Sanka

When I got back from New Orleans, I immediately put the boys to bed (it was late) and then started up my usual "just got home" routine, unpacking bags, starting up laundry, etc.  Our house/pet sitter left me a note telling me the animals did great all weekend long, and that I'd need to feed them that night when I got home.

So, I fed all the animals, but noticed our usual loud and demanding Sanka was nowhere to be found (or heard).  The cat food dish had been left out, however, so I assumed she had already eaten.  I gave her her normal evening insulin shot (she's diabetic) and finished up with my chores before bed.

The next morning (Monday), I noticed Sanka was still not interested in eating.  What's worse, she was laying by the water bowl but totally not interested in drinking, even when I moved her closer.  I then carried her to her food for the morning but she wouldn't budge.  Not interested.

So, I decided to call the vet.  We had an emergency with her a couple of weeks ago where her blood sugar had dropped through the floor - I was worried maybe her sugar levels were out of whack again.  But, the vet tested her levels and everything looked normal.  She was, however, very dehydrated (not a huge surprise since she wasn't eating or drinking) and her temp was lower than normal (not a great sign).  I left her with them for the day so they could get some fluids back in her, and give her an appetite stimulant to see if she'd eat some.

When I picked her up that afternoon she was doing better.  Her sugar levels were still normal - and she was better hydrated and while not a lot, ate a little bit too.  The vet sent me home with some meds to help stimulate her appetite if she stopped eating again.  My instructions were to get her back to a stable state where she'd eat and drink again - since she was clearly not feeling well.

She did ok Monday night and seemed ok Tuesday morning.  But by the time I got home Tuesday night, she was in a sad state of affairs again.  In fact, she was MUCH worse than the previous couple of days.  I called Jon that night to let him know I was pretty sure she was on her last breath, that I'd be taking her back to the vet the next morning but that I was afraid we may need to put her down (something we had already discussed earlier when I was noticing her odd behavior).

She was extremely lethargic and still, not moving at all when I came to check on her (she was laying on our bed).  I picked her up and carried her to her food, but she just slumped down and laid next to the food, not interested in anything.  I tried holding little bits of kibble in my hand up next to her mouth, but nothing.  I took one of the pills the vet gave me, crushed it up, mixed it with water, and fed her the water through a syringe (since she also wasn't drinking out of the water bowl I put next to her).  She hated the syringe and kept spitting the water out.

That night, I made sure to put her next to the heat register, wrapping extra towels and blankets over her to keep her warm.  She cried out a few times in the middle of the night, not her normal meow but a very pitiful cry for help.  :(  It was about 1am, but I got up and searched for her (she wasn't in her bed anymore) and found her just lying very still, in her litter box.  It was alarming to find her there, because she really did look dead at that point, her energy was so low.  :(   I picked her up and carried her back to my room for the night, figuring she may not make it through the night and she'd want to be near me and the dogs.  I pet her awhile until she went back to sleep (she did finally purr a bit which was great), but was so worried I kept waking up throughout the night to check on her.

By morning, she again looked dead, she was so still and without energy.  She wasn't, so I wrapped her up and took her back to the vet (I took the boys to school first because I didn't want them to be with me if I needed to put her down). 

Sure enough, she was in a horrible state.  She was extremely dehydrated with a very low temp again, worse than before, and the vet was pretty sure her kidneys weren't functioning anymore, but instead shutting down.  He remarked she was likely "knocking on death's door" :(

I called Jon, teary-eyed and gulping down sobs, in between relaying what the latest prognosis was.  It was extremely hard for me because I so wanted Jon to be there and see Sanka one last time.  But, we decided, given how much pain she appeared to be in, her age (18), and that even using extraordinary efforts to prolong her life, the doctor thought she'd likely only last a few more days, we decided to put her down.

I stayed with her while while the vet and nurse gave her the shot.  They were incredibly gentle and kind through the entire process and we talked about how interesting it was that a young man (Jon) would have kept this cat (Sanka) with him for so long.  The vet remarked how unusual it was, and that usually men will part from their cats at some point in their lives, not taking them along with them, or for so long.

