Therapy, Prayers and Symptoms

We are all aware that I will be getting the best medical care in the state of Ohio, however there was one aspect of my journey that my OB's nurse was concerned about. Although Dr. C (My high risk doc (MFM)) will be medically the best, the office is so busy, and see so many patients, that my OB (Dr. P) and her nurse (Shar) are worried I wouldn't have the personal attention I crave. In my OBs office, they are so friendly and will let me talk to them for an hour or more at visits. They have been so understanding and supportive, and they are truly afraid that the new MFM office may not do the same. If you know me I LOVE to talk, and when things are bothering me, or making me nervous, I tend to talk even more. So, Shar suggested that if I wasn't already seeing a therapist, that it would be a good idea to start.

Well, I never stopped seeing my therapist. She has been a God send! It is great to have someone listen to me without interruption and focus only on my problems for a whole hour. I was so excited to actually bring her good news this yesterday.

Foster doesn't share my views on therapy. He thinks I should be "cured" now. He thinks that still seeing a therapist is somehow a bad sign, or a sign of weakness. I tried to explain to him that I just like talking to her and it made me feel so much better every time I left. We talk about my nightmares that I still have on almost a nightly basis, we talk about my feelings and now my fears for this new baby. Foster claims that he is here for me to talk to also, but I tried to explain to him that it is not the same.

I have to admit, getting told I was not deploying was a HUGE factor in my anxiety relief. I felt like there was this HUGE weight lifted off my chest, and that I could breathe for the first time since Rosalynn died. I was finally able to focus on her and my healing as opposed to getting prepared to ship out. Also, I am slightly surprised at the LACK of anxiety about this pregnancy. If I had gotten pregnant right after our loss, I would have probably requested to be admitted to the mental ward for 9 months. Now, I think I am ready. I think I am emotionally and physically prepared for whatever is going to happen with my little pumpkin. Don't get me wrong, I still have my moments, but it is definitely as bad as I had expected. I am sure that will change the closer to the end in the third trimester.

I am realistic this time around. I WISH I was still naive about pregnancy, but I know better now. I know that one in four pregnancies end in a miscarriage, so I am not out of the woods with that. I also know the statistics for stillbirth and almost all the causes for it. Along with this awareness, I have such a better appreciation for each day that passes that I am still pregnant with Pumpkin. It is a miracle....a TRUE miracle! Every night at dinner, Foster and I start our prayers by saying "Thank you God for letting us be pregnant another day". That is how I am doing this, the same way I dealt with Rosie's death; second by second, minute by minute, day by day, and hopefully eventually week by week.

One thing I promise to you all here and now, is that you will never hear me complain. Not about nausea and vomiting, pain, headaches, or anything else. If I ever mention a symptom, it will be to inform everyone what I am experiencing right now, or to ask advice if something is normal. Other than that, I will embrace this pregnancy and everything it has to throw at me with open arms, for God has answered my prayers and I will eternally be grateful for that.

2 weeks from today I will be having my first U/S. Today I am officially 5 weeks pregnant!! Please, your prayers are still very much appreciated!

Symptoms up to week 5:
Low blood sugar feeling if I haven't eaten in a while.
HUGE boobs and sore
the slight pangs of growth in my belly...not painful, just twinges from time to time.

A "Breakthrough"?!?

I had my own little revelation today. I notice that right before drill every month I get anxious, and filled with dread. I never really could put my finger on why I feel this way. It's not like we do a whole lot that would cause stress on drill weekends; we take a PT test every month, and then maybe have a few classes or paint walls (we did a LOT of painting this weekend!!). You would think it was the easiest "job" in the world. As a junior enlisted, I have no responsibility other than to do what I am told, sit around chatting with other junior enlisted, and wait until the leaders decide to let us loose for the night.Yes, I get paid for this. Drill weekends should be almost a "vacation" from my normal, hectic life.

 First Sergeant called me in to his office this afternoon. He wanted to check on me. Let's just say I took an email very personally that was not his intention and he was a little worried about me. As soon as he asked "How are you doing?" and really meant it, the waterworks started. They always do when someone REALLY wants to know how I am doing. I had held it together all weekend. Sure, I had complained a little here and there about the endless painting we had to do, or rolled my eyes when we were told to move a set of filing cabinets for the fifth time BACK to the original spot they were in, but if I didn't complain, I wouldn't be the typical junior enlisted soldier now would I? However, once I looked into his eyes that were genuinely filled with concern, I lost it. The talk was good, and I was grateful that with as little time that he has in a weekend, especially with a deployment on the horizon, he took a few minutes to check on me.

As I jumped into my car to head home to enjoy some homemade chili and football with Foster, tears started streaming down my eyes. It occurred to me for the first time that it was a Sunday after drill, very similar to today, that my last full day with my Rosalynn was unknowingly coming to an end. I had been in civilian clothes because I was soooooo big, and the only thing my commander asked was "Finny, why are you in civilian clothes?" I guess he had forgotten about the 5 times I had requested the maternity ACUs but had yet to receive . As a health care provider (a nurse practitioner in his civilian life) you would think he might have been concerned about my overly swollen legs, the feet that were so swollen that only flip flops could fit on them. You would think at the very  least he would have asked how the pregnancy was going, or offer to finish the final signatures pertaining to my discharge that I was holding in my hands. However, "Why are you in civilian clothes?" and "I will sign those later," were the only things he said to me. I spent most of my time with my feet elevated in the office, and only got up to pee, heat up some food, and to let everyone feel my belly when Rosie got the hiccups for the first time ever. One of our radiology techs (who I currently also work at the hospital with) sat down concerned and told me he was worried about my swelling and the pregnancy because he had just recently been witness to an ultrasound where a 36 week pregnant woman was told the baby's heart had stopped. He told me to pay close attention to the kicks. I giggled uncomfortably and reassured him that I would be fine, and if I noticed a decrease in movement, I would be sure to call my OB. This conversation is one of the main  reasons I noticed she wasn't moving so early on.

As I was driving home from drill, I realized that I think I resent that place. Not the people, the PLACE. Every time I get in uniform and go to that armory, I am reminded of what I lost. Even if I went all month without crying or thinking badly about my loss; even if I went all month with positive, wonderful things happening, and no sad or angry moments; even if all month I was able to NOT think about the immense pain that sits in the middle of my chest (not likely, but we can always hope), I am ALWAYS reminded of those last days every time I put that uniform on and head into drill. The same uniform I used to love donning and was proud to zip up and walk out the door in, is now a uniform that is a constant reminder of my loss every time I put it on. It is not one of those good reminders, like seeing a rose in bloom or hearing a song that makes me smile in remembrance of my daughter. It is one of those painful reminders that makes me anxious, depressed, and even angry.

In therapy this may be considered a "breakthrough". I have realized one reason for my anxiety, now it is a matter of figuring out how to deal with all of this; but for now I breath a sigh of relief for yet another drill weekend passing, I look forward to the next few weeks of not thinking about going back, and in a few weeks I will start to mentally prepare myself again for yet another round.