MIA

Sooo…

I pretty much spent the last 10 days in bed. I think that my tolerance for life meter broke and I basically just said “F*** it.” To be fair I was actually advised to take some time off (after a complete farking breakdown in the provider’s office).  I went to work last Monday for about 3 hours and did ABOSOLUTELY NOTHING and decided since I had a doctor’s appointment later that afternoon, I might as well just leave. Tuesday I drove all the way to work (30 minute drive, remember?) sat in the parking lot for 10 minutes and called in. From. The. Parking. Lot. ~sigh~

You should see me trying to get up off the couch…

I am not dealing with stress very well lately and my appointment on Monday wasn’t the most joyous in the world. Moose is doing okay but I have failed utterly to gain weight AGAIN and now I have to have an ultrasound every time I go in so the can make sure she is actually growing in there. Which honestly amazes the crap out of me because my preggo belly just seems to be getting more and more massive. I look like a goddamn weeble-wobble. Thanks to my weight loss surgery my malabsorption seems to be in overdrive at the moment and although I’m eating about 3-4 thousand calories a day (No joke or exaggeration, I counted), I don’t seem to be retaining enough nutrients to feed both myself and my growing little parasite. I may stop calling her Moose and dub her “Tapeworm” instead. Nevermind, that’s disgusting.

Anyways… Apparently part of the reason behind The Tired is the fact that I’m just not getting enough fuel for my body so I’m basically in starvation mode. Not a good thing when you’re pregnant. Add to that the ongoing oppressive depression and I was pretty much non-functional last week. I was actually praying for physician-ordered bedrest.

Honestly I’m not feeling particularly functional now but I managed to make it through the whole day at work and I only cried once.

You know, as excited as I am to have another lil munchkin, I’m pretty much over the whole pregnancy thing.

Let me stop whining before I jinx it and go into premature labor.

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Domestic enemies of the diabetic’s mom

Reading all the amazingly wonderful “Domestic Enemies” posts on RFML has totally inspired me to write one of my own. This is a working draft I think as Princess Punk was diagnosed only 3 years ago and it seems we meet new “Domestic Enemies” on a regular basis.

  • ·         “Well-informed” strangers. Mostly these are other moms, co-workers and strangers in the grocery store who have a friend, family member or are themselves Type 2 Diabetic. Type 2 Diabetes is also known as “insulin resistant” diabetes and is generally a result of poor eating and exercise habits and a shitty roll of the genetic dice. I have Type 2 diabetes which is currently in remission due to massive weight loss and careful (okay not really) eating habits. Mostly the weight loss. PP has Type 1 Diabetes, also known as insulin dependent diabetes or Juvenile diabetes. Type 1 is an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT THING. In Type 2 diabetes, your body gets tired of all the sugar and crap that you are pouring into your blood stream and stops using insulin the way it should. As a result, your pancreas produces more and more insulin which further reduces your cells’ ability to use it.  Type 1 diabetes is an auto-immune disorder. That means one day Princess Punk woke up and her body said “You know, that damn pancreas is getting all uppity, I think it’s time to square up and give it the business.” And her OWN BODY began producing cells to attack HER OWN PANCREAS. As a result, her pancreas is now non-functional in the insulin producing department and she has to take insulin from an external source all the while making sure she has the right balance of insulin and carbohydrates to maintain a blood sugar that will not A. Put her into a coma or B. Cause her to have seizures and permanent organ damage. So when you tell me that maybe my 12 year old who does at least 2 hours of soccer 5-6 days a week that “maybe she just needs to exercise” you may end up with a sugar-free latte upended in your lap. No, forget that, I’m not wasting my damn latte.
  • ·         Pot-Luck dinners.I used to LOVE going to pot-luck dinners. I am a pretty good cook and it happens to be something I really enjoy and amazingly enough is a huge stress reliever for me. So going to a pot luck dinner with the dish that everyone raves about was something that truly made me happy. Enter the “D” monster. Princess Punk has to count every carb she eats and compensate for it with insulin. She has to use ratios that change depending on the time of day, day of week and her activity level. She has an insulin pump now which does most of these calculations for her but we still need to know exactly HOW MANY carbs she will be eating to give the pump a starting point.

    Suck It Kool-Aid Man

    Try calculating carbs at a pot-luck. “Mrs. Jones’ casserole? Are those egg noodles in there? That looks like about a half cup right? And what the heck is that? What KIND of orange drink is that because Hi-C has 34g of carbs per cup but Kool-Aid has 42. You are SO having water. Crap. Just say 75 carbs for everything and we’ll adjust later if we need to.” Then later at bedtime her blood sugar is over 300 and we have to give her extra insulin before bed which then requires a happy 2:30am wake-up (for me since she will sleep through ANYTHING) to make sure her blood sugar doesn’t get too low overnight and you know, she doesn’t. Wake. Up.

