Coming down from using hormones is astonishing. Just astonishing.
I've been using the Depo Provera shot since June 09: six weeks after the birth of Little O. You may remember I posted this account of my frustrations at the inadequacy of contraceptive options for women back in April 09, and how shocked I was that there was nothing out there that really fitted my needs. Well, my needs after the early arrival of Little O changed somewhat - I wasn't able to breastfeed him directly and once we had him home the schedule of expressing, sterilising, feeding, and ensuring he stayed upright long enough to not aspirate on his own vomit, just proved too exhausting and I had to give up providing breastmilk altogether. It's not something I'm proud of, but that's what had to happen. Anyway, because I wasn't breastfeeding I was able to choose a contraceptive that interfered with a nursing mother's supply, and so I choose Depo Provera. It is administered by a nurse using a needle in the upper arm and lasts for three months. It's GREAT if you hate taking a pill every day; it's GREAT if you don't want to get pregnant for a while (over 99.9% reliable); it's GREAT if you don't like having periods; and it's GREAT if you hate using barrier methods such as condoms.
However.
Depo Provera SUCKS if you don't want to gain weight (70% of women gain more than 10lb in their first year of use); it SUCKS if you are prone to depression (it has been found to increase this tendency dramatically); it SUCKS if you want to have sex with a partner on a regular basis (it can severely limit your sex drive); it SUCKS if you want strong bones (it can irreversibly affect bone density after two years of continuous use); and it SUCKS if you want to conceive a child in the near future.
Let's go through that a little, shall we?
I am... how shall I put this? A little heavy. I'll admit it. I love food and I love sitting on my arse watching TV, and I hate exercise for the sake of losing weight. I put on nearly 40lb when I was pregnant, although I lost 30lb of that in the first four weeks after giving birth. So I was still 10lb over my pre-pregnancy weight, and I had started that adventure being about 40lb overweight to begin with. So really, my doctor should have advised me that, being about 50lb overweight during my consultation with him, that I should look for another method of birth control until I had successfully lost some weight. I might have smacked him one, and I might have gone ahead with the Depo Provera shot regardless, but I still should have been informed either way.
Secondly, when I went to visit my doctor, my son was still a teeny tiny premature newborn with an extremely rare genetic disorder that no-one, not even a geneticist, could give me an accurate prognosis for. Mothers of babies who stay in the NICU for any length of time are SEVEN TIMES more likely to suffer from some form of post-partum depression than other mothers. If my doctor wasn't aware of any mood changes I was experiencing the first time he administered the shot, he sure as hell should have checked in on me for subsequent shots to make sure this method of contraception was still appropriate. Because after six months, or two shots, it definitely definitely wasn't. I was in full PPD mode, which later led to a more serious mental health issue, and not one single health care professional told me that the Depo Provera shot could be contributing. Also, my doctor doesn't see patients who are there just to receive a shot - you have to ask for a whole other appointment. I really feel that that policy is negligent. At the very least he should have recommended I see him personally after six months or a year, just to check it was still the best choice for me.
Thirdly, while I guffawed at my doctor when he said the shot could decrease my sex drive, I've found out the hard way how true that can be. Having just given birth I wasn't planning on bonking my husband three times a day in the near future anyway, so putting a cap on my sexual activity seemed like no bad thing. However, come six or nine months down the road, my husband and I were lucky if we managed a single bonk in a month. A MONTH! Forgive me for my bluntness, but we used to be four- or five-times-a-week kind of people before I got pregnant. My husband was incredibly patient and we attributed my lack of interest to my adjustment disorder, but it put a huge strain on our marriage when I would only put out on a very limited basis. A marriage needs a healthy sex life, but I was so unhappy that ours just withered away.
The bone thing is disturbing, no? I don't think I've been affected - yet - because I stopped using Depo Provera after 15 months, but the fact your bone density can be damaged so easily without hope of reversal? That's some scary shit.
And finally - if you want to have a child after using Depo Provera, you had better be in it for the long haul. While the company that manufactures it claims fertility can return to normal immediately, there are countless stories on the internet to suggest otherwise. The general consensus among women who know - women who've had at least one child already, used the shot, stopped using the shot, tried to get pregnant again and failed - is that it takes at least as long as you were on the shot to get pregnant again. I used it for 15 months, which means it could take another 15 months to conceive. Wow. They say it can take six months for you to just start ovulating again and to regain regular periods, and another nine to 18 months to get pregnant. Just wow.
I know it's my responsibility to do my own research and work out what's best for MY body before signing up to anything, but I do feel that there isn't enough material given to women about the Depo Provera shot. I certainly wasn't given any literature at my doctor's office, and as a new mother of a special needs baby, I just wanted something that would take away any extra worries I had about getting pregnant for a bit. I was NEVER told about the weight gain, depression, bone density side-effects, or the possibility of it taking so long to conceive again.
I am not an Earth Mother. I am happy to put hormones into my body in order to prevent pregnancy. I hate condoms (I think I must be a little allergic or something, because those things CHAFE) and I was on the pill from the age of 17. I came off it at 25 and conceived within the first month, which meant I haven't had a normal period since I was a teenager. I've always been fine with that because periods are not my friend. I do not believe in embracing something I find unpleasant - just like I find bogeys, eye gunk, earwax, urine, poop, and vomit repulsive. (Actually, baby poop I don't mind at all. I find it incredibly satisfying to clean Little O's bum because then the smell magically disappears. Eye gunk or nose bogeys, however, are a different story. They make me gag.) Anyway, seeing as I'm not mad keen on being a mad woman once a month, I've truly never minded suppressing my fertility with hormones. It's always meant I either had lighter, regular periods, or none at all - and that suited me just fine.
Until now.
Now, I'm coming down from hormone usage. I have been hormone-free for 14 days and the side effects are quite astonishing. Assuming I'm not already pregnant (more on that in a minute), then I've been feeling my body literally moving itself back into a normal position and preparing itself for a monthly cycle once again. It's fascinating, and not without its aches and pains. I've been having the most dramatic mood swings you've ever seen; I've been sleeping during the day and not at night; I've had stomach aches, back aches and leg cramps; my boobs have been going up and down in size, sensitivity, shape, and texture - and they tingle; and I've felt my appetite decrease to such an extent that the thought of some of my old favourite foods (such as chilli), has made me queasy. I've also, happily, begun to want to shag my husband again. He's been most obliging.
