Why I F*cking HATE Being Pregnant: A Rant

Hey, yeah, so... SURPRISE! I'm growing another human being. I bet you are just as shocked as I am. Even though we actually intentionally made this happen, it's kinda like... well... WHOA.

Before I delve into my personal pregnancy hell, I feel it necessary to point out that I am not a completely heartless asshole who realizes the pain, sorrow and heartache that many families endure through infertility, loss and complications. I am one lucky motherfucker to have life growing in me, healthy life, and I know I should count my lucky stars. To anyone who has had a heart-wrenching experience, I sincerely apologize deeply for your suffering.

I am grateful for this life in me, just not the goddamn process to get there.

So, if we are being honest, it is safe to say that it is NOT socially acceptable to convey anything more than mild dissatisfaction about heartburn or frequent urination while pregnant. It seems as though society has assumed that you are an angelic, uber positive matron saint when growing a human and that everything is rosy and glowing and vibrant and wonderful.

I'm here to tell you, in no uncertain terms, FUCK THAT SHIT.

Some women DO truly enjoy pregnancy and have very few negative experiences, pains and suffering. They are the elusive pregnancy unicorns, and good for them. But just because some people think it's great, doesn't mean that is my experience, or another woman's. And people look down their noses at a woman who has anything negative to say about it.

• Well, why did you get pregnant then? ('Cause I keep scouring Amazon but they NEVER have my biological baby available for delivery. Not even with a Prime subscription. SMH.)
• You had to know what you were in for. (So... that means that I'm supposed to enjoy the misery? Here, you sub in for my body for a minute and see if deciding to have a child means it's TOTES cool to feel like complete shit for 9 months. I'll wait.)
• Why wouldn't you hire a surrogate? (Um, I looked under the bed and we didn't have $20,000. Dammit.)
• Can't you just keep it to yourself? (Sure, but if you ask me how I'm doing, why I can't meet up with you, what's wrong, why am I so green/white/pale, or perhaps ask if I've had any morning sickness, then you kinda opened that can yourself. If you don't actually care, then don't actually ask mmmkay?)

Those are just a sampling, but you get the idea.

So... what's so awful about pregnancy, you ask? Why do I fucking HATE being pregnant with a passion? How on earth could something so joyous seem to turn me into a venom-spewing demon?

Well, for starters, all that VENOM SPEWING. I'm well into my second trimester and I fucking puke. EVERY DAMN DAY. Often. And it's hot and it burns and I can't lean forward after eating or else I get food V2.0. On the strongest anti-nauseant available. They have some cute little medications that have antihistamines and B-vitamins in them called Diclectin. That shit made me sleepy and did fuck all for my nausea and puking. As did the second line of defence, Maxeran/Metonia. And of course, with any medications come risks to this little human growing... but when you have a four year old and can't just curl up in bed for 9 months, Mama needs to find some options. (Cue the entirely different group of judgers who are drug-free in their pregnancies and assume I am worse than Satan for poisoning this child. Thanks. Ok, moving on).

I'm sure before I endured pregnancy I assumed puking often wasn't THAT horrible. I mean, you get a cute little human at the end. Indeed, if we are lucky and things go well, we WILL get that human. But I can tell you that my body is utterly exhausted from all the vomiting. It's so gross. And when I'm not ACTUALLY vomiting, I feel like I am ABOUT TO vomit, or else just feel like there is a live wire in my stomach.  Yesterday Baby D was kind enough to tell me I was disgusting after puking multiple times in the Benjamin Moore parking lot. The entire highway got to witness the glory. Such joy.

POOPING. OR NOT POOPING, I GUESS. Ahh, pooping. Such a lovely, functional, necessary thing. When I get pregnant:

My Body: "Huh? What? Pooping - what's that? Sorry, no comprende. That doesn't happen here anymore. Save your energy. Just puke if you have to. Consider your bowels to be a concrete landmine until sometime in late 2018". Um. Okay.

Me: *consumes any and all forms of approved fibre, laxatives, suppositories, enemas and milk of magnesias approved and available*

My Body: "Nah."

Me: *consumes decaf coffee, waits, consumes caffeinated coffee, waits, exercises, waits, prays to the fecal release Gods, waits*

My Body: "Solid effort. Nah. We got you covered"
My Body: *vomits*

Yeah. So.

