My Scary Pregnancy Stuff - Part 2

[EDIT: Be warned this post discusses a lot of blood.]

So, at 6 weeks I at least knew that I was cleared of an ectopic pregnancy. Thank goodness.

Then, as things progressed, I had all the awful physical side effects as listed in one of my previous posts. But the good ol' scary question marks have reared their ugly heads twice more now. instance number one is as follows:

When I went in for the anatomy scan at 21 weeks, they found I had a Grade 3 placenta previa. That means the placenta is being a dick and is sitting at the opening of the cervix. While your eyes just glazed over there, I can sum that up to mean that if blood vessels rip there and/or shit doesn't move out of the way on its own, I'm in big trouble. You can hemorrhage out and in extreme cases, Mom can die within 10 minutes from blood loss. Things get pretty grave for baby, too. Your body still keeps pumping blood to the placenta to help the baby, but it's essentially like a garden hose just spraying out of control with the tap turned to full blast.

If they know you have it, but you don't go into early labour, your doc will book a planned C-section so no one dies and bleeds out. If you go into early labour, or you have placental abruption, shit goes bad fast and an emergency C-section is necessary to save mom's life.

I discovered that there were risk factors that increased my chances of having placenta previa. They include: 

• Being old as fuck while pregnant (that's me, so yep, check)
• Having had a baby already (here's lookin' at you Baby D, check)
• Previously having a D&C (had that 12 days after delivering Baby D, check)
• Previous scarring in the uterus (likely from infection after Baby D, check)
• Late implantation of the fertilized egg (seems that way based on dates, so check)
• Cocaine use (wait. No. Goddamnit I never have any fun.)

And while it often CAN self-correct, and you assume that description is a worst case scenario that likely never happens, I can tell you that I sat with my sister's legs elevated on my shoulders as she bled out on her bedroom floor in this exact scenario while pregnant with her second child. It was utterly fucking terrifying. And there was nothing we could do for her but hope the ambulance would arrive soon and somehow fix things. 

I remember chatting with my 2 year old niece at the time, pretending EVERYTHING WAS NORMAL and okey dokey so she wouldn't feel scared, while her Dad was on the phone with 911 running all over the house trying to find my sister's health card. It was surreal as my sister went in and out of consciousness. It felt like everything was moving in slow motion. I felt terrible that I was acting so nonchalant with my sister essentially dying on the floor behind me. I was just so determined not to let my niece see how dire the situation was. 

I eventually took her out to the backyard to play on the swings before the EMT technicians came in, until her Mommy was in the ambulance. We stayed out until it was dark. I vividly remember the ambulance lights flashing in the night sky from the driveway out front. I had to wait until they pulled away to go back into the house. And my God, all the blood. It was everywhere. The bedroom, the hallway and all down the stairs. And they would have taken her out by stretcher... so, WTF.

I don't remember putting my niece to bed, but I did, then I began sopping up the blood in a kind of numb state. We didn't all have cell phones then. I couldn't text or call anywhere for an update. I remember her neighbour came over and asked what was going on, as she proceeded to tell me it was God's will, blah blah blah as I wiped up pool after pool of blood. My sister was only 34 weeks pregnant so it was not a good situation.

They survived. She needed a blood transfusion. Her baby had to go to a specialized hospital. They were both so very close to dying. We later met up with the EMT to attended to her that night and heard even more horrifying details of what happened and just how close we were to losing her.

So as soon as I heard that I had previa, I have been on edge and afraid. In BC, where I live, they don't even consider it an issue until a scan confirms it is still present at 32 weeks - OR - you have bleeding (or a "sentinel" bleed which is like a warning that shit isn't quite right) at some point before that. Relatives (who are doctors) in another province were aghast that I wasn't being followed before that with regular ultrasounds with an obstetrician and that I wasn't put on pelvic rest, either. (No exercise, heavy lifting, sexy time, etc).

Apparently, as the uterus stretches and grows as you get farther along, the placenta can eventually move up and not be in the way. It's clinically insignificant what it's doing before 32 weeks, because the body won't have enough room for it to self-correct before then. So extra ultrasounds may show things improving a bit, or may not, but it doesn't really matter until further down the line. Makes sense, but it definitely not comforting to say the least.