The changes in my body over the last two weeks have been so dramatic that I think I'm going to have to check I'm not up the duff. It's made difficult, however, by not having had that normal monthly cycle for the last ten years. I've got absolutely no idea when I would have ovulated, or even if I'm likely to, or when the date of my last period was. (Erm... October, maybe?) I'm therefore completely baffled as to when I'm supposed to take a pregnancy test. Yes, my husband and I have been having (semi) unprotected sex, but if the effects of Depo Provera take as long to wear off as they say they do... and if I don't know when or if I'm even ovulating... then taking a test too soon could give me a false negative result. It's all tremendously disconcerting.
But I feel better about not taking any hormones anymore. It feels good. It feels right. If my husband and I do conceive soon, then we're thinking about making a more permanent choice for contraception next time. We're discussing vasectomies, tube-tying, IUDs... even donating an entire testicle to science (yes, it can be done. There's a very famous university who does research into testicular diseases, and they offer thousands and thousands of dollars for healthy testicles from men under 35). Whatever happens in the next few months though, I don't think I'm going to go through this hormone withdrawal again. Using hormones was appropriate for me in the past, but I think I've reached a point in my life where I'm tired of bearing the sole responsibility for contraception in my relationship. And I think after the last 15 months we've had, my husband is too.
Tina.
Showing posts with label weight. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weight. Show all posts
Sunday, September 5, 2010
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
Clingy... like cling film...
No idea where this has come from, but Little O has officially decided he's a Mama's Boy. Well... yes, actually I do know where it's come from because I spend almost 24 hours a day with the chap, but this latest desire to be-with-you-Mama-all-the-time-where-are-you-going-don't-leave-me-waaaaaaaaaaaaah! is somewhat unexpected nonetheless.
Little O has never shown any signs of being clingy towards either me or Mike until recently. I have always attributed this good fortune to several factors: a) he was in the NICU for three and a half weeks, so apart from the 10-12 hours a day I was up there by his bedside, he had to get used to not being around his parents pretty quickly; b) he spends a lot of time with therapists, doctors, nurses, and other 'important' people, so being handled by strangers seems very normal to him; and c) I'm always with him! He has never HAD to be clingy, because he's always been assured that even when I leave him to shower or make some lunch, I'll be back very quickly.
I've been a member of the local gym for two weeks now and I'm starting to get a bit fitter. One of the reasons I keep going back (been six times in ten days so far) is not that I'm immune to being lazy or sore, but that you have to book childcare 24 hours in advance. They organise their staffing ratios around how many kids will be there, so if you fail to show up they charge you anyway. It's only $1 a time, but it's MY $1 and I want to make use of it! So I've started scheduling gym sessions for 10am fairly often, and Owen has been attending childcare every time. Recently he's begun to cry... not when I leave him... but when I return. It's as though he's just figured out I've left him for a period of time and he wants to let me know he's annoyed at me. He's also started crying when I leave the room he's in at home, even if it's only for a few seconds. I think being separated from me at the gym is started to affect him, and he's getting concerned that I'll be leaving him for longer and longer.
While I think it's rather nice to be needed (and I do enjoy the fact that a kiss and a cuddle from me can calm him instantly), this has had a rather unpleasant side-effect. Little O has started to nap during his lunch, which means he's tube fed for a few hours while he sleeps. Now, putting him in to his bed at nighttime is never usually an issue, because he's tired and it's dark, and I sing to him and talk to him before closing the door and going downstairs. It's exactly the same routine, every night, and he's reassured and comforted enough to just lay his head down and send himself off to sleep. Naptimes, however, are sporadic and stressful, and he's awake enough to think, "She's not coming back. It's daylight and I don't want to be alone", so he's started a pattern of sleeping for ten minutes, then waking up and yelling, then being soothed back to sleep by me, then sleeping for ten minutes, then waking up and yelling, then... you get the picture.
I swear upon my bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk lurking in J's suitcase that this is all, ALL, to do with putting him in childcare. But the kid has to get used to me not being there at SOME point. It might as well be for a few hours a week while I'm getting healthier not 30 feet away. I do wish he'd start napping properly though. It's very hard to keep his lunch inside him at the moment, because he usually yells hard enough to make himself throw up, but I can't just stop the pump running and let him go without. I just hope the extra few mls we're adding to his overnight feed are enough to compensate for all this nonsense and he starts gaining weight again soon.
In fact, he can gain all the weight I'm losing! That would be awesome. Freaky, but awesome.
Tina.
Little O has never shown any signs of being clingy towards either me or Mike until recently. I have always attributed this good fortune to several factors: a) he was in the NICU for three and a half weeks, so apart from the 10-12 hours a day I was up there by his bedside, he had to get used to not being around his parents pretty quickly; b) he spends a lot of time with therapists, doctors, nurses, and other 'important' people, so being handled by strangers seems very normal to him; and c) I'm always with him! He has never HAD to be clingy, because he's always been assured that even when I leave him to shower or make some lunch, I'll be back very quickly.
I've been a member of the local gym for two weeks now and I'm starting to get a bit fitter. One of the reasons I keep going back (been six times in ten days so far) is not that I'm immune to being lazy or sore, but that you have to book childcare 24 hours in advance. They organise their staffing ratios around how many kids will be there, so if you fail to show up they charge you anyway. It's only $1 a time, but it's MY $1 and I want to make use of it! So I've started scheduling gym sessions for 10am fairly often, and Owen has been attending childcare every time. Recently he's begun to cry... not when I leave him... but when I return. It's as though he's just figured out I've left him for a period of time and he wants to let me know he's annoyed at me. He's also started crying when I leave the room he's in at home, even if it's only for a few seconds. I think being separated from me at the gym is started to affect him, and he's getting concerned that I'll be leaving him for longer and longer.