HEARTBURN. Burny, raging, painful reminders of all that spicy stuff you just ate. You know, white person spicy like multigrain bread and ranch dip. Or just looking at orange juice. Even with twice a day medication, my esophagus is just a waterpark consisting of purely lava. And the slides defy gravity and go uphill. Super fun. 24/7.

DEHYDRATION. You'd think that drinking liquids is sort of a natural, no-brainer-type life supporting activity. And while I AM actually fairly bad at hydrating at any time of my life, apparently my body feels the output of vomit somehow fills the daily-liquid-in-the-esophagus quotient for my body and essentially gags or refuses adequate hydration. I try. I drink. Some. If I drink when I eat, I puke. If I drink too much at all, I puke. If I drink and lay back or lay down, I puke. This snazzy little pregnancy bonus has led to 5 hospitalizations for I.V. fluids/nausea meds. You'd think I would learn and just drink, but I enjoy going 30 minutes away, paying $40 to park, and sitting or laying for 6 hours while I get rehydrated. SO MUCH MORE CONVENIENT than just, you know, keeping a goddamned Gatorade down.

FATIGUE. Like, next level fatigue. Like, I've struggled with fatigue for years due to a number of health conditions, the dog or Baby D or insomnia keeping me awake for large chunks of the night. But this. THIS is like no other level of knuckle-dragging survivalism. I regularly fight back tears because I feel like my body is going to collapse into itself. Exercise can help at times, but if I ride the endorphin wave and skip the chance for even a short nap, whoa Nelly, the rest of the day results in an increased level of vomiting and sensory processing issues.

SENSORY OVERLOAD. At first I thought I was just cranky. Then I realized that I have far far less tolerance for things like loud or repetitive noises, rough fabrics or repetitive touch, lights. Seriously. It's like my sensitivity dial upped itself to maximum and nothing I can do seems to stop it or lessen the agitation it creates for me, no matter what I try to do. I just need to lie down in a dark, quiet room. It's brutal. And I am much shorter with Baby D which sucks and makes me feel terrible, but I'm working on it and she's a pretty chill and understanding kiddo, so we work together on it.

ANEMIA IN PREGNANCY. Oh yeah. I've been dealing with this for years, and about a year ago my ferritin (iron stores) were at 12. That's low. I started 'roiding myself up with bovine-blood-sourced iron pills (*hurl*) to help because every other supplement under the sun seemed to have no effect. After months and months of taking the pills I finally reached 32, which is still kinda shit. It's suspected iron deficiency below 50. Well, when you are pregnant, your body creates up to 50% more blood to keep the little human alive. And aforementioned little human leeches all they need from mama's blood supply, so guess who is anemic again? All my levels are dropping or are at the literal lowest "safe" number. I know that low iron affects me immensely, more than most, and more than the ranges of acceptable blood work. So iron infusions will likely be in my future to hopefully save me from pre-term delivery again, and improve my chances of not hurtling down the rabbit hole of postpartum depression and anxiety (low iron FUCKS YOU UP, Bruh).

PEEING. ALL THE TIME. ALL NIGHT. ALL OVER THE PLACE. And don't get me started on the hormonal mood swings, body pain, painful kicks, breathlessness, itchy skin, boobs the size of an independent nation, nipple sensitivity, leg cramps, strangers trying to touch your body, and a slew of other "joys".

I will likely write another post of the complications I've already endured that are both potentially fatal. I successfully dodged the first bullet after my family doctor told me that yes, the FEARED THING could happen and the embryo COULD burst and I COULD die, but what can you do. (Side note: A FUCKING early ultrasound. That's what you can do. Christ. And she said this in front of my 4 year old as I burst into terrified, hormonal tears.)

So there's also this fear that the little baby is plotting my death, though kiddo can't really help it so I'm holding no grudges. It's just fairly frightening to know your body can turn on you so fast and the possibility of expanding our family could end up with the Hubs and Baby D on their own if I died. Hopefully very unlikely at this point, but still possible. Yay?

Geriatric pregnancy looks soooo good on me. Have I mentioned that I fucking hate being pregnant to you yet?