I can tell you that it is a loooooong wait between 21 and 32 weeks. I still have almost three weeks until this scan. Until then, I can't fly, can't be too far from the hospital, can't do road trips, all that, in case I start to bleed. I continued doing spin classes, being careful not to slam my junk down hard on the seat or anything (since my midwives said to keep exercising as normal).

My body totally gave up on exercise just after 24 weeks. The anemia, sciatica and hip/butt pain have made it totally impossible. In the last four days just walking 20 feet I have almost passed out three times. No joke.

That can be attributed to my anemia. My levels are brutal. I am supposed to be getting an IV iron infusion very soon. It also carries risks, and can result in anaphylactic shock or severe allergic reaction. It's scary, I'm scared, but my levels are dropping too fast and my body is not tolerating the oral pills or liquids. Further that, if I DO get a sentinel bleed, or have previa that doesn't resolve, the already low blood and iron levels can mean an even more dangerous situation for me. So, fingers crossed that my body accepts the iron IV with little to no side effects, and I can carry on with this pregnancy hopefully better off and not scared to move, walk or drive.

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My Scary Pregnancy Stuff - Part 1

I am a blob.

A pregnant, dizzy, pukey blob.

I've been hesitant to write anything here because none of it is particularly enjoyable or positive. But then again, this blog has been a useful outlet for me over the years so to not write is essentially defeating the purpose. Derp.

I wrote my last post around the difficulties I'm having with being pregnant. The plot has thickened further so I might as well keep going with it. Let's take a look back to see where my mind was and where it is at now.

If we go back, way back, way way back to after Baby D was born (4 weeks premature with a stint in the neonatal intensive care unit), I was in a significant amount of pain even 10 days after she was free of my belly. The public health nurse at the time told me that the amount of pain I was having didn't seem normal and that I should get checked out. My family doctor could not have given less fucks, and I ended up back at the hospital emergency department.

I waited for hours, still in pain, and the doctor I saw was very dismissive as well. He asked a few questions, squished my post-baby belly but did no exam. He said to come back the next day for an ultrasound, IF I WANTED TO BOTHER, and that was that.

When I had the ultrasound the next day, the tech's face went serious and she told me not to go home but to proceed back to the emergency department straight away. OH, GOOD, I thought. I'm sure they tell that to everyone that is healthy and normal. The panic started to set in.

I went back to emergency and explained the deal. I assumed the ultrasound report was already there, or at least on its way. After hours and hours of waiting in the waiting area, I finally called the on-call OB (obstetrician, aka baby doctor) number I was given pre-labour and left a message begging for some help. The pain was getting worse, and I was sitting in the waiting area seemingly forgotten.

A resident doctor called back and said she would be down to help me. She examined me and immediately noticed that I was still 4 cm dilated with a clot!! It was visually obvious. It was not good. And my body essentially thought I was trying to push out another baby! Nucking futs if you ask me!

From there, I needed a D&C to get rid of whatever squatters were hanging out in my uterus without a lease agreement. It's the post-delivery surgical equivalent to using a spatula to get all the cake batter out of the bowl when baking. It was awful. I was readmitted to the hospital while my 11-day old newborn and husband were left to fend for themselves. I needed to pump my ginormous milk-filled boobies but by the time I was actually brought to the ward, the lactation consultant wasn't on duty and apparently morphine is readily available, but the breast pumps are on goddamn lock and key. I hadn't eaten. I was alone. I cried myself to sleep that night in pain, scared, missing my family, wondering what was going to happen to me.

Though this type of procedure happens pretty often, I was really worried I would die. Labour was traumatic, Baby D's heart rate skyrocketed and she was whisked away to the NICU. I bled so much. I felt like she was going to die or I was going to die. I had just gotten over that emotional hurdle and then had to go under anesthetic and hope things went ok.

My Mom actually had to meet Baby D at the hospital. She flew in and everyone met up there so I could be a part of it. Not stressful AT ALL. Nope. Good times.

Anyway, fast forward a bit and I had infections post procedure, illness and all kinds of troubles. My OB at the time was a fucking moron and I ended up needing IV antibiotics in-hospital for over a week because she didn't culture anything and the 4 different oral antibiotics she put me on were ineffective. I was the lucky recipient of an infection that caused scarring in my Fallopian tubes. And who says being female isn't awesome?