While I think it's rather nice to be needed (and I do enjoy the fact that a kiss and a cuddle from me can calm him instantly), this has had a rather unpleasant side-effect. Little O has started to nap during his lunch, which means he's tube fed for a few hours while he sleeps. Now, putting him in to his bed at nighttime is never usually an issue, because he's tired and it's dark, and I sing to him and talk to him before closing the door and going downstairs. It's exactly the same routine, every night, and he's reassured and comforted enough to just lay his head down and send himself off to sleep. Naptimes, however, are sporadic and stressful, and he's awake enough to think, "She's not coming back. It's daylight and I don't want to be alone", so he's started a pattern of sleeping for ten minutes, then waking up and yelling, then being soothed back to sleep by me, then sleeping for ten minutes, then waking up and yelling, then... you get the picture.
I swear upon my bar of Cadbury's Dairy Milk lurking in J's suitcase that this is all, ALL, to do with putting him in childcare. But the kid has to get used to me not being there at SOME point. It might as well be for a few hours a week while I'm getting healthier not 30 feet away. I do wish he'd start napping properly though. It's very hard to keep his lunch inside him at the moment, because he usually yells hard enough to make himself throw up, but I can't just stop the pump running and let him go without. I just hope the extra few mls we're adding to his overnight feed are enough to compensate for all this nonsense and he starts gaining weight again soon.
In fact, he can gain all the weight I'm losing! That would be awesome. Freaky, but awesome.
Tina.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
Mmm... thanks for that, Bob
After all the drama at the weekend, I'd like to present to you some more... normal... stuff.
Owen woke up at 4.45am to cry, throw up, and generally annoy both himself and us. All the commotion woke up our cat, Bob, who decided that this was the perfect time to bring us a 'present'. As we settled back down to get another few minutes of kip, Bob was out hunting. And catching. And mauling. At about 5am, I was just nodding off again when the rather alarming sound of a bird twittering and tweeting very close to me brought me to my senses. Now, we had an amazing thunderstorm last night, so my first thought was that we had a hole in our roof and a bird had somehow managed to get inside the attic and couldn't find a way out again. Anyway, it stopped shortly after and as there was no water dripping on to the bed, I figured I'd just deal with it when I got up.
The alarm went off at 5.30am and Mike got up. Now, yesterday he had some minor surgery on his toe (more on that later), so he was kinda hobbling about and knocking shit over in an attempt to re-dress the bandage. So he turned on the light to see all the shit he'd knocked over. And saw instead, horror of horrors, that Bob had not only brought a live bird in to our home, but that he had chosen the spot just outside our bedroom door to play with it and kill it. There was blood and feathers and dead bird carnage EVERYWHERE. Bob, meanwhile, was nowhere to be found. He was obviously very pleased with his offering and had gone off to bother some more of Wisconsin's wildlife, and we were so mad at him that we closed his cat flap and locked him outside for a bit.
That poor, poor birdie. It's Bob's fourth present snce we've allowed him outside: three birds and a baby bunny rabbit. The rabbit was very sad, but at least it was a swift, clean kill. This latest one was obviously very distressing for the birdie because I could hear all its twittering as it died. I have no idea if, had I gone to investigate the noise, I could have saved the birdie, but I think it would have been even worse. Bob would have probably released it, and then we would have had a flying, twittering bird in our house with severe injuries. Poor little birdie.
Stupid cat.
So, Mike's toe surgery was to FINALLY fix a problem he's had for eighteen months. Christmas 2008 he went out in the snow to get something from the car, and decided flip flops were the sensible footwear of choice. As the snow was coming down thick and fast, he ran back up the steps to our (then) flat, and slipped on some ice, slamming his big toe into heavy-duty concrete. It's never been right since, and all attempts to help it heal haven't worked. Until yesterday he had a pretty serious ingrowing toenail, and an infected site that oozed pus every day. Well, the doctor whipped that sucker out and GOUGED OUT THE OVERGROWN FLESH that was trying to compensate for a poorly toenail, so that Mike is now left with two-thirds of a big toenail, and two open wounds on each side of the nail. He's pretty miserable and hobbling around with one toe stuck straight up in the air. Also, he can't wear open-toed shoes to work (oh, that he were a woman!), so he's planning some covert operation where he slides his shoes off under his desk and goes barefoot all day. Lol. We'll see how well that goes...
I've also joined a gym where childcare is only $1, but the free weights instructor completely kicked my arse today and I can't be bothered to type any more. Besides, there's still some blood on the carpet upstairs and it's not like I can ask Bob to clean it up.
Tina.
Owen woke up at 4.45am to cry, throw up, and generally annoy both himself and us. All the commotion woke up our cat, Bob, who decided that this was the perfect time to bring us a 'present'. As we settled back down to get another few minutes of kip, Bob was out hunting. And catching. And mauling. At about 5am, I was just nodding off again when the rather alarming sound of a bird twittering and tweeting very close to me brought me to my senses. Now, we had an amazing thunderstorm last night, so my first thought was that we had a hole in our roof and a bird had somehow managed to get inside the attic and couldn't find a way out again. Anyway, it stopped shortly after and as there was no water dripping on to the bed, I figured I'd just deal with it when I got up.
The alarm went off at 5.30am and Mike got up. Now, yesterday he had some minor surgery on his toe (more on that later), so he was kinda hobbling about and knocking shit over in an attempt to re-dress the bandage. So he turned on the light to see all the shit he'd knocked over. And saw instead, horror of horrors, that Bob had not only brought a live bird in to our home, but that he had chosen the spot just outside our bedroom door to play with it and kill it. There was blood and feathers and dead bird carnage EVERYWHERE. Bob, meanwhile, was nowhere to be found. He was obviously very pleased with his offering and had gone off to bother some more of Wisconsin's wildlife, and we were so mad at him that we closed his cat flap and locked him outside for a bit.