It doesn't help that I am an older mom and it can make it really tricky to manoeuvre with this big bump and my walker and stuff. You know how it goes.

____________________________________

Pin It Now!

Help for Cymbalta Withdrawal - This Could Save Your Life! (Duloxetine Withdrawal)

I promise to return to my attempt at humour after this post.

PLEASE NOTE: I am NOT a medical professional and this is only my personal opinion and experience. Please talk with your doctor for treatment options, and NEVER self-medicate. Stay safe.

This post is a serious one, and it is offering up a possible solution to the brain zapping, shivers, shaking, nausea hell from Cymbalta withdrawal (Duloxetine withdrawal) that I experienced personally.

After attempting to taper my dose of Cymbalta (with my doc's approval and instruction), I was still violently ill. Even reducing my dose by granules left me feeling like I was going to die. Anything less than my full dose made me feel so unbelievably ill.... I wish it on no one. After days of suffering, and a trip to the hospital emergency room, I was connected with a doctor who did all she could to find a solution.

I was literally shaking uncontrollably in front of her and every time I moved my eyeballs, I'd get a brain zapping sensation in my head, like a live wire was electrocuting me between my ears.

Another drug may help and/or shorten your suffering.

The solution to Cymbalta withdrawal for me?
A low dose of fluoxetine aka Prozac aka Sarafem.

SERIOUSLY.

Not a full dose, it was literally 20 mg. And it brought me back from incredible suffering and the uncontrollable side effects of discontinuing Cymbalta.

It is meant as a short term buffer. From all I've read and understand, the worst physical withdrawal symptoms of Cymbalta/Duloxetine last for about three weeks after stopping the medication. I am personally very sensitive... being on the medication made me feel unwell every day, which was a big part of why I needed to get off of it. But I've tried many antidepressants over my lifetime and this was, by far, the most hellish and debilitating to stop. Never mind having to take care of a preschooler.

So please... even if you don't wish to be on another medication long term, consider this gap-stop action to save yourself from suffering. I was at the end of my rope from the physical illness I was feeling from Cymbalta withdrawal. The fluoxetine was a life saver. Just a low dose of fluoxetine (Prozac) was all it took to let me cope. I still experienced some of the symptoms, but at a fraction of the intensity.

So, this blog as a whole has been viewed over 320,000 times. If this one post about Cymbalta and Prozac can help even one person, it's worth publishing. And for those who know me personally and wish to judge me for my candor... well... Imma bite my tongue on that one.

Talk to your doctor. If they aren't familiar with this treatment protocol, ask them to speak to a hospital pharmacist, or a colleague who may be more familiar with Cymbalta in general.

Please don't suffer any more than you already are.

I'm sending light and love and hoping this information can help someone out there.
Any questions, please email me via the address on the "Contact Us" page, though I cannot give any specific medical advice, because I am just a regular schmuck and no doctor.


__________________________________

Pin It Now!

Coming off of an antidepressant, with a preschooler, and very little sense of hope

Here I sit. Quite still actually. There are hot tears rolling down my face and I'm pretty sure that my lab is merely sitting beside me out of pity. And you know what? I'll take it.



Say what you will about stigmas, and widespread knowledge of mental health, and acceptance. Say what you want about fighting a good fight, and remembering there are brighter days ahead.

Then imagine yourself curled up in the fetal position on the dog-drool covered couch, face mashed into a blanket, fancy mascara crumbling in a hot stream down your cheeks, too ill to move. Every eyeball shift, every head tilt resulting in a brain zapping hell that can't be described unless truly experienced.

It really sucks because it feels so lonely. The text to your hubby that says you're suffering probably just comes off as melodramatic. The physical pain and the physical withdrawal from the antidepressant Cymbalta.

But add in one more factor.

Have your wonderful, lively, bright eyed preschooler ask you repeatedly to please play with her Paw Patroller toys. You just can't. And then she sees your sobbing, messy face. And wants to know why you're crying.

My feeble attempts to explain that mommy's body is ouchy and that mommy just feels so sick just feel meaningless. I can't explain that this is a long fought battle that seems to keep ending in failure. That mommy is trying to find a way to be happy after a lifetime of hurt from various places, and a chemical imbalance in my brain.