When I finally saw a competent OB, he explained that I likely had scarring and I would need to be careful and monitor early if I were to get pregnant again because I was at greater risk for an ectopic pregnancy. That's where the fertilized egg gets stuck in one of the two Fallopian tubes and starts to grow, but eventually it runs out of room and bursts. An ectopic pregnancy can never survive, and it often results in serious blood loss and is potentially fatal for the mom. I know someone who nearly died from it a few years ago. You typically end up losing that tube and it can reduce the chances of getting pregnant in the future, too.

So once we found out I was really pregnant, I remembered that advice, and went to my family doctor. While it is almost impossible to see a 4-week embryo on an ultrasound, there is a possibility of seeing a 5 or 6 week embryo. Sometimes the ultrasound technician is able to rule out anything growing in the fallopian tubes, but usually the technician is looking to see is a tiny yolk sac in the uterus. At least then they know that it isn't dangerously growing in a Fallopian tube.

I had researched this and knew it was important. Often times if the tube bursts, mom can get incredibly weak and have a high volume of internal bleeding before she even knows to call for an ambulance. It is scary shit. It is time sensitive and some women don't know there is a problem until someone finds them passed out on their bathroom floor. There is absolutely no warning signs, and nothing that a mom can do to prevent or help an ectopic pregnancy.

So at my doctor's appointment, with my 4 year old in tow, that same family doctor once again gave zero fucks, despite what I told her the experienced, well-respected OB had told me years before. Her response?

"At 4 weeks they can't see anything anyway. Yes, it could burst and you could die, but what can you do?"

SERIOUSLY. I started crying immediately. My poor daughter looked so concerned and asked what was wrong, why I was crying. Ugh. It was just so cold and dismissive.

Luckily for me I had signed up with midwives while the pee was still drying on my positive pregnancy test, and they saved the day, sending me for a scan to be booked between 5-6 weeks. They hadn't even met me yet but they went above and beyond to help me out and relieve my fears of bleeding out and dying in the night.

The technician was able to see the yolk sac in a safe place. So I could breathe a sigh of relief instead of wondering if my tube was going to explode at some point between 4 weeks when I found out I was pregnant and my first dating ultrasound at 9 weeks.

And so it began, the wondering if my body would turn on me, not having any way to check or know for myself, relying solely on how seriously my care providers took the situation, and waiting for the scan to hopefully provide more information. It was a very stressful start to what should feel like an exciting time.

And then, the anatomy scan decided to turn things upside down again...

To Be Continued...


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My Labour Story: Part 4... My Heart Breaks

I had a great visit with a friend tonight, and I got to recalling a part of my labour story... I know I haven't finished it on here, and it's been intentional. I feel like it was traumatic and it hurts to think about. I wanted to document the story so I would always remember the emotion... how things happened and the details. I don't honestly think I would forget, but I know the mind has the powerful ability to block out the bad things to trick us into further procreation. Ha.


Anyway, if you haven't read the first parts, you can find:
Part One HERE
Part Two HERE
Part Three HERE.


I follow the Badass Breastfeeder on Facebook, and she shared the following photo. It got me thinking that I NEED to tell this part of the story. To gain some kind of acceptance and closure to how things went down.

It really is true.

I just re-read part three to refresh my own mind. And while I am F_CKING HILARIOUS, I also feel sick inside revisiting that night. But here goes. (The things I do for you guys... hehe).


I was pushing and pumping my pain pump thing. The nurse somehow got approval to let me keep using the pain pump because I was feeling things so much but still pushing despite it all. She really was great. Alice, I thank you.


Do you remember the monitors I talked about in Part Three? They showed both the baby's and my heart rate. What I couldn't see in my insane state of determination was that the baby's heart rate was sitting just over 200. Not a good thing. I also remember the Obstetrician commenting that her head felt swollen, and that was also not a good thing.


The Hubs could see the monitor, and after all the pushing, he could tell that something wasn't right.

The doc had come back in, and it was then that he said he believed it best to use the vacuum to help get the baby out. I had heard horrific stories of forceps deliveries, and I really really didn't want that. It was unspoken that if things didn't move along soon, I would need to have a C-section.