That poor, poor birdie. It's Bob's fourth present snce we've allowed him outside: three birds and a baby bunny rabbit. The rabbit was very sad, but at least it was a swift, clean kill. This latest one was obviously very distressing for the birdie because I could hear all its twittering as it died. I have no idea if, had I gone to investigate the noise, I could have saved the birdie, but I think it would have been even worse. Bob would have probably released it, and then we would have had a flying, twittering bird in our house with severe injuries. Poor little birdie.
Stupid cat.
So, Mike's toe surgery was to FINALLY fix a problem he's had for eighteen months. Christmas 2008 he went out in the snow to get something from the car, and decided flip flops were the sensible footwear of choice. As the snow was coming down thick and fast, he ran back up the steps to our (then) flat, and slipped on some ice, slamming his big toe into heavy-duty concrete. It's never been right since, and all attempts to help it heal haven't worked. Until yesterday he had a pretty serious ingrowing toenail, and an infected site that oozed pus every day. Well, the doctor whipped that sucker out and GOUGED OUT THE OVERGROWN FLESH that was trying to compensate for a poorly toenail, so that Mike is now left with two-thirds of a big toenail, and two open wounds on each side of the nail. He's pretty miserable and hobbling around with one toe stuck straight up in the air. Also, he can't wear open-toed shoes to work (oh, that he were a woman!), so he's planning some covert operation where he slides his shoes off under his desk and goes barefoot all day. Lol. We'll see how well that goes...
I've also joined a gym where childcare is only $1, but the free weights instructor completely kicked my arse today and I can't be bothered to type any more. Besides, there's still some blood on the carpet upstairs and it's not like I can ask Bob to clean it up.
Tina.
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Week...err... four?
Weight: 211.2lb
This, obviously, is a big kick in the gonads. I am extrememely irritated I didn't reach 210, which was my goal for this week. I feel like eating a big slice of cake just to piss off my scale.
In other news, my weekend was a complete and utter disaster from start to finish. I had a deadline due Monday morning for Crimson and because I am both excellent at working under pressure AND being a lazy bum until the last minute, I didn't start my work until last Thursday. This is not normally an issue because I'm pretty quick at what I do, but I didn't expect BOTH our computers to pack in on Saturday morning. I cannot describe with enough anger and frustration exactly what happened, but just know this: Windows 7, Microsoft, Office and our internet can all take a scalding hot bath in some freshly laid cow shit. I finally gave in on Sunday and took my poorly laptop in to Geek Squad, and after threatening to cut off various parts of their anatomies, those chaps fixed my machine that afternoon. Our iMac is still down (still blaming the idiots at Best Buy who swore blind to us that just inserting a Windows 7 disc on a machine with Snow Leopard would work... oh how WRONG THEY WERE) and we're kind of afraid to turn it on again, because every time we do it reboots and reboots and reboots and reboots and reboots... and either the iMac is going out the window or one of us is...
Poor Mac. We miss you.
Owen is doing well and still laughing at everything we wave in front of his face. He's starting to look like a little boy rather than a baby, which is both incredibly exciting and yet leaves me a little bit sad. I've already forgotten what he sounded like as a premature babba (a kitten, incidentally, but I can no longer bring it to memory), and while I love the way he interacts with us now, I do miss just lying back on our oh-so-American recliner chair and falling asleep with him on my shoulder. Jey-sus, if I tried to do that now I'd either get an elbow in the eye or a kick in the stomach.
We've changed his feeding schedule (again) and we're trying out a new thing with our food pump. Now he eats only three times a day, and the rest of his food is pumped continuously in to his tummy overnight. We scoffed at first and were extremely reluctant to try it, but I'm so glad we overcame our intense dislike of the pump and got it working, because he is an absolute champion at using this method. He didn't like it at first because ever since we brought him home from the NICU almost a year ago, he's fallen asleep in the living room in either his high chair or our arms while being fed. Now he has to go to sleep by himself in his cot a whole half-hour before he used to (9.30pm instead of 10pm) and pretty much stay there until 7.30am. Thankfully he takes after moi, because once we've settled him, he does stay asleep all night and is happy to remain in bed the next morning. If he were more like Mike he'd be fast asleep at 7pm and wake my sorry arse up at 5am. We did feel sorry for him when we first changed things around because he was so confused and cried and cried and cried, but four nights in and he's settling down after only five minutes. Result! He's sleeping so much better and of course, his food is staying in his tummy. Our next challenge is to build up the amount he gets overnight and reduce his day time feeds, so that he's only eating enough during the day to satisfy his hunger, and not so much he's puking his guts out. Watch this space.
Tina.
This, obviously, is a big kick in the gonads. I am extrememely irritated I didn't reach 210, which was my goal for this week. I feel like eating a big slice of cake just to piss off my scale.
In other news, my weekend was a complete and utter disaster from start to finish. I had a deadline due Monday morning for Crimson and because I am both excellent at working under pressure AND being a lazy bum until the last minute, I didn't start my work until last Thursday. This is not normally an issue because I'm pretty quick at what I do, but I didn't expect BOTH our computers to pack in on Saturday morning. I cannot describe with enough anger and frustration exactly what happened, but just know this: Windows 7, Microsoft, Office and our internet can all take a scalding hot bath in some freshly laid cow shit. I finally gave in on Sunday and took my poorly laptop in to Geek Squad, and after threatening to cut off various parts of their anatomies, those chaps fixed my machine that afternoon. Our iMac is still down (still blaming the idiots at Best Buy who swore blind to us that just inserting a Windows 7 disc on a machine with Snow Leopard would work... oh how WRONG THEY WERE) and we're kind of afraid to turn it on again, because every time we do it reboots and reboots and reboots and reboots and reboots... and either the iMac is going out the window or one of us is...
Poor Mac. We miss you.
Owen is doing well and still laughing at everything we wave in front of his face. He's starting to look like a little boy rather than a baby, which is both incredibly exciting and yet leaves me a little bit sad. I've already forgotten what he sounded like as a premature babba (a kitten, incidentally, but I can no longer bring it to memory), and while I love the way he interacts with us now, I do miss just lying back on our oh-so-American recliner chair and falling asleep with him on my shoulder. Jey-sus, if I tried to do that now I'd either get an elbow in the eye or a kick in the stomach.