  • ·         Birthday Parties. I am probably the only mom who who actually wishes for parties at Chuck E. Cheese (or Pizza Putt if you live in the boonies like me). Not that I enjoy the disgusting petri dish that those places are but chain restaurants are required to have nutritional information available for everything on the menu. This makes things SUPER easy when calculating carbs. Unfortunately, living in rural Vermont makes this kind of birthday party a rarity, even more so now that she’s getting older. So mostly she is going over so-and-so’s house where they made the most charming birthday cake for little so-and-so from scratch and god help me I have NO IDEA how to count homemade enchiladas. Seriously? They’re 12. Wouldn’t they rather have chicken nuggets from a bag? Please?
  • ·         Hormones. This is a new one for us but damn it’s a doozy. Apparently, hormones, in addition to turning my sweet child into a raving “B” also have the added effect of completely screwing up her blood sugar. Something about hormones interfering with how the insulin is being used, I think I need a PhD in chemistry to figure it out. As a result even if we are right on with her insulin to carb ratios and her activity levels and everything else, she will get numbers that are totally off the wall for no reason at all. And because we very rarely ARE right on with her insulin to carb ratios and her activity levels and everything else, the hormones make it really really difficult to adjust anything without some really major screw ups. Do you know what a blood sugar of 36 looks like? I do. Now. ~shudders~ My beautiful café con leche daughter turned grey. Literally her skin was the color of concrete. I didn’t think that was even possible. I was luckily able to get a juice box into her before she passed out entirely but it was one of the scariest moments in my life. Why was her sugar so low? NO FARKING IDEA. But she did go up a cup size in the subsequent 2 days.
  • ·         Childcare, summer camp and relatives. I work full-time so my mom watches Princess Punk after school and on the weekends.  My mom is either overly vigilant and does fingersticks to check blood sugar 20 times a day or completely blase’and brings PP to Dunkin Donuts for breakfast. As a result, PP will go several days with “Whuck?” numbers. And of course I’m sitting there scratching my head because I don’t actually know what is going on since I’m not there (cue the Guilt). And of course regular childcare is out of the question, babysitters, after school programs  and summer camps are not generally equipped to handle a kid with diabetes who is not completely self-reliant.
  • ·         The diabetic herself.Princess Punk was diagnosed with diabetes at the age of 9. She is my hero. She pricks her own fingers to check her blood sugar, upwards of 6 times a day. She changes her own pump site every other day and when she was doing shots, before she got the pump, she sat patiently while an adult gave her the shot (4-5 times a day) and even did it herself sometimes. There is NO WAY that I would have endured that at her age, she is AWESOME. But… She is also still a kid and while she takes on a lot of the responsibility for her disease she is also, well, a kid. So leaving the house requires a checklist to make sure she has her “kit” and that her kit is fully stocked should anything come up.

    Our Junk Drawer is full of THIS crap.

    She often “forgets” to check her blood sugar and will not always be forthcoming about what she is eating (sneaking a handful of gummy bears at a school concert, I made her spit them out. In front of her friends. Into my hand. Gross.) She’s bitchy about counting carbs and doesn’t understand why she is not allowed to go over some of her friends’ houses because their parents are idiots and I wouldn’t trust them with feeding my dog let alone monitoring correct insulin dosage or correctly handling an emergency.

  • ·         The FEAR. Try this. Google diabetic ketoacidosis. No? How about nephropathy. Still nothing? Try gastroparesis. Oh and my favorite, hypoglycemia. Terrified yet? I am. Every. Single. Day.

 

Seriously? EPIC FAIL.

So anyway. This is something we live with on a daily basis and something The Princess will have to live with for the rest of her life or until they find a cure. So if you see me at Burger King ordering a Diet Coke for my kid, don’t judge me for giving her aspartame and caffeine, judge BK for not having another beverage choice that won’t require her to use an entire pump full of insulin.

The miracles of modern medicine… Sorta.