As you all know quite well by now, I am a huge wuss and I probably would STILL be recovering today if I'd been forced into the C-section. I heal sloooowly and always have complications. It's kind of my thing.


So I prayed to the vagina gods to spare me lifelong disfigurement and I agreed to the vacuum. The doc said it should be fairly easy to get her out with it, along with my pushing. He casually asked the nurse if they should call "peds" (pronounced peeds, meaning pediatric docs). He played it so cool. So did she. She said "probably". I had no idea that my baby was in danger and that I needed to get her out. NOW. Like, NOW NOW. She made a call, but it didn't register in my brain.


I commend the Hubs for staying calm and supportive. I can only imagine how scared and helpless he must have felt knowing there was absolutely NOTHING he could do to help the baby or change things for the better. He did the best thing he could have, by staying calm and essentially pretending he knew nothing. For that, I thank him. I had been the calm one throughout the start, but he was clutch when I needed him. Had he started to panic, I would have lost my shit and things could have ended much, much differently.


Now, a lot of moms will tell you that after enough hours of pushing, you won't give a shit who sees your boobs, your lady parts, and it won't matter if you poo all over the walls. Surprisingly, I was okay with the nurse (though I would have preferred to have wiped my own butt if given the choice... damn huge belly and peeing laying down...), and I eventually was comfortable with the male OB I had.  I was not okay with students, I was not okay with shitting myself (though if it would have helped the baby I would have). I thought that we were still smooth sailing.


Then 4 more doctors entered the room. I specifically remember trying to cover my lady parts with my hands, WHILE MY LEGS WERE UP ON A BAR, mid-push as the OB was trying to Dyson out little Baby D. Yes, apparently I was still a bit self conscious, but also taken aback by the new viewing section of my labour.


The room was set up in such a way that there was a table across from where I was laying, where they test the baby's reactions (APGAR score) and clean baby up before handing back to mom. These doctors quietly began setting up, not saying a word, besides whispering with the nurse. I remember feeling totally confused and starting to feel nervous. I didn't think this was standard operating procedure, but I was totally exhausted and relatively vulnerable.


I asked who the male doctor was. I don't remember if the OB answered me or not.


I kept pushing. I may have been crying, I don't remember.


I remember that Baby D got closer to freedom, and then the worst burning pain I've ever felt took over my loins. I may have sworn a curse word or two, which was pretty tame for me considering I hadn't really before that.


And then she was out.


All day we heard as other babies were born around us in the nearby rooms. Sweet, frantic little newborn cries as they were thrust into the bright, loud scary world. The same sound in each room.


My baby made no such sound. She made no sound at all. The OB held her up, and I still can see her little white limp body in his hands. No noise. No sign of life. No sign of anything.


I asked if she was okay. No one spoke. I raised my voice. I asked if she was alive. I started to yell, asking if she was breathing, if she was okay. No one spoke.


The team of doctors took her to that table, and surrounded her as they worked. I couldn't see her at all.


I remember the OB casually mentioning that the umbilical cord had been wrapped around both legs, and somewhat tangled. I remembered thinking that explained a lot because no one could seem to figure out how she was positioned in me (my bump looked quite weird and they needed a bedside ultrasound to figure it out the day before).


The OB wasn't a jerk. He wasn't dismissive. He was just incredibly calm and I think trying to get me to simmer down. But not hearing anything was just awful.


There was no crying, no coughing.


I was stuck on the delivery table while the doctor started stitching up all that had been burning. I could feel the stitches and I remember he had to give me another needle with extra freezing there so he could do his handy work.


I felt so helpless and so so scared. I was certain she was dead. The little squirmy ball of baby inside of me for the past 8 months came out silent and still. I was starting to go into shock.


My baby still wasn't making any noise. I asked the Hubs over and over what was going on. It was kind of a blur, but I remember that feeling of being trapped on the table and feeling so powerless.


At one point they asked the Hubs to come over, and I think he then cut the cord.


Then, I heard some kind of sound, and I think the Hubs said she was ok. I didn't believe him.


Then this little, sweet, monkey of a girl was passed to me. She was wrapped in a towel. I don't know if I asked the Hubs to take her photo, or if he did it on his own. I remember the flash went off and the team of doctors actually shouted/scolded him, even though it was accidental.