That mommy hasn't slept through the night in over three years, and that Cymbalta has been the culprit for a good 18 months of that. I now see it's made me an angrier person and I've wasted some of her most formative years suffering physically from the effects of the drug.

And it isn't my first rodeo.

And I can't actually walk upstairs on my own accord at the moment, so I listen to her jam away on her piano Gramma bought her, while she sings her own made up song that she wants mommy to be happy. And that she is sad when mommy is sad. Seriously. Feeling low and then lower.

And as I can gut wrenchingly visualize her sitting in her therapist's office 15 years from now, she still manages to get a brain-buzzingly silent giggle out of me as she wiggles her butt to her song.

She tells me I'm a good mommy and all I can reply with is choked sobs. Counting the minutes until my mentally stable husband walks through the door.

Why am I writing this? I really don't know. I guess it's just really painful so I wanted some of it out of my head.

We went to a play date earlier in the day. I've been altering between no medication and a tapered dose. With Cymbalta, you can't just cut pills in half, you just dump granules out of a capsule. I haven't counted, I've just been slugging through. So I didn't want to miss her play date.

In a room full of joyous kids and happy moms and I feel like I'm dying. But I try to smile. I try. I try to joke, I try. The more of a downer I am, the less people want to be around me, for good reason. Everyone is fighting their own battles. No one wants someone in their life that is constantly negative or focused on all that is wrong. I've been told, more than once, that person is me.

It is just getting really old. Exhausting.
I want more for her.

And it hurts to feel so alone.

Oct. 28, 2016.


____________

Pin It Now!

First Trimester Survival Guide & Tips: Crazy Style

A few tips on your first pregnancy  semester  trimester, from a  terrified, uncertain, sickly  seasoned  pregnant  crazy  lady:

[NOTE: First photo is slightly NSFW]

• Get used to resting. That full flight of stairs? HAHAHAHA. That apple you were going to slice? Think again. All your human power will be sent to fuel your fetus.
• Brace yourself for insomnia. Especially if you go through withdrawal from your medications. You will enjoy tons of extra quiet, thinking   lonely, terrifying, endless   "me" time as you lie awake and consequently shop for boots online at 4am for weeks. 
• Hunker down for the strangest breast changes humanly possible. Those cute things that sometimes worked in a v-neck shirt? Yeah, they will now look and feel like superhumanly sensitive sideways footballs with pancakes for nipples. That hurt. BADLY. And your partner may want to play with them, so be prepared to bitch slap at a moment's notice, too.

Touchdown? What? Touch mah boobies and I'll kill you. Sponsored by the NFL and Aunt Jemima's pancake syrup.

• Prepare yourself for fetus-indicated prohibition. Do not drink alcohol, at least in your first trimester. This one is nearly killing me. Don't smoke either, that shit is awful for a growing kid. Also a good idea to check immediately if any medications you are on are unsafe in pregnancy. You may need to stop them ASAP.
• Expect to do a shitload of laundry. Your hair will be greasy as hell, your pajamas will be saturated in sweat in the night and need changing, and your body will be producing the most acrid sweat you've ever leaked. Punch anyone in the face who jokes "you are getting trained for when the baby comes, haha".
• Cry. At Anything. And Everything. You will recognize this hormonal surge for what it is, approximately 15 minutes after you have cried/made an ass of yourself over something silly. I may have cried more than once because of the damn apple in the first bullet point, among other ridiculous things. More ridiculous than even MY ridiculous. 

I cried when my watch slipped onto the ceramic tile and broke. My husband thought I was injured getting out of the shower. Nothing like SOBBING HYSTERICALLY crying wolf over something stupid.

• Do NOT read tips on the web, or you will be afraid for anything and everything. Pushing, pulling, moving, sporting, sleeping, waking, bathing, cleaning, breathing. And that is NOT an exaggeration (though   most of the rest of    all of   some of this is). No website or advice column will commit to anything, likely due to liability, so you'd best get comfortable with the phrase "but check with your doctor to be sure!"
• Have a liner-free, easily rinseable can/container specifically for puking. You will thank me for this one. You can wash it down your utility sink without having to fish out tissues and clothing tags. Also, if you take a morning vitamin, try to take it early and sleep through when it starts to digest in your stomach. Again, trust me on this.
• Accept that food cravings will be insane, intense, and un-ignorable. Also realize that most food will be utterly revolting, and the same food you craved yesterday can induce horrific queasiness and send you puking today. There's a ton of food, drink and herbal stuff you're supposed to avoid, too.

