nap and the self-congratulatory re-reading of this post. I got all distracted and didn't finish the episode of MSW, so I still don't know if the KGB dunnit. I've got fifteen minutes, though.
Of course, in order to spew this "information" (remember, "for science!"?) at you dear readers as soon as possible, I'm going to do a Boy Meets World style summary for you now, so I can head straight out the door as the credits roll.
Overall, I've had a pretty good day. The juice tastes pretty miserable, but I've drunk much worse things in a game of King's Cup back in college. (Only jerks use Bailey's for King's Cup.) The needles were scary, until I realized how delicate the nurses were. Barely felt anything. Yes, I should be used to blood draws by now, but I'm not and I don't care. It's been a very calm, relaxing experience. Basically one step above Dental Cleaning on the Relax-a-Mom scale, and we all know how awesome that can be. (Seriously, any women out there without living kids, get psyched for dental cleanings. It's the best rest you'll get for six months.)
I'll give the experience 3 out of 4 stars, with room for improvement. It would totally be better if they'd just leave you the hell alone and let you nap for three hours straight. But, then, I guess, what's the point?
Hope you've enjoyed! Love, Annie
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