I held her for all of 45 seconds, and then she was whisked away.

My first few second with her. Looking at this brings back the disbelief, fear, and pain. I remember thinking she looked so beautiful and so perfect.

She didn't get skin to skin contact.
I didn't get to try to nurse her.
I didn't get to feel her sweet little newborn skin on my chest, or get to feel her heart beating.
I didn't get to shower her with the love I had.


They took her away. And that was it.
I didn't understand. I wanted to see her, I needed to see her. The doctor finished stitching, and the nurse told me I had to stay laying down.


The Hubs didn't know what to do. I was hysterical and she was leaving, so I told him to go to her. To go with her. I didn't want her to die alone if she was going to die.


It all felt like an awful dream. It didn't feel like I had a baby. I remember the doctor cleaning up... I had bled quite a bit. I remember the spot light that had been on me was turned off. I was told to rest. It felt in my heart that my little girl was dying in some hospital room near me, and that I wouldn't see her again.


At that point I'm pretty sure that the Hubs knew she was stable, but in my state of shock I couldn't understand that.


I remember trying to rest, and then insisting that I needed to see her. I have no idea how much time had passed. I know the Hubs was there for part of it, and the nurse was trying to get him to sleep in the chair there with me. But he was also with the baby. It is all mixed up in my mind.


The nurse said I could go to her in the Intensive Care Unit if I could walk to the bathroom. I got to the bathroom, and once I tried to sit down, I remember shaking so violently and shuddering so hard that I smacked my head off the shower and almost hit the floor. I've heard of women "getting the shakes" after labour and medication, but this was more seizure-like than I ever could have guessed.


I was in incredible pain and so unbelievably cold. The nurse barely stopped me from face planting on the tile floor. I had no control over my body.


It took her and the Hubs to get me into a wheelchair to return the 10 feet I needed to pass to get back to the bed. At that point she told me there was no way I could see the baby. I remember crying so hard. I was certain that I was going to die. I know that probably sounds quite stupid and dramatic, but I had nothing left in me and my body was turning on me entirely. I had been awake for a long time, with no food, in shock, and completely out of control.


The pregnancy felt like an illusion. I had no baby. I was confused and weak and so tired. I remember wanting the Hubs to be with her, and being so sad and scared that I was dying and that I wouldn't get to see or hold my baby again.


Around 6am or so, I think, we were moved up to a room on the maternity ward. I remember crying, sick that I wasn't with my girl, and Alice patted me on the head and told me to rest, that I would see my baby soon. Alice was just so sweet and kind and rational throughout.


I wanted to hug her and thank her and cry on her shoulder, but I was too weak to do anything but lay on my side in the fetal position and whisper thank you to her through my tears. I clearly remember the Hubs giving her a big hug and thanking her immensely for her help. I remember feeling so glad and thankful that he did because I couldn't, and I remember feeling so much love towards him for being so candid and sincere with her. I know he appreciated all she did for us.


We tried to sleep. Our neighbours in the room were loud jerkfaces.

I will post about my first real meeting with my baby next. But this is crazy long.

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Holy Shit, BC spiders. #iwantmymommy

Holy hell, Batman.

I want to take you back in time for a moment. Imagine a young, lethargic, hopeful, bedwetting me.

I was young (once), and I wanted to hang out with my sister and her boyfriend. Said boyfriend (who may or may not have been a car thief, who am I to judge?) brought over a movie to watch.


ME: Neato Bandito!


And I was invited to watch with them.


ME: Wowzers! Totes cool!


And so I watched. And I regret that shit to this day. The movie?

SOMEONE GRAB THE RAID!!!! Don't let the pretty pastels fool you. This movie has scarred me for life. (Image via)

I checked every ceiling corner of every room that I entered for at least the next decade. No word of a f_cking lie. I would get goose bumps and freeze if there was even one small spider in a corner.

Eventually, I grew to be able to squash the smaller ones with a shoe or kleenex box. Go ahead and snicker at the overkill, but I am NOT taking any risks with bites or rogue spiders skittering across my shaking hands!

Then we moved to BC. To a house with a lot of cracks and nooks and crannies.