I agreed.  As a final story before Sanka left us, I described to them the first time Jon and I met and started dating.  Sanka immediately took to me, which really impressed Jon.  Apparently (so he told me), she "hated", hissed and clawed at any previous girlfriend he had dated, and she had never liked any of his girlfriends like she liked me.

The vet so wisely observed,

Aha, so Sanka approved.  She chose you.

And, driving home that morning thinking it over, he was probably right.  She definitely did approve of me and seemed to love me endlessly.  I like to think there are many reasons why Jon chose me.  But, it's quite possible that was also one of them.  ;-)


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When Jon returned home yesterday, I think it finally hit him - hard - that Sanka was gone.  He posted on Facebook about Sanka's passing later that evening, and I think his post sums it up nicely:

Through thick and thin, for better and for worse, she was always there for me. R.I.P. Sanka 1994 - 2012

On Marriage

A classic conversation between Jon and I last weekend:

Me: Hey babe, do your pants need to be washed?

Jon: Sure.

Me: Ok, can you go grab them for me?

Jon: Nah, they're good.

....

And yet, I still love being married to the (lazy) guy!  ;-)

Jon left bright and early this morning for a "work" conference this week.  Work being in quotes because, while he will do plenty of work and networking while he's there, he will also have more than his fair share of fun and drinking sprinkled in wherever and whenever he can.

I know, I know, I sound bitter.  I'm not particularly crazy about the timing of the trip, since I've been Solo-Mom for the last two weeks while he heals from surgery, and am pretty worn out.  But what can you do.  Hopefully the time will fly by!  Wish me luck.  :)

Daddyism of the day

Mommy: Logan, do you want to turn the [Christmas] lights on?

Logan: No.

Daddy: Go turn the lights on. When Mommy says 'Do you want to', she means 'Do it'.

I feel naked.

This is all I'm carrying on my person. Granted this was a super fast trip, but it sure makes a difference when you're traveling with kids, or not. :)

Us

We had a terrific time tonight. Now time for a wonderful night's rest!! :)

Husband Fail

When Jon got home with Logan yesterday evening, Logan was feeling a bit under the weather. So, he was in a more-than-usual cuddly mood, wanting to sit in the rocker with his Mommy. I had just gotten Callum to settle down and fall asleep, so he was still conked out on my chest. I told Logan to just climb up into the rocker and sit with us together - a picture perfect moment. Right?

Right.

Only, come to find out, Jon had taken my camera up to the city with him to show it off to a co-worker and LEFT IT UP AT THE OFFICE.

Complete husband fail.

What's worse, our good friends Eric and Jill (and their adorable daughter Amelia) were arriving that night to visit with us all weekend long. A weekend full of fun picture opportunities amongst the kids, no doubt.

ARGH.

I was annoyed, but what can you do?

It's going to be an iPhone picture weekend, I'm afraid.

Notice the collection of trains on my lap. Logan would not sit with me unless his trains accompanied us.

Closing out the 2nd Trimester

I realize I haven't been blogging as much these days - nor do I make much time to blog about my pregnancy - so I figured I'd take a quiet Friday night like tonight to finally provide some sort of update. Let's call it the SO HOW ARE YOU DOING? update.

I'm doing fine. In fact, I'm radiant.

Here are some of the experiences I've had, second (feels funny to say third?) time around.

I'm overcome with a spidey sense of smell, even considering my daily congestion. Case in point - anytime Jon comes home after a night out with his work or rugby buddies, I can smell the liquor on his breath, emanating from his skin, even if he had just one drink many many hours ago! It's really weird (and makes me sick to my stomach).

So it was the most bizarre experience for me ever, the other morning, when I was sitting in a meeting with probably 20 other people in the room, and I was HIT, HIT HARD I tell you, with that same sickly smell of liquor. I was sitting between two men, and so for the rest of the meeting I stifled my gag while looking at each of them, back and forth, out of the corners of my eyes, trying to determine which one could it be that had been drinking. I tried convincing myself that it wasn't possible - it was 10:30am in the morning for God's Sake! (not to mention we were at work) - but I couldn't think of any other explanation. One of these guys was hittin' the bottle a bit early.