We've changed his feeding schedule (again) and we're trying out a new thing with our food pump. Now he eats only three times a day, and the rest of his food is pumped continuously in to his tummy overnight. We scoffed at first and were extremely reluctant to try it, but I'm so glad we overcame our intense dislike of the pump and got it working, because he is an absolute champion at using this method. He didn't like it at first because ever since we brought him home from the NICU almost a year ago, he's fallen asleep in the living room in either his high chair or our arms while being fed. Now he has to go to sleep by himself in his cot a whole half-hour before he used to (9.30pm instead of 10pm) and pretty much stay there until 7.30am. Thankfully he takes after moi, because once we've settled him, he does stay asleep all night and is happy to remain in bed the next morning. If he were more like Mike he'd be fast asleep at 7pm and wake my sorry arse up at 5am. We did feel sorry for him when we first changed things around because he was so confused and cried and cried and cried, but four nights in and he's settling down after only five minutes. Result! He's sleeping so much better and of course, his food is staying in his tummy. Our next challenge is to build up the amount he gets overnight and reduce his day time feeds, so that he's only eating enough during the day to satisfy his hunger, and not so much he's puking his guts out. Watch this space.
Tina.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Day Fifteen / Week Three
Weight: 212.6
Not such a great loss this week, but still a loss. It snowed over the weekend, unbelievably, which put paid to my walking trips with Owen, and I think that's what's done it.
Plus the pizza I ate on Saturday. Heh heh. :)
Owen's healing nicely still and I've discovered new ways to make him laugh, so I spend most of my days attempting to do just that. He doesn't laugh like other babies, but instead of that making me sad, it makes me proud of him. He probably doesn't have the same understanding and intelligence as other children (although that's just a theory at this point), so for him to understand that a soft toy Eeyore kissing him on the nose is funny... well... that's pretty mega. I don't know whether he recognises that the toy has a face and characteristics, or if it's just the sensation of the fur tickling his nose, but he gets a kick out of it nonetheless. I do think it's the former though, because I started just approaching his nose and he'd start giggling. He was also facing away from me, so I know it wasn't me he was laughing at. Either way, it's a wonderful thing to hear his little laugh and to know he's interacting with his world.
His PT thinks he may skip crawling altogether, which doesn't surprise me. She reckons he'll figure out walking "soon" (in Owen terms that could mean another six to twelve months), so I'm trying to not feel heartbroken that he's not going to crawl. Little heartbreaks. Every day.
Things were pretty bad over the weekend, being trapped inside by the snow and getting frustrated that we'd eaten all the healthy food we had in the house and there was nothing left but pre-diet crap. Mike and I had several rows and finally started talking about Big Issues on Sunday. I won't air my dirty laundry here, but we got to a place I never thought we'd see. It made me realise that I'm not over my depression, and how it's manifesting itself is affecting Mike far more than I thought. He asked me what I needed to be happy, and after a long, long think, I decided that I need him to be the strong one for a change. I can take care of Owen if he takes care of me. In addition, I made an appointment to see a doctor for the first time since the birth to try and get to the bottom of several complaints, including this unshakable black cloud. It irritated me the way the receptionist wanted to know why I needed to see the doctor (to enter into their "system"), so I told her it was because I'm concerned about my iron levels. I am, but that's not the reason I'm going in, and quite frankly the truth is none of her goddam business.
He'll probably tell me I'm overweight. Sigh.
Tina.
Not such a great loss this week, but still a loss. It snowed over the weekend, unbelievably, which put paid to my walking trips with Owen, and I think that's what's done it.
Plus the pizza I ate on Saturday. Heh heh. :)
Owen's healing nicely still and I've discovered new ways to make him laugh, so I spend most of my days attempting to do just that. He doesn't laugh like other babies, but instead of that making me sad, it makes me proud of him. He probably doesn't have the same understanding and intelligence as other children (although that's just a theory at this point), so for him to understand that a soft toy Eeyore kissing him on the nose is funny... well... that's pretty mega. I don't know whether he recognises that the toy has a face and characteristics, or if it's just the sensation of the fur tickling his nose, but he gets a kick out of it nonetheless. I do think it's the former though, because I started just approaching his nose and he'd start giggling. He was also facing away from me, so I know it wasn't me he was laughing at. Either way, it's a wonderful thing to hear his little laugh and to know he's interacting with his world.
His PT thinks he may skip crawling altogether, which doesn't surprise me. She reckons he'll figure out walking "soon" (in Owen terms that could mean another six to twelve months), so I'm trying to not feel heartbroken that he's not going to crawl. Little heartbreaks. Every day.
Things were pretty bad over the weekend, being trapped inside by the snow and getting frustrated that we'd eaten all the healthy food we had in the house and there was nothing left but pre-diet crap. Mike and I had several rows and finally started talking about Big Issues on Sunday. I won't air my dirty laundry here, but we got to a place I never thought we'd see. It made me realise that I'm not over my depression, and how it's manifesting itself is affecting Mike far more than I thought. He asked me what I needed to be happy, and after a long, long think, I decided that I need him to be the strong one for a change. I can take care of Owen if he takes care of me. In addition, I made an appointment to see a doctor for the first time since the birth to try and get to the bottom of several complaints, including this unshakable black cloud. It irritated me the way the receptionist wanted to know why I needed to see the doctor (to enter into their "system"), so I told her it was because I'm concerned about my iron levels. I am, but that's not the reason I'm going in, and quite frankly the truth is none of her goddam business.
He'll probably tell me I'm overweight. Sigh.
Tina.
Monday, March 15, 2010
Day Eight and Surgery Stuff
Weight: 214.1 lb
Well, I dropped over 5 lb, which is pretty cool! Diet went really, really well last week until Friday, when I abandoned all pretenses at the hospital and shared a Galaxy bar my fantastic friend J had imported from the UK. I think we all deserved it, given the situation. And I'm back on track now.
