32 weeks 1 day

Hi, all! Well, I’m going to start naming my progress based upon my due date, as it still hasn’t changed. I was originally going off of my fertility software’s gauge, but there’s a day difference (not that it really matters at this stage), and I want to stay accurate to my due date.

Anyway, here I am today, 32 weeks 1 day. The hubby was nice enough to take a pic of me, and though I think the ones I take myself are better, I know how much you all love to see my face (which I still turned away because all of the face-forward photos looked really dumb–seriously, bad).

32 weeks, 1 day

We had a baby appointment this morning, and she’s growing like a bean sprout. She’s actually measuring bigger than 32 weeks 1 day–more like 33 weeks. The midwife said it’s totally normal, and a good thing! She’s head down already, and though she could still turn again, the midwife said that it’s really rare for them to make that change back. They’ll check at each appointment, just in case. Her heartbeat is still hanging out at around 140. Today was closer to 135. Again, really great and consistent. My blood pressure is awesome, as always (thank goodness for such good genes!), and my weight gain is steady as well. Overall, a clean bill of health for both Baby Girl and me! Couldn’t be happier.

We start our childbirth classes on Wednesday night, and both hubby and I are excited for them. There will be four sessions, and I’m sure we’ll come out with plenty of questions and answers. Good thing I will see another midwife in two weeks exactly, and then once per week after then. Lots of appointments in which to ask all those burning questions. We’re getting down to the wire!

Holter Monitor (July 28-29, 2009)

As this blog is to document my life journey (as well as Baby V’s and the hubby’s [to a certain extent], if we’re being honest), I have to write about the good, the bad, and the ugly. I guess this would fall under the ugly, as it’s really not bad. I was put on a 24-hour holter monitor by my new cardiologist. As you all probably remember, I have sinus tachycardia–benign rapid heartbeats. They’re not life threatening, and they are more of an annoyance than anything else. I take a small beta blocker to keep me comfortable, and that has been that for the past year and a half.

My OB wanted me to see a cardiologist, just to cover all of their bases, especially since my palpitations have come back stronger since getting into the latter part of my second trimester. We all know it’s because I’m growing an entire human being in my stomach, but their motto is “better safe than sorry.” I love that about this practice; it’s one of the main reasons we chose them to deliver with.

Anyway, I made an appointment and went in. The cardiologist is convinced the pregnancy is causing the increased palps, and he’s really not worried. But, once again, he’d like to be safe and not sorry, so he put me on a Holter monitor, just to see what’s going on with the ol’ ticker throughout the day. For those of you who don’t know what a Holter monitor is, it’s basically a portable ECG (electrocardiography). It was recording the electrical activity of my heart. Pretty cool, no? I started the monitor on Tuesday, July 28th and was able to take it off on Wednesday, July 29th. I’ve had two other Holter monitors before this one, so I know the drill, but with my sensitive pregnant skin this time, the thing itched like the dickens. I was very ready to have it off the next day.

So, in order to document this event in my pregnancy, I took a couple of pictures of the top four pads and electrodes. There are seven in total (the other three are mid-abdomen, under the breasts). These were the itchiest ones!

I received a clean bill of health yesterday from the cardiologist’s office–no arrhythmia! Baby and I are just fine.

Holter Monitor

Holter Monitor II

Confession

This is going to be a tough post to write for me. So, why am I writing it? Because it might help some women. Talking about it has already helped at least one woman, and I think it’s better to talk about it than keep it quiet. My life is an open book, anyway. Why should this be different?

Intrigued, aren’t you?

I was diagnosed with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome (PCOS) on July 17th, 2008. I had an inkling that I had PCOS; there are other women with PCOS in my family, and though doctors have not officially made the genetic connection, they have noticed that women who are diagnosed with it usually have a sister or mother or aunt, etc. with PCOS, as well.

What is PCOS? I can’t really describe it very well, so check out a definition here. My symptoms were pretty simple: No menstrual cycle, my hair started to thin, I had terrible acne on both my shoulders and face (and I have always had beautiful skin, even throughout puberty), and I gained 20 pounds, all around my midsection. Rocks to be me.

After talking to my OB/GYN, he ran a few blood tests and deemed me PCOS-free. He told me to wait it out. I had been off of birth control since January, and this was June. He thought that my body was taking its time to adjust. I thought otherwise.

A month later, after much discussion with the hubby and friend and family, I decided to take the plunge and set up an appointment with a Reproductive Endocrinologist (RE). I researched local ones, and found a female RE (I love male doctors, but there’s something about a male RE that just doesn’t work for me) with a specialization in PCOS.