I definitely am feeling an increase in back pain and overall achyness. I've heard from a number of people that the more pregnancies you have, the harder and more terribly painful it is on your body. I would agree it's definitely harder and more painful, but not terribly painful as many people emphasize. I think you're just older (obviously) and possibly not in as good of shape as the previous pregnancy, and your body is just having a harder time with the stress that pregnancy causes on all of your joints, ligaments, body and mind. That is, anyway, what I'm chalking my aches and pains up to.

There's no doubt my body was stretched to its limits with Logan's birth - and it's clear I have back problems - so none of this has come to much surprise.

What has come as a surprise to me is how EARLY on in the pregnancy I've noticed the aches and pains. I'm back to seeing my Physical Therapist weekly now, and she's confirmed my pelvis is loosey goosey (usually a good thing right?), which is ohhhhh so bad. Because guess what happens every morning and sometimes during the day too? It POPS. My pelvis POPS out of place and if I'm lucky, it POPS back into place. That, my friends, can be a bit more painful than a few stretching ligaments.

This little guy is more active than I ever remember Logan to be. Logan was a roller (and hiccup-er). He ROLLED from side to side, he ROLLED up and down, he ROLLED back and forth. I imagined knees and elbows and feet and a head all vying for more space or perhaps a better position to hang out in. This little guy has found his favorite spot - LOVING my left side - so he's content to stay there. But, he can't stop moving. He's my ridiculously hyper ninja. He boxes and kicks like crazy. Non-stop. Like, morning, noon and night non-stop. It can be hard to fall asleep some nights, with this little guy just poking me every second. POKE. POKE. POKE. POKE. Mommy are you still awake? Yessssss. POKE.

Let me just say I'm not looking forward to another round of sleepless nights once this guy joins us in the outside world.

Since I've been through it before, I know what to expect. And that is why I've been procrastinating taking my glucose screening test (to check for gestational diabetes). I know, I know, it's bad. But, I guess I'm waiting until the very last minute? I don't know. If you've never taking a glucose test before, it's pretty yucky. You have to down this bottle of sweet syrupy stuff one hour before your blood is drawn (and after fasting all night). The test looks at how well your body is able to metabolize the sugars in your system.

When I was pregnant with Logan, I didn't pass the first screening so I had to go back for the second (glucose tolerance) test. The second test was way worse. You have to drink another bottle of sweet syrupy stuff - but MORE of it - because they want it to stay in your system a bit longer. You then sit and wait, having your blood drawn FOUR times after that, once per hour. It's a long (starving) morning and isn't any fun at all. I did fine after the glucose tolerance test but my previous OB was a little more relaxed than this one is - so I have a feeling a few more flags will be raised on me this time around. And Lord knows, I CAN'T GIVE UP MY CARBS!

Okay, I can. For this little one, I can. But, I will wait until the very last minute for them to tell me I have to and will only do it if they say I must. Damnit.

Just this morning as I was wrapping up one meeting and heading to another, my stomach started GROWLING louder than ever. In a MEETING. In front of MY COWORKERS. In front of my MALE coworkers. Good job Bree, so feminine and coy. *sigh*

It reminded me of a few times Jon and I were lazying around in the den, watching some TV before going to bed. My stomach would start to gurgle those digestive noises that happen after a big meal I guess? I really don't know - but let me tell you - I think they are 100 times louder when you're pregnant. And just when I thought, well maybe they are just loud to me because you know, I'm right HERE and all, Jon would look up from across the room at me and say "Jesus Babe! Is that your stomach making all of those noises?!?!?"

Every other day, if not every day, someone comments on how BIG I am (No seriously Bree, you are really really big! Like, bigger than my sister who is due next week, big!) and inevitably asks the big question "So WHEN exactly are you due again???" As if to say GIRRRRRL you look like you are about to pop, so shouldn't you be home and having that baby already?

Thankfully, I've got a pretty tough skin and frankly, have gotten used to the insensitive and rude comments that people think they can get away with just because you're pregnant.

But, the few who have actually said something more positive are the ones who make my day. Thank goodness for those precious few in my life, because even a girl with thick skin needs a pick me up from time to time.