Owen's surgery went very well, although his left eye isn't nearly as open as his right and this is causing both me and his surgeon a bit of concern. If it's just some extra swelling squeezing it shut then given enough time, it will look the same as the right. However, if the stitches have come open or Owen has rubbed his eye somehow, then he'll have to go back to the hospital for an adjustment. Other than that though, things have been going well. We have to apply an ointment to the corneas and incisions four times a day to help things heal and stop his eyes drying out, which is utterly exhausting and Owen absolutely loathes it. In addition, as he also had tubes put in his ears to relieve the excess fluid build-up that was preventing his eardrums from vibrating properly, we have to put drops in his ear canals twice daily. He doesn't like that much either. AND we have to give him antibiotics by mouth (read: tube) four times a day AND cover his eyes in these strange metal shields at night to help keep things moist. He likes none of these activities and I'm so pleased the surgeon said we can start cutting back on everything from today.
You know, I'm really really tired. I feel as though I can never sleep enough, although I get around seven hours a night usually, and catch up on naps at the weekend. I think the burden of caring for Owen is just wearing me down, although I don't resent doing it. I just wish I were able to trust someone, anyone else to do it for a few days to give me a rest. I want a week off. It occurred to me today (sitting on the loo, of course), that I haven't had a real day off since before Owen was born. Such is the life of a mother who stays at home, I guess. Mike gets days off from work but even when that happens, I'm still working. It may be my fault, but I can't even relinquish control to him when he is home, because he often forgets the most basic of Owen's needs. Take Owen's nighttime routine, for example: every night we have the same routine of medications, changing into pyjamas and a bedtime feed. Every other night we bathe Owen as well. With all the extra gumph post-surgery, this routine is currently taking us a good 45 minutes, which we start at 9.00pm in order to start his bedtime feed at 10.00pm. SO... I always have one eye on the clock, making sure we get things started on time, and when 9pm rolls around I turn to Mike and tell him it's time. His usual response? "What needs doing?"
"What ALWAYS needs doing, Mike?"
Sigh. Then he'll act surprised at my tone and ask what he should start doing. Oh, I don't know! How about you just START doing SOMETHING? I feel I need to double-check everything he's up to, just to make sure he doesn't miss a dose of a medication, puts a new gauze around Owen's mic-key button, or even just gets the right volume of formula ready. If I don't, something always goes amiss and I'm really tired of being the safety net.
Don't get me wrong: Mike is a fantastic father and I do think that if I left him and Owen alone for a weekend that Owen would eventually get everything he needs, but to me that's not good enough. I need a partner who is on the same wavelength and is already thinking about what step comes next before I have to turn to him at 9pm and tell him so. I need a 24-hour father, just like I'm a 24-hour mother.
Tina.
Well, I dropped over 5 lb, which is pretty cool! Diet went really, really well last week until Friday, when I abandoned all pretenses at the hospital and shared a Galaxy bar my fantastic friend J had imported from the UK. I think we all deserved it, given the situation. And I'm back on track now.
Owen's surgery went very well, although his left eye isn't nearly as open as his right and this is causing both me and his surgeon a bit of concern. If it's just some extra swelling squeezing it shut then given enough time, it will look the same as the right. However, if the stitches have come open or Owen has rubbed his eye somehow, then he'll have to go back to the hospital for an adjustment. Other than that though, things have been going well. We have to apply an ointment to the corneas and incisions four times a day to help things heal and stop his eyes drying out, which is utterly exhausting and Owen absolutely loathes it. In addition, as he also had tubes put in his ears to relieve the excess fluid build-up that was preventing his eardrums from vibrating properly, we have to put drops in his ear canals twice daily. He doesn't like that much either. AND we have to give him antibiotics by mouth (read: tube) four times a day AND cover his eyes in these strange metal shields at night to help keep things moist. He likes none of these activities and I'm so pleased the surgeon said we can start cutting back on everything from today.
You know, I'm really really tired. I feel as though I can never sleep enough, although I get around seven hours a night usually, and catch up on naps at the weekend. I think the burden of caring for Owen is just wearing me down, although I don't resent doing it. I just wish I were able to trust someone, anyone else to do it for a few days to give me a rest. I want a week off. It occurred to me today (sitting on the loo, of course), that I haven't had a real day off since before Owen was born. Such is the life of a mother who stays at home, I guess. Mike gets days off from work but even when that happens, I'm still working. It may be my fault, but I can't even relinquish control to him when he is home, because he often forgets the most basic of Owen's needs. Take Owen's nighttime routine, for example: every night we have the same routine of medications, changing into pyjamas and a bedtime feed. Every other night we bathe Owen as well. With all the extra gumph post-surgery, this routine is currently taking us a good 45 minutes, which we start at 9.00pm in order to start his bedtime feed at 10.00pm. SO... I always have one eye on the clock, making sure we get things started on time, and when 9pm rolls around I turn to Mike and tell him it's time. His usual response? "What needs doing?"
"What ALWAYS needs doing, Mike?"
Sigh. Then he'll act surprised at my tone and ask what he should start doing. Oh, I don't know! How about you just START doing SOMETHING? I feel I need to double-check everything he's up to, just to make sure he doesn't miss a dose of a medication, puts a new gauze around Owen's mic-key button, or even just gets the right volume of formula ready. If I don't, something always goes amiss and I'm really tired of being the safety net.
Don't get me wrong: Mike is a fantastic father and I do think that if I left him and Owen alone for a weekend that Owen would eventually get everything he needs, but to me that's not good enough. I need a partner who is on the same wavelength and is already thinking about what step comes next before I have to turn to him at 9pm and tell him so. I need a 24-hour father, just like I'm a 24-hour mother.
Tina.
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
Day Two
Not too bad today, although I had to eat sushi for the first time ever and thought it was absolutely revolting. Who on earth thinks something that cold and slimy is delicious? Eugh. I have to eat it again on Thursday but I reckon a substitution might be in order.
Ick.
I also had to eat a peanut butter and jam sandwich (not nearly as exciting or fatty as you'd imagine), and while the thought of peanut butter on its own is enough to make me retch, eating it on soft wholemeal bread with some blackberry jam wasn't too bad. One demon conquered, anyway.