And this:

"Good morning!

How are we doing today?

Gonna have some cereal are you? Yes?

Let me scare the shit out of you and reduce your appetite!"

Holy hell, Batman.


My mind's immediate interpretation of the scenario:

"Grrrrrrr RARRRR! THTHSSSS! Rawr, Rassum, Frassum, RALARRAGHSHFGHG!  Heeey... nice toaster."

Screaming ensued.

My dogs are TERRIFIED of me right now.



I don't know how I am gonna do this... and once the rain comes...

*shudder*

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Day 3 Cross Canada: Thunder Bay, Ontario to Winnipeg, Manitoba

The next morning after the stair incident (and subsequent damn luckiness that no dog or person sustained any broken bones), we had to get Schultz back down the stairs.

We both showered that morning in overwhelming anxiety, and loaded our continental breakfast plates up with dread and a serving of intense fear. (Okay, okay, that might have been me. I think the Hubs might have actually had muffins and yogurt).

By the grace of Northern Ontario's angry Moose Gods, we somehow managed to get him down and out of the stairwell, safely to the boulevard to pee, and into the SUV.  A group of bikers made many comments/references about making sure we had control of him. Another man wanted to approach our Dane (fully decked out in a cage muzzle, remember), but mentioned something about the smaller dogs around us being Schultz' breakfast.

We headed out for the long, loooong, loooooong boring drive to Winnipeg.

I think this was to indicate we crossed a time zone in Winnipeg. Either that, or I am passed out at the wheel. The latter is the more likely scenario.

We hit so much construction - a Provincial highway improvement initiative translated into more areas than I can count that were reduced to one lane. One lane in total. So one side of the road would be given a green light, and we got to sit, idle and enjoy all the fumes surrounding us in the beauty of nature.

The sign holder wouldn't make eye contact, but would carelessly swing the sign back and forth, sometimes flipping it to slow, simply because she wasn't paying attention. Pretty dangerous/confusing, dumbass.

No, we're not in England, we're in the only open lane on Hwy #1 in Northern Ontario during the season between spring and fall: construction.

Just when I thought we had reached the end of the long day, it turned out that we got to sit through EVEN MORE construction along the city streets in the 'Peg. I was ready to snap. People cutting in, cutting me off, sitting. Waiting. Seething.

I've had enough of these motherf_cking cars, on this motherf_cking road: my summation of my emotions of having to drive an additional, unplanned hour after a full and tiring day.

We headed to the home of some of Hubs' relatives who were kind enough to offer their yard and home for a pit stop/run/stretch/dinner/hotel break for a few hours for the evening. They ordered vegetarian gluten-free pizza!! They even played with the dogs outside and let us do laundry there, which was so appreciated. (Trust me - when I am stressed, I "stress sweat", and it's an ENTIRELY different universe of stink. Potent enough to kill vampires.)

Sharing a drink, or using this bowl as a chin rest. Hard to tell.

The dogs were once again fairly well behaved, until the mosquitoes started to swarm us. From there we moved inside, where Ella tried to steal all the toys of the resident dog, and Schultz bumped into furniture and seemed generally out of sorts and stressed.

Background: We knew that Schultz' vision was getting poor. We knew he had trouble seeing some things, usually in low light. But as stuff was moved out of the house (before the drive), he started walking into light coloured walls (occasionally, not constantly) where large, dark pieces of furniture used to sit. Again, I thought it was worse because of the low light in the room at the time, but I knew it wasn't a good thing.

Then add in to the equation his stair terror. Add in falling off a low deck because he didn't know where the stairs were. Him stressed out in a strange house... not because of the noise or the people... but because we realized that he couldn't see most of it, if not all of it.

As he hunkered down once again, terrified to go over two small wooden stairs to the exterior door in an unfamiliar building, the gravity hit us that he must actually be blind. Really and truly blind.

I know there are bigger issues out in the world. I know there is unbelievable human and animal suffering around the globe. I most certainly get caught up and overwhelmed in my own life, but I do realize that major, awful things are happening right now in the world.

That being said, in that moment, we realized just how scared and how fragile our little fur baby was. His memorization of our old house hid how bad his vision was. Our vet explained a few months earlier that he had cataracts and that his pupils were fairly dilated, trying to allow as much light in as possible.