So I actually had a somewhat productive day today. I did my job at work and even (gasp) made a phone call. How did I manage this incredible feat given the complete apathy I’ve had for everything lately?
Ritalinimage
Now don’t start thinking I’m one of those soccer mom crack heads, I have a legitimate diagnosis of ADHD and a prescription. The Ritalin wonder drug is one of medications I have cut back on significantly because of the Moose. As psychotropic medications go, Ritalin happens to be one of the more benign ones, mostly because unlike many anti-depressants and mood stabilizers, it doesn’t build up in your system and flushes out completely in a few hours. Ok. That sounded kinda gross… Anyway. I had to cut out my Ritalin because one of the possible side effects is appetite loss. Of course this did not affect me at ALL when it might have been useful, like BEFORE I got pregnant. Apparently when you get pregnant your body chemistry changes and you react to medications differently. As a result, when I take Ritalin when I’m pregnant I. Lose. Weight. AWESOME.
So I haven’t been taking it.
I took one this morning. Normal dosage is three times a day. I can’t say that it completely made everything better. I still struggled with The Tired all day, but I was able to get a few key things done at work including one (yes just one, it’s not crack ok?) phone call. And I was actually somewhat Participatory Mom with Princess Punk when I got home.
And now I’m sitting and watching 24 and even feeling… Well, it’s not nothing so I guess that’s an improvement ri- OHMIGOD JACK BAUER JUST TORE THAT GUY’S THROAT OUT… WITH HIS TEETH… Ok… Thats a little too hardcore, even for you Jack. Gross. Oh hey! It’s Dr. Bashir…
Ah random Star Trek DS9 reference… It might be time to go to bed.

I’m glad I was able to get something done today but unfortunately this was a brief hiatus. I also ate almost nothing today. At one-third my regular dose. Not good for my growing spawn.
imageThe one thing I took away from today though… There is hope. The modicum of relief I got today from the slight adjustment in my brain chemistry helped me remember that when I AM taking all the medications I need to correct my screwed up and confused neurons, I’m actually okay.
And just that simple thought makes me feel better.

Random weirdness

So… um… I was trying to kill time at work and I ~coughgoogled myselfcough~

Wasn’t I surprised and slightly delighted to find as the third entry a baby registry I had started up about a month ago and then COMPLETLY forgot about.

I don’t know which I find more strange, the fact that my baby registry was the third entry on the google list or the fact that I had totally and completely forgotten I had ever started it.

Dr. Evil wants you to Google yourself… First result? http://www.Shhh!.com

I admit it. I am a total dork.

The evil, evil phone

So my post yesterday was about depression… Still there in case you’re wondering.

I’m sitting at my desk in my office right now looking at the scroll on my screen of things I need to do in order to actually make some attempt of pretending that I really DO work here. At the top of the list is telephone follow-ups. I’ve been letting them go all week and they have been piling up and they are unfortunately an extremely neccesary part of my job.

Shit.

When I am having a “down time” like now, I think one of the most difficult things for me to do is to pick up the phone and speak to another person. I can email ALL DAY LONG but when it comes to actually speaking to another human being? Forget it. Oddly enough I am able to be perfectly professional and composed when receiving an incoming call, although days like today, I am more likely to let something slip to voice mail where it will sit unanswered for several days.

Oh, did you want to make a phone call? Go ahead, I won’t bite… PROMISE.

I do not know why this is. My mom has the same issue, to an even worse degree in fact. By the tender age of 4 I was able to pick up the phone and order pizza because my mom generally refused to do so. I actually have an excellent telephone speaking voice because of this. Regardless of my intelligence or skills however, when I am feeling not my normal self, the thought of picking up the telephone to make a phone call can actually trigger a full blown panic attack. Woo. As a result, I am currently sitting in my office trying to figure out if sending out a letter to this client will actually be okay even though he has an appointment TOMORROW. Yeah. That’s not gonna work. And of course, it’s not just work phone calls that are falling by the wayside. I have at least three voice mail messages on my cell phone that really must be answered. Including one from the oil company. About my past due bill. When we need a kerosene delivery. So we can heat our house. In Vermont. In October. Can you see where that might be an extremely important phone call to make? Not to mention the list of doctors appointment I need to set up, for Princess Punk and myself. And honestly for the Zen Master too because if it was up to him he would NEVER go to the dentist, eye doctor or family doctor to make sure that he is still going to be around, not blind and retaining his teeth for the next 20-50 years. When we got married he had not been to a doctor in about TWENTY YEARS. Seriously. I digress. Where was I?

Oh. Right. The phone is evil.

Why can’t I just hire a personal secretary to make my calls for me?

“This is Jenny calling on behalf of Mrs. Newlife. I’d like to discuss your transportation arrangements for your appointment tomorrow. Yes Sir, I understand that you have no legs and you can’t take the bus because the bus driver thinks you’re crazy. I’ll be happy to arrange a ride for you.”

“Hello, ABC Oil? My name is Jenny, calling regarding account number 76543A. We realize that our last payment is quite past due and I’m happy to make payment arrangements to pay it in full over the next two payperiods if you would please send a truck out to the home to put some kerosene in our tank. You see, this October has been particularly warm and as such we only just attempted to turn on the heat last week and discovered the tank was in fact, bone dry. You can send someone tomorrow? That’s just swell! Thank you very much for your time!”

Ah well. A girl can dream right?

Stupid evil phone.

A note about depression…

Disclaimer- I am not looking for sympathy or even understanding, I just feel it is necessary for my own benefit to put this into words. Take it however you’d like.