Ugh. Blech. Utterly revolting in the first trimester, until you crave it*. Then it's deliiiicious!   *Excluding eggs, those f_ckers are still revolting.

• Be prepared for hot flashes. Overwhelming, sickening, pants-wetting hotness and sweating that will force you to remove clothing in restaurant bathrooms to save yourself. Always wear a tank top, just in case.
• Your pee will be cloudy, your body will feel like a foreign entity, and the concept of sexy time may, in fact, cause you to cut a bitch.
• Prepare for the baby by acting like a whiny one yourself. Okay, not really. But I hope you have a good/decent partner who will help you function for the first few months when you are too sick to drive, too nauseated to shop, and too tired to clean. And too sexy for your shirt.
• Don't get dehydrated. I did many times. Water was revolting, as was ginger ale, juice, milk, and all things liquid. My saving grace was fruit juice cut with soda water, rocket popsicles, and chocolate soy milk (which makes me just queasy now, thinking about it). Nausea gets worse and worse the more dehydrated you get. TRUST ME. Though I *DO* look sexy hooked up to IV with vomit dribbling down my chin. Right honey? HONEY?

May the force be with you.

________________

Pin It Now!

Already One of THOSE Days

You know your day is not starting off on the right foot when your great dane hops on the bed (before your alarm clock goes off) and farts in your face. Intentionally. Well, I can only assume it was intentional.

Our special boy.

As my few followers know, I've been battling illness(es) since May of 2009, when I got food poisoning at a pizza place during mother's day dinner. Yes, nothing but the best for my mother. Somehow *I* chose the place, and Pizza Hut is apparently all my mom is worth. What a terrible daughter. Moving along....

(Don't worry, they aren't terminal... the illnesses I mean... or I suppose the restaurant, but I will never go back). Immediately after this meal, much gastrointestinal trauma ensued... for... well.... still.

This morning, once the alarm went off, I could just FEEL the awfulness in my body. Waking to extreme nausea is not fun (and it had seemed that the terrible-horrible worst of that had eased up on me in June-ish). And no, I am not pregnant.

For those of you who have never experienced the joy of nausea, imagine your worst hangover and how that made you feel. Now imagine feeling like that most mornings you wake up, coupled with no appetite, and that whole necessity of being able to function as an adult and that attending work thing.

Look at how lovingly she stares into that bowl. Perhaps she recently had a bathroom reno as well?

I am writing this post, trying to move as little as possible, waiting for my (expensive, super-duper strength) nausea medication to kick in.

One option. Not the particular medication I took today, though.

In my "trooper"-i-ness, I showered (managed to bang my head hard off of the new, very hard, ceramic tile in the shower), forced myself to have rice protein powder (then discovered the nearly straight, 10" trail of it down my once-clean white shirt), then decided an orange would help me absorb the iron I am so depleted of (and it ended up being all hard/crunchy and dried out on the inside.... please tell me I am not the only person this happens to).

Yellow airbrush is approximation of inedible, dry, gross part of orange. Remainder was barely edible.

Days like this make me fear more for my sanity. (I mean, c'mon, we all know it's teetering regularly).

Days like this make me fear for my job security. There are only so many emails and phone calls in to work that essentially say "Hi, yes, yes it is me again. I am feeling like that World Cup Goalie from England after missing that save, whilst being mocked by the world while feeling like I am going to barf up RICE PROTEIN POWDER while still recovering from the hurtful, fart-filled subliminal messages from my dog, while I take my medications and hope for the best. Flawed? Why, yes, I am thank you. Hope not to be too late. Will be there soon."

Some days I wish I could be like Paul Coffey in the Green Mile and just touch someone's hand so that they can feel what I feel and think what I think. Obviously only for a few seconds, wouldn't want to permanently eff them up or anything, but just to give them some understanding (and perhaps some credibility for myself).

Let's hope the day gets better from here. I am going to work now. I hope the nausea goes away. :-( Pin It Now!