Don't know what my weight is today because I'm only weighing myself once a week, but my walk with Owen was much nicer than yesterday because it wasn't as cold. He didn't fall asleep though, which was a shame.
I have lots of other thoughts going around my head but this isn't the time to write them down. Soon. Soon.
Tina.
Ick.
I also had to eat a peanut butter and jam sandwich (not nearly as exciting or fatty as you'd imagine), and while the thought of peanut butter on its own is enough to make me retch, eating it on soft wholemeal bread with some blackberry jam wasn't too bad. One demon conquered, anyway.
Don't know what my weight is today because I'm only weighing myself once a week, but my walk with Owen was much nicer than yesterday because it wasn't as cold. He didn't fall asleep though, which was a shame.
I have lots of other thoughts going around my head but this isn't the time to write them down. Soon. Soon.
Tina.
Monday, March 8, 2010
Day One
I have debated and debated over whether or not to put my real weight on here for all and sundry to read and gasp at. I have come to the conclusion that, unless I face the truth and my eating demons, I will continue to be overweight, unhealthy and a bad influence on my son as he grows up. Therefore, here is the first of hopefully many entries about how the new lifestyle is going.
Weight: 219.4 lb
I CANNOT believe that figure and I am absolutely horrified. Admittedly my clothes don't fit me very well any more, and I don't do any exercise at all, but STILL. That is completely and utterly disgusting. I was 194 lb when I had my first weigh-in at the doctors when I initially got pregnant in September 2008, so that is my first major milestone. Before that though, I have a few minor milestones to reach, starting with the first five pounds. I would like to eventually be 150 lb, but I'm planning on taking this slowly and changing my eating habits for good, so that particular goal may take some time. And that's okay.
The new eating plan is more time-consuming than I anticipated, but I'm going from heating up chilli and topping it with cheese in the microwave, so let's face it: anything else will of course be time consuming. I like the hummus and hard-boiled eggs combo though, even if it required over an hour's preparation time. Yum.
I also got out for a walk today with Owen today. That was fun and put him to sleep, so double win.
I promise not to get too dull and weight-focused, but I do need to write these things down so I'm accountable for myself, my eating and my exercise habits. If you think it's boring, move on! This blog is a way for me to write down things for ME, so that is what I intend to do.
I'm looking forward to being healthier and having more energy for Owen. :)
Tina.
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Kiiiiiiiiitchen!
Well, the kitchen's halfway there! All the cabinets are in, so now we have to have the countertops people round to take the final measurements (why they couldn't just take the specs from the cabinet order, I don't know. It's not as though anything's bleedin' changed) and get those ordered. That should take another couple of weeks, but Mike cunningly kept hold of the old wooden tops so we can balance them for something to chop our veggies on. We are still without a sink in the meantime, but at least it's something.
The cabinets are SO PRETTY! I love them, I do. I think I might have chosen to sleep in the kitchen tonight if it weren't for the state of the half ripped-up floor with its dangerous spiky nails everywhere. Seriously, I love the design that much.
The nurse came over today to give Owen his RSV shot and to take his vitals. The boy, at six and a half months, is 27" long and weighs 18lb 11oz! He weighed 5lb 14oz at birth, so it's quite remarkable. In fact, since his last weigh-in less than a month ago, he's put on nearly two whole pounds. What a superstar! He has also learnt the "L" sound and is currently rolling happily around on my floor under the Christmas tree practising it. It truly makes my heart sing to see him so happy, because for so much of the rest of his life he's so damned uncomfortable.
I took him to the neurologist today but he couldn't tell me much as we're waiting for the CT scan to happen tomorrow. He seemed surprised that Owen's myoclonic jerks were under control, given that he has optical nerve pressure and restricted head growth. Apparently seizures and seizure-like activity should actually increase with inter-cranial pressure, not the other way around. He had no idea if my theory about pressure = migraines = extra vomiting could be accurate, as there are lots of ways pressure can manifest and until we see the results of the scan we won't know whether the brain's control site for vomiting is affected. So we'll sleep on it and find out what's happening tomorrow.
OH! And I feel very good about Owen's growth because a few times since his last weigh-in we took him down to four feeds a day (when we were travelling, for example), and I was very concerned that he wouldn't be getting enough nutrition if we did it too often. But he did, and that makes me feel good. I think the extra solids are really helping in that respect.
Mama KNOWS BEST!
Tina.
The cabinets are SO PRETTY! I love them, I do. I think I might have chosen to sleep in the kitchen tonight if it weren't for the state of the half ripped-up floor with its dangerous spiky nails everywhere. Seriously, I love the design that much.
The nurse came over today to give Owen his RSV shot and to take his vitals. The boy, at six and a half months, is 27" long and weighs 18lb 11oz! He weighed 5lb 14oz at birth, so it's quite remarkable. In fact, since his last weigh-in less than a month ago, he's put on nearly two whole pounds. What a superstar! He has also learnt the "L" sound and is currently rolling happily around on my floor under the Christmas tree practising it. It truly makes my heart sing to see him so happy, because for so much of the rest of his life he's so damned uncomfortable.
I took him to the neurologist today but he couldn't tell me much as we're waiting for the CT scan to happen tomorrow. He seemed surprised that Owen's myoclonic jerks were under control, given that he has optical nerve pressure and restricted head growth. Apparently seizures and seizure-like activity should actually increase with inter-cranial pressure, not the other way around. He had no idea if my theory about pressure = migraines = extra vomiting could be accurate, as there are lots of ways pressure can manifest and until we see the results of the scan we won't know whether the brain's control site for vomiting is affected. So we'll sleep on it and find out what's happening tomorrow.
OH! And I feel very good about Owen's growth because a few times since his last weigh-in we took him down to four feeds a day (when we were travelling, for example), and I was very concerned that he wouldn't be getting enough nutrition if we did it too often. But he did, and that makes me feel good. I think the extra solids are really helping in that respect.
Mama KNOWS BEST!
Tina.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
But... aren't you supposed to get fat?