The blue-green sheen in his eyes was showing us the truth all along.

But when he trembled and pulled back when four of us tried to coax him down the stairs, it really became real. I know I have a flair for the dramatic, but it felt like my heart was breaking right then and there in Winnipeg. A part of me knew it was inevitable, but I really didn't think it had progressed as badly as it had.

With the help of the Hubs' family, area rugs were moved to provide traction for him (Schultz, not the Hubs), peanut butter was brought out, and kindness was showered on him as we tried to lift his 140 pounds over those two stairs.

S & S - If you are reading this, thank you for your patience and kindness.

We made it back to our Winnipeg hotel in good time, as traffic had cleared and we avoided construction en route. I was able to keep the tears at bay until we were in our SUV.

I cried for him, for his fear, for not being able to fix it or console him enough. I cried for my Hubs, who has such a bond with Schultz, because I could tell his heart was breaking, too. I cried remembering how hard it was in Scooby's senior years. I cried remembering the difficulties our blind cat (Mr. Grey) had when he was with us. I cried with fatigue, with hope, with sadness, with helplessness.

We got to the hotel, and I unloaded while the Hubs watched the dogs. I snapped at Ella. I snapped at the Hubs. I was mad at myself. And then the angry turned into what it really was - sadness and fear/anxiety, masquerading as outward anger. I cried on the hotel room floor beside Schultz, with Hubs sandwiched between us.

Everything is darkest before the dawn.


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My Take On Weddings

Being husband and wife should be good.

I will admit I am terrified of divorce rates, and how many friends of ours have already split/divorced, but I know I want to spend my life with Feyoncé.

Now, my take on the wedding machine in general is this:

The general price tag? Exorbitant.
The typical lead time you need to book the venue and reception hall you need? Ridonkulous.
The overwhelming and ridiculous precedent that websites like TheKnot.com and OurWeddingDay.com set? Enough to make me curl into the fetal position, weeping, after learning I have to:

A) Tip everyone, their brother, their third cousin, and the janitor 22% (on top of the whack-job prices that are out there).

B) Import flowers from Fiji, Timbuktu and Alaska for my bouquet, in order to feel pretty and not have a laughable pack of stems (that will die in a few hours).

C) Ask 14 women to buy overpriced, hideous dresses to have a typical "bridal party" (I have seen many photographers' websites, and the average seems to be 7-8. For reals).

D) Pay $70 for a child's meal. (I kind of hope for underage drinking at that rate).

E) Realize I will ONLY be a beautiful bride with a designer dream dress worth $2,000+ (or be left treated like garbage at most bridal stores for looking for off-the-rack dresses that don't require ordering and are usually cheaper).

F) Be pressured to spend almost $200 on a piece of "bridal illusion tulle" (basically white or ivory screen door material with some beads) for a bloody veil! And what's that you say? Tiara? Oh, that small one there is $175. (*choke, gag*)

G) Spend hundreds of dollars on custom invitations and ornate centrepieces (who bases their enjoyment of a wedding based on the price tag of an invitation or centrepiece? Really?)

Okay, I could go on forever, but I'll cut to the chase.

We want a day to celebrate our love. We want a reasonable wedding. We want our family and friends to be a part of our union, have a great meal, drink their faces off, dance, and experience a great party.

I don't want all the frivolous extras. Neither does Feyoncé. They add up so FAST, but they are also more details to worry about.

I worry enough.
I obsess enough.

I just want nice.

Nice and simple, and a loving environment with our friends and family.

Not feeling forced into assimilating and following traditions. We aren't traditional. Shouldn't it be about love and fun and great memories? Not a second mortgage?

Societal pressure can be so bloody intense. And, by the way, A through G will NOT be happening.


p.s. To those of you out there that have, or will, or plan to have ginormous huge $$$ blingy weddings, and WANT them, all the power to you. I am sure you will blow everyone away.

middle child - I will not be spending even a fraction of that on a flower girl basket, you can be damn sure, as I’ve mentioned before.

Tom G. - I damn well better only get married once. I couldn't handle the planning of a SECOND wedding! ;-)


You're Lucky I Don't Have a Gun... - I REFUSE to be jaded. I refuse to spend like crazy. I have to have a lame vegetarian gluten-free meal, lest I be a farty bride, but I get your point.