I have struggled with bipolar disorder for my entire adult life. I have been hospitalized several times and misdiagnosed more times than I can count. When I moved here, I found a good therapist who actually gets it and with her help I have managed to find a combination of medications that allow me to function normally. It took 12 years to get to that point. Not to say that everything is perfect with the medications, I continued to have good days and bad days but then again, doesn’t everyone? I had been on this “cocktail” of psychotropic medications for several years when the Zen Master and I decided to have another child. In order to even start fertility treatments, I needed to be off most of my medications for at least 4 weeks. Several of the meds I take have the chance of causing some rather significant birth defects when taken during the first trimester so I couldn’t chance even having them in my system for the first week or two of pregnancy. Since it took us about 8-9 months to get pregnant and then I was unable to start anything back up until my second trimester, I was functioning in the absence of most of my medications for over a year. Even now, as I am nearing my third trimester, I am on a reduced dosage of 2 out of 3 of my main medications.

Here’s the thing about bipolar disorder… There are highs and lows. Ups and downs. Moments of euphoria and invincibility and never-ending energy followed by periods of crushing exhaustion and sadness and the inability to rouse yourself out of bed even to eat. Before I was diagnosed, I thought everyone lived like this. My mom is very classically bipolar and spent much of my youth unmedicated or incorrectly medicated so I thought the ups and downs were normal. My dad generally just avoided the swings altogether so my main point of reference was mom. I even learned to manage my symptoms to some extent, taking advantage of the manic phases to clean, declutter and otherwise get things done and would follow-up each high swing with a few days or weeks of lows where I faked sick for school or work so I could stay in bed all day and order pizza (which was a food that I could have delivered and could eat in bed… No wonder I had a weight problem).  When I finally got my medications straightened out, I still had highs and lows but no more than your average person. Stretches of sleepless days which culminated in expensive shopping sprees and 15 garbage bags full of clutter on the front curb turned into stretches of productive days with a decent amount of sleep, getting to work on time and a house that was cluttered but clean and not something you’d see on Hoarders. Seemingly endless periods of mind-numbing depression that negated any effort of doing anything morphed into a regular routine with some “bad days” with some mild irritability and struggles with stress.

Apparently, the amount of medication I am on right now, for the health and safety of the infant that I am growing, has completely negated the manic phases and has put enough of a damper on the depression so that I am able to leave my bed to eat and physically go to work but not much else. I’m not sad, I don’t want to cry all the time, I don’t want to hurt myself, I just don’t want to… well, I don’t want to do anything really. My sole response when people ask me how I am feeling is, “tired.” There is nothing else. Just tired. Exhausted. Wasted. I’m not happy, I’m not sad, I’m not angry, I’m not excited, I’m not scared, I’m not nervous. Just tired. It’s partly physical exhaustion, making a baby and all, not to mention not really being able to sleep very well. But mostly, I think, it is mental. People who don’t have any personal experience with depression think that it means being sad or suicidal or something like that. Which at times is true. But for me at least and especially now, the most debilitating thing about depression is The Tired.  It is all I can do to get out of bed in the morning and go to work. When I’m at work I’m extremely lucky if I get one or two things done. Then I go home and crawl into bed and play mindless games on my phone until I go to sleep. At some point between getting home and falling asleep I eat something and give Princess Punk her bedtime tuck-in but that’s about it. I don’t read books, I don’t watch movies or TV, I just zone out until I fall asleep. I will turn the TV on so there is noise in the background but to actually pay attention to a full hour-long show? WAY too much energy required.

Sorry, Jack Bauer.

Crap… now I made Jack cry.

So I think I needed to put that into words. Because I can’t get past The Tired. Because I’m feeling guilty for neglecting my job and my family. Because part of me knows that maybe putting words to this feeling (or lack thereof) might help me get past it. Because maybe, just maybe, getting this post out will give me some sense of something that will cut through the absolute nothing that is filling me up right now.Because depression sucks and I’d like it to be done now.

That damn wagon…

So apparently I briefly fell off the blogging wagon. Not that I’m really regular about this thing anyway, I am still a newbie at this after all.

Things have been… Eh.

Pregnancy complications, money worries, work, yada, yada, yada and yada.

Plus I’ve just not been feeling super witty. I realize that some people are actually reading this and I feel some obligation to be somewhat interesting and my life this past week had been… Not. Things have definitely happened, I spent 4 hours in the Labor and Delivery part of the hospital on Wednesday. FanTAStic. I’ve been very tired (what else is new right?) and I’m actually falling behind at work which is VERY unlike me.

So no blogging this week. And this post is basically just a sorry excuse for a post but I figured I should at least explain myself. I realize there are probably about 6 people who actually read this and 4 of them are in my immediate family but I also feel like if I can’t summon the energy to put out something interesting and possibly even entertaining, I’m not really going to bother.

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