All the medical professionals - midwives, doctors - I've dealt with so far have been women. I've liked some more than others. Some were reassuring, some were rude, some were funny, some were know-it-alls, several had had children of their own. Where I live, one's antenatal care is shared between the hospital (where one is seen by midwives and if necessary a consultant) and your GP. At my GP's surgery, in common with many others, the doctor you actually see will not necessarily be your own registered GP, but whoever can fit you in, so until recently both my antenatal appointments at my doctor's had been with a female GP (and mother, incidently).
This week, I saw my own GP instead. We hadn't met before and I liked him very much. He's in his 40s, I suppose, and I couldn't tell whether he had any children of his own. He carried out a couple of the usual tests and asked the usual questions. Then he asked me to step on the scales - something I hadn't done since my initial booking appointment. The first time I did this, in about th eighth week of my pregnancy, I had a Body Mass Index (BMI) of 27 which made me overweight. I am 5'2" and a size 10-12, and I've always known I've weighed a lot. I must just have dense bones or something. The point is, I was, and always have been, in good shape - and I am not the first person to have noticed that shorter people are disadvantaged by BMI calculations. The midwife was surprised at the BMI but looked me up and down and decided there was clearly no problem with my weight. I have never owned a set of scales and have always eaten sensibly but still according to what I want rather than how I look. Besides, I read in my pregnancy book that weight gain is no longer seen as an accurate measure of how a pregnancy is progressing so is not usually monitored these days.
So, this week, for my GP, I got on the scales for the first time since October. I weighed about 11st, which means I've put on about a stone and a quarter. Given that my baby is due in 8 weeks, I think this is a reasonable amount. Added to which, my face has got no fatter than it was and is always the first place to show whenever my weight fluctuates, so I'm confident that the weight gain is temporary and that I'll have little difficulty losing it once the baby's born. Being the liberated woman that I am, I stepped off the scales seeing the weight gain as of little consequence. Mr GP, however, had other ideas. "That's quite a good weight gain," he said. I was pleased. I thought this meant that the weight gain was just right for the health of my baby and me. He and I clearly have different ideas of what the word 'good' means, as he then went on to make it clear that he thought I'd put too much on. "You know, it's OK to diet during late pregnancy," he continued, "I think it's due to hormones. The women in my family tell me they want to eat more during pregnancy and their periods, so they eat too much. Don't cut out just one food group, just cut down generally so you're still getting some of everything."
I was stunned! I nodded and made noises of assent, but all the time I was wondering what the hell he thought he was saying. I simply cannot contemplate eating any less right now. I need vast amounts of energy just to get through the day (I teach small children for a living) and what's more, I eat when I'm hungry - not just for the hell of it but when I'm hungry! Does he expect me to continue being hungry? Why?? Would he go through the day being hungry? Nope, he would eat! I cannot help but wonder if I would have received the same advice from a female professional - particularly one who had been through pregnancy herself. Is this sexist of me? Quite possibly. But I also think there was implicit sexism in his use of the word 'diet', especially as a verb. I have never dieted in my life and I got the feeling that he thought he was asking me to do something which would be no problem for me.
Needless to say, I am ignoring that particular nugget of advice. As usual, I am eating what I want and keeping it pretty sensible. And to me, eating sensibly means never, ever going hungry if you can avoid it. Which would probably be good advice for everyone.
Anthea
This week, I saw my own GP instead. We hadn't met before and I liked him very much. He's in his 40s, I suppose, and I couldn't tell whether he had any children of his own. He carried out a couple of the usual tests and asked the usual questions. Then he asked me to step on the scales - something I hadn't done since my initial booking appointment. The first time I did this, in about th eighth week of my pregnancy, I had a Body Mass Index (BMI) of 27 which made me overweight. I am 5'2" and a size 10-12, and I've always known I've weighed a lot. I must just have dense bones or something. The point is, I was, and always have been, in good shape - and I am not the first person to have noticed that shorter people are disadvantaged by BMI calculations. The midwife was surprised at the BMI but looked me up and down and decided there was clearly no problem with my weight. I have never owned a set of scales and have always eaten sensibly but still according to what I want rather than how I look. Besides, I read in my pregnancy book that weight gain is no longer seen as an accurate measure of how a pregnancy is progressing so is not usually monitored these days.
So, this week, for my GP, I got on the scales for the first time since October. I weighed about 11st, which means I've put on about a stone and a quarter. Given that my baby is due in 8 weeks, I think this is a reasonable amount. Added to which, my face has got no fatter than it was and is always the first place to show whenever my weight fluctuates, so I'm confident that the weight gain is temporary and that I'll have little difficulty losing it once the baby's born. Being the liberated woman that I am, I stepped off the scales seeing the weight gain as of little consequence. Mr GP, however, had other ideas. "That's quite a good weight gain," he said. I was pleased. I thought this meant that the weight gain was just right for the health of my baby and me. He and I clearly have different ideas of what the word 'good' means, as he then went on to make it clear that he thought I'd put too much on. "You know, it's OK to diet during late pregnancy," he continued, "I think it's due to hormones. The women in my family tell me they want to eat more during pregnancy and their periods, so they eat too much. Don't cut out just one food group, just cut down generally so you're still getting some of everything."
I was stunned! I nodded and made noises of assent, but all the time I was wondering what the hell he thought he was saying. I simply cannot contemplate eating any less right now. I need vast amounts of energy just to get through the day (I teach small children for a living) and what's more, I eat when I'm hungry - not just for the hell of it but when I'm hungry! Does he expect me to continue being hungry? Why?? Would he go through the day being hungry? Nope, he would eat! I cannot help but wonder if I would have received the same advice from a female professional - particularly one who had been through pregnancy herself. Is this sexist of me? Quite possibly. But I also think there was implicit sexism in his use of the word 'diet', especially as a verb. I have never dieted in my life and I got the feeling that he thought he was asking me to do something which would be no problem for me.
Needless to say, I am ignoring that particular nugget of advice. As usual, I am eating what I want and keeping it pretty sensible. And to me, eating sensibly means never, ever going hungry if you can avoid it. Which would probably be good advice for everyone.
Anthea
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