I think I've mentioned it before, but with Logan I would read my pregnancy journal every night and squeal with excitement at the idea that he's now the size of a sesame seed. Oh! He's the size of a dime. Wow, Jon can you imagine? Now he stands about as high as the short side of a credit card!

And so on, and so on.

This time around I'm lucky if I can read my journal once or twice a week and usually read the updates with a different light of discovery. "Huh. Would you look at that. He's just about 2 lbs now."

And with a blink of an eye, I realize that I'm already closing out the 2nd trimester and turning the last corner of the run home.

Would you like some cheese with that w(h)ine?

Stress usually motivates me and keeps me going, but last week it knocked me over, straddled me and mercilessly pummeled me deeper into the ground. I felt suffocated, overwhelmed, tired and emotional. I was quickly unraveling at the seams and felt like giving up.

Uncle, Uncle! Stop beating me into submission. I'm done.

Looking back, we had a lot going on to tip me over the edge. I visited with a neurosurgeon about possible back surgery which was upsetting, not because of potentially going under the knife (which is upsetting in and of itself) but because he wouldn't. My case isn't clear cut (ha!) enough and he wants to run several more tests first to get a better diagnosis. I left his office in tears, more frustrated than ever. And really wishing House actually did exist. Perhaps he could at least figure out what the hell is wrong with my broken back. (It was also frustrating since I couldn't seem to connect with my hot-shit doctor who seemed more robot than human and, I really need to connect with the guy who may be cutting into my back...)

Every single night, Jon had to work late. Extremely late. Like, not only missing dinner and putting Logan to bed and spending some quality time with me late, but crawling into bed at 4am late. Consistently. My husband was having an affair with his work and I missed him.

Logan came down with a 24-hour fever. He wasn't eating and kept waking up throughout the night. He insisted on being rocked, held and comforted. Because Jon was working late hours (see above), he barely had energy to shut off the lights before stumbling to bed. Because I was the primary caretaker and keeping the house in order each night after work, I barely had energy to lock the doors before calling it a night. (I just noticed yesterday that his lower right canine tooth may be working its way through; not sure I'm looking forward to more teething right now!)

Once Jon's work calmed down, he headed off to the gaming conference that he had planned on attending many moons ago. But, because of the rough week, late nights and feverish child, I wasn't sure I could juggle caring for Logan on my own for a full day, let alone two or three. It was the start of a long weekend and I was already losing steam.

We were also dog sitting our friends' two yellow labs, I was working both early and late hours managing two big client launches and attending an all day training.

Oh! Let's not forget about my chronic back pain. It hasn't gone away, I just don't talk about it. What's there to talk about? It's still around, nagging and annoying me in every way possible but slowly becoming a part of my "normal" life. I'm actually handling the pain fairly well, but it's mentally exhausting and can really wear you down after awhile. (It's worse when Aunt Flow visits and of course, she hit me over the head this weekend as well. Yippeee!)

But all of that was a walk in the park compared to the emotional roller coaster ride that literally turned our marriage upside down the minute Jon and I started arguing over discussing our Estate Planning questionnaire the other night (because who really wants to talk about when you die, really?). And before you know it, Jon and I had one of the larger fights of the century our relationship.

Several hours later, after we had both calmed down, we talked late into the night. We ended up talking about how stressful the last week had been for me; how hard it was on us, on our marriage. I got weepy (again). And just as I launched into specifics of my neurosurgeon visit, asking Jon "what do you think?" I heard the familiar snoring and catching of his breath.

Jon had fallen asleep.

Given the fight we had just been through and the opening up that I was doing, I suppose any normal person would have been pissed at their husband falling asleep mid-conversation. But you know what? I didn't care. I was glad we were back to talking (even if he fell asleep on me!). And, more than that, it actually felt good to get a lot of my concerns, my fears, my stress, off my chest.

I fell asleep exhausted, but smiling knowing we were already in a better state than just a few hours previously, and hey! we managed to clean out a bulk of the garage (true Spring cleaning) earlier that day which was amazing, so take THAT Mr. Stress! Maybe I'm not giving up that easily, after all.

I guess sometimes you just need a mini-breakdown to right yourself back on course.