The hubby went with me to the appointment, and even though the damn thing was two and a half hours long, it was worth it. Even though she didn’t want to label me PCOS, the similarities were too great to ignore. She started me on Metformin XR (Met), which is a diabetes medication. It treats the insulin resistance (IR) associated with PCOS, and I have all the symptoms of IR. She then ran more bloodwork after forcing a cycle (not fun, by the way; the modd swings are enough to make a lesser man fun…thank goodness I married a man of steel), and though it came back normal, she still believes I have PCOS.

PCOS is a tricky duck–even if your bloodwork doesn’t show anything abnormal, you could still have it. You could have the cysts on your ovaries, but if you don’t have an ultrasound, you can’t tell. Or you could have the ultrasound done at the wrong time, and you won’t see them. Or you might never see the extra cysts on your ovaries and still have PCOS. It’s just too hard to diagnose, so many OB/GYNs don’t even try. Or they don’t know about it.

But here’s the thing: 1 in 10 women of childbearing age have PCOS. 1 in 10!! Think about that. Many of them just don’t recognize the symptoms. And birth control is the main way to treat PCOS, so many women don’t realize they have it until after they go off birth control.

So, here’s the part I’ve been avoiding talking about, but I know someone is going to ask about it, so I might as well put it out there right now and avoid any confusion.

The hubby and I have been trying to get pregnant for ten months now. I’m 23. He’s 26. We’re both in good health (with the exception of the heart stuff, I’m fit as a fiddle, with the exception of those 20 extra pounds I packed on and can’t lose from the PCOS), and our families have no history of having problems conceiving (even the family members with PCOS in my family haven’t had that much trouble). So, when no pregnancy test said, “Yay! You’re preggo!” after so many months, we knew something was up, even beyond all my symptoms.

This has been a heart-wrenching year for me so far because of this. Everything else in my life seems to be going just peachy, but this is one part that just cannot line up. Even after nearly 3 months on the Met, we can’t get pregnant. I have one regular cycle last month, but now I’m almost two weeks late, and there is no baby on the way (according to three pregnancy tests; they were taken well spaced out, so don’t think I’m psycho, please). And my hair is still thinning. It’s getting to the point where I’m noticing it without looking hard, though, thankfully, I was blessed with thick hair normally, so it’s still not noticeable by anyone other than myself. And I can’t lose the weight. That’s frustrating, considering I eat pretty well and I work out 2-3 times each week. But the acne has let up. At least something is going right.

I promise this blog won’t become a pity party, but I would really like to write about it. I’ve been avoiding it because it’s a sensitive issue with me, and I feel like I would be judged. Given my normal attitude of “I don’t care what other people think,” this is seriously out of character for me.

So, now I’m liberating myself by writing it in this incredibly public place. Because I hope other women will read it and say, “Hey, that’s what’s up with me. Maybe I should get this checked out.” Or, “I’m not a freak at all! Someone else is going through this, too!”

You all are welcome to leave comments on this. Or not. It’s completely up to you. Thanks for listening/reading. It was something I needed to get off my chest.

Waxing and Yoga

I always forget how incredibly painful it is to get one’s legs waxed. I mean, I know it’s been a little less than a year since I had it done last, but seriously, does it really have to feel like I’m being murdered via hot wax and ripping?

Why do I do it then, you ask? Because having to shave once every three days sucks. Bad.

And now that we have a membership to a gym, my legs are going to be in the public eye more often than they have been in years. It’s also motivation to just go to the gym on a whim, if I like. I won’t have to plan ahead because of shave time. Since I’m taking a yoga class, as well, I’ll be ready each Wednesday to contort into new shapes and stretch muscles I didn’t even know that I had.

Did I tell you how much the yoga instructor at Fitness 19 rocks? She’s awesome. Her name is Danielle, and she’s a former gymnast with arthritis in her knees, but you’d never know she has problematic joints. She does yoga to keep limber since working out must be tough with her rusty knees. She’s really young and isn’t one of those hoity-toity yogis who believes yoga is everything. She’ll talk to you during the session, and she encourages us to ask questions, as well. The only other person I’ve met so far is Dan, a 50s-ish man who is trying to get in shape after a bout with colon cancer a few years back. It’s neat to see how much he has advanced in just two classes. Nice fella. Said he was happy to see me come back to the class. I think he didn’t want to be the only one there!

I have to reschedule my personal training because I was supposed to start this last Monday, but the flu bug hasn’t allowed me to do anything more strenuous than yoga and walking up stairs, and even that’s a stretch. I’m almost back to normal now, though, so I’m going to schedule the appointment for early next week.