Yandie, Goddess of Pickles. - As I said, I did get one, at "Impression Bridal" in Mississauga, thanks to advice from a friend (thanks A!)

Storm. Kat Storm.- Don't be fooled, I come with a toolbox of fear as well. Also? I don't compute "upscale". lol.


V-Tom - Good luck getting married inexpensively ANYWHERE, even if it is simple. I understand your sentiment, but wedding costs for ANYTHING are insane. INSANE, I SAY!

becca, myjoyproject, Angie and Jumble Mash - Thanks for your congratulations, I appreciate the support.

The Empress - That is SO the mentality. Just make it bigger! Better! Grandiose! Charlie Sheen-esque (with less crazy). It's friggin' nuts.

steph c - Are you budget-less? Unlimited? We don't have a set budget, but we don't want to be suckers, or overpay where we don't have to.

Oilfield Trash  - We're trying to keep it small. We are.

steph gas - Thanks steph. We know it's our day. Just gotta stay focused on the end goal! And you should totally look into wedding planning as a career again if you love it!

 

 jess - That would be the most awesome bachelorette party ever, but I don't think I would have any takers.

 Chris - Meh... I hate saying Feyoncé. I just want to enjoy things, but feel like I need to plan it all NOW, FIRST so I can then relax (ha ha).


On My Soapbox - It's true, even hairstyle "Updos" are $15+ more to start simply because it is for a bride and they know you will pay!

bruce  - I'm with ya man. It's a rip off!

hed - These are the main details. Otherwise my friends who lurk and read this will see things before the wedding, and I don't want that! lol.


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Schultzy Goes For Surgery

UPDATE: Sept. 24/10 8:25 pm, Schultz is doing okay! The surgery went well, they were able to cut out all of what they were hoping to, now we await test results to find out if it is something neutral or something bad. He was quite distressed I was told, after coming out of the anesthetic, chewed out his IV, ate his bandage and was probably making a hell of a lot of noise, so BF picked him up fairly soon after surgery.

Schultz is just sleeping, is very out of it, and refuses to drink which worries me a bit, but we'll give him some time. So relieved his is home with us. I couldn't face losing two of my pups in one year.

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Another atypical serious post (most are not like this, but this one is important).

So tomorrow morning we take our boy to have surgery on his back end.

Looking a little tipsy in this photo

I had to put down my beloved Scooby Doo in January of this year, and it nearly killed me. I know that sounds absurd - she was a dog, but she had been my best friend and unfailing companion for 13 years.

With Schultz, I feel so bad for all that he's been through, and I just want him to be healthy and happy and know he is loved. Can animals know love? Probably not. They don't even recognize time.

But I'd like to think he know tenderness and compassion - or at least the opposite of abuse, neglect and starvation - in this household.

"Shit... I'm going where tomorrow? For what exactly?"

I wish I could explain it is to make him better.

"Nawww, just playin' Mom, I play you like a fiddle. So easy to get you wound up." *snickers to himself*

It's amazing how much pets can mean and how huge a space they hold in your heart. And then add in my incredible, impressive, hard-to-fathom, exhausting anxiety, and you've got yourself one hell of a worried fur-baby mom who won't be sleeping tonight.

Guarding us against small children and the elderly. Good Boy!

I tease him all the time... joke that he isn't the brightest dog, or that he enjoys the company of his nether regions more than me, or tease about his constant drooling (what, he can't help it, it's a Dane 'design flaw' - those jowls give him no choice and I know it), but in truth he is an incredible guy who has overcome horrendous treatment in his life. I love him with all my heart, and whenever I can make his tail wag, it feels like a small victory to me. For all he's been through, and to see he's still smilin'.

I'll update tomorrow to hopefully (surely, right?) say that all is well, they could remove things, it isn't cancer and that his heart was just fine for his age under anesthetic.

I have to go out of town for my own doctor's appointment after we take him in, so I will be a nervous wreck until we are all home together.

Please think positive thoughts for our boy, and cheer Dr. H. and Dr. R. on in your minds!

Image Credit

We love you, big guy.

xoxoxox

Mom & Dad aka BF

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