I’m really excited to learn what exercises I should be doing to get the maximum out of my workouts. It’ll be nice to finally be doing something right–for my body and for myself.

Well, my body made me into a bold-faced liar. Yup. Got the flu from the hubby. That’s what I get for kissing him.

I couldn’t get out of bed for pretty much the entire weekend. We forced ourselves to go to the Urgent Care down the street on Saturday (that was before the whole thing hit me square between the eyes), and he was diagnosed with the flu and Bronchitis. I had an upper-respiratory illness of some sort. They sent me home with some codeine cough syrup and told me to drink lots of fluids.

And I woke up the next morning, barely able to stand.

You know, one of the perks of being married is having someone to take care of you when you’re sick. This whole being sick at the same time thing blows. But he helped out when he could. And I did the same.

We’re both on the mend now. I’m starting to feel relatively normal again. I can look at the computer without the words swimming together, though looking up and down (necessary for editing and indexing and the like) is still out of the question, which sucks considering I missed a deadline because of this crap.

But we didn’t throw up, even once. Woohoo!

Then again, for a while there, in the 101-degree fever delirium and nausea, a good tossing of my cookies probably would have helped a lot more than just putting out my hands so I wouldn’t trip over things because I was so disorientated as I stumbled to the kitchen to get more water.

The hubby’s sick…again. He was so sick the last time that he was out of work for four days. It pretty much has to be the bubonic plague for him to miss work–he couldn’t talk the last time, and standing up made him dizzy. Since he does a lot of standing up, moving around, and talking at work, the whole being sick thing put him flat on his back.

It seems to be a different kind of sick this time–all in the lungs. Talking is tough because he coughs when he takes a deep breath.

I’m healthy again. A little bit of a cough in my lungs still–I never get sick like other people do. My colds are mild and more irritating than anything else. I had my tonsils removed when I was 19, and I’ve been right as rain ever since. I get a cold once per winter, and it’s pretty tame. Doesn’t take me out of commission at all.

So, it’s back to saltines, 7-Up, and soup for us around here–well, at least for the hubby. Thank goodness it’s not that pukey stomach flu everyone else is getting. I’m not cleaning up vomit, that’s for sure. Well, I probably would, but I would also complain so much your ears (or eyes, really) would bleed.

Here’s to sickness that doesn’t cause us to spew!

This time last year I was getting bad news after bad news about all the heart stuff. Test after doctor’s appointment after test. I spent more time in doctor’s waiting rooms than I did in class.

And now, a year later, I have a diagnosis (a benign tachycardia) and a small medication that keeps me comfortable.

No more fear. No more worries. And a healthier lifestyle (working out and eating better and drinking lots of water) that will help to keep my heart ticking normally for as long as I can.

I’m glassesless right now. Something has been eating away at some special coating on my glasses. Because I use very little to no hair product, they don’t know what it is. They figure it’s just defective. Thankfully, it’s been less than a year since I purchased them, so they’re covered under warranty.

The bad thing is they have to send them out. And due to the holiday, it might take longer than the 7-10 business days they usually quote customers.

And we can’t find my old glasses. The hubby has turned the condo upside-down, and we can’t find them anywhere.

Which means I have to wear my contacts, which are the wrong prescription. And not bifocal. I’m starting to get used to them again, but I feel sick sometimes. I use “cheater” reading glasses for anything close-up.

I’m thinking I need a sexy glasses string for around my neck. Whatdaya think?

If I’m a little bit cranky for the next 7-10+ business days, blame it on the eyes.

I got me a brand spankin’ new heart doctor. And she rocks. She listens to me, she explains complicated terms to me, and she gives me practical advice to help my heart out.

But I have to wear another Holter monitor; this time a 48-hour one. Ugh.

But I know it’s all for a good cause. That would be the drama queen that is my heart.

I’m switching cardiologists. My allergist recommended I do just that and attempt to get someone who actually seems to care–and someone who will try to get me a diagnosis.

I hope this doesn’t mean starting over at square one. We’ve finally gotten all the health bills paid (fortunately our insurance rocks, and it wasn’t as much as it could be), but I’m also tired of getting poked and prodded. I also despise doctor waiting rooms.

But this stuff has to get diagnosed. There’s always a reason for these reactions. Don’t f’ing tell me “It sometimes just happens.” That’s bullcrap, and you know it. I want to know why, and I want to know that they’re trying to know why. I’m not going to settle for anything less.