I went to see a doctor last night. In my dreams. It felt strangely real. I met one doctor that told me I had Allergies. Kind of like saying you have Rheumatoid Arthritis, or you have Cancer. You have Allergies! Oh no! But don’t worry, they’ll get better sometimes. And then they’ll get worse, and then they’ll get better again. It’s almost like I live in Michigan.

So then I saw a dentist and he showed me my teeth with a mirror. In the dream I could not believe what I was seeing so I kept staring at the mirror, over and over again. My right molars were rotting from the inside and it was as if someone had cut a cross section of them so I could get a better look. And after a few minutes of staring, the dentist grabbed my teeth and yanked them right out of my mouth. I was horrified. When I woke up, I was still horrified. I still can’t get the image out of my head.

So that dream about the dentist is reinforcing the strong advice my actual dentist is giving me about brushing and most importantly, flossing. Of course I forgot to brush and floss before I went to bed last night so the dream was totally stemming out of a sense of guilt. But whatever motivates me, guilt or nightmares, as long as it gets me flossing I’ll be better off. I had to have seven fillings last year, and just found out that I need four more. And possible four after that unless I get my act together. They told me that these particular cavities are between the teeth, meaning there is no doubt the cause is my lack of flossing, which I admit has been my weakness since I don’t know, forever. I scheduled my appointment to get the fillings on my birthday. How’s that? Happy birthday! You’re 32! Now grow up already and floss your damn teeth.

I had my follow ups from my surprise surgery (that’s what the nurse called it) this week. A rather comical situation, if you ask me. How about I just tell you the story?

Once upon a time there was a girl. The girl had the best – and the worst – luck in the world. We’ll call her Lucky. One day Lucky was just minding her own business, gathering numbers around the office and such, and she started to have a pain in her belly. The Pain started out just a tiny little pain, but over time it grew and grew. The Pain grew so fast and so strong that Lucky decided she needed to do something about it. So she petitioned her Prince Charming to take her to see a doctor.

Lucky met with Dr. Gitterdun. Dr. Gitterdun ran some fun tests but Lucky passed them all with flying colors. Dr. Gitterdun could not figure out where The Pain was coming from. He sent Lucky to the emergency room straightaway.

Once Lucky arrived at the emergency room she was quickly whisked away for more tests. For hours and hours Lucky was fussed over and poked and prodded, but they just could not find the source of The Pain. Lucky was beginning to really hate The Pain and was starting to get very scared. She asked Prince Charming if she was going to die but he assured her she was going to be okay.

After many grueling hours, Lucky was finally visited by a surgeon. We’ll call him Donkey Surgeon because as it turns out, he was a major ass. Donkey Surgeon insisted that the The Pain did not hail from his Kingdom, and therefore there was nothing he could do. Meanwhile, The Pain persisted, and was resistant to all the standard weapons, Morphine, Dilaudid, and Fentanyl.

Even though Donkey Surgeon had made his stand, after consorting with the other MedHeads and The Dark Lady (that’s what Dr. Gitterdun called her. He’s from an entirely different time period, obviously), he agreed to attack The Pain head on, as long as The Dark Lady united arms with him in the attack.

And so Donkey Surgeon and The Dark Lady both entered into The Pain’s Lair (Lucky’s belly) together. They dragged The Pain out kicking and screaming and locked him up in a petri dish. Lucky was forever grateful that The Pain was gone, but she still wondered how The Pain had gotten into her belly. Donkey Surgeon and his minions seemed to think that The Dark Lady and Dr. Gitterdun had put it there, and The Dark Lady and Dr. Gitterdun insisted it was not their fault. Here’s kind of how it went:

Donkey Surgeon: I have no idea what the problem is, I just know it’s not my problem.

The Dark Lady and Dr. Gitterdun: Well, it’s not our problem either!

Donkey Surgeon: Of course it’s your problem. In fact, it’s your fault!

The Dark Lady and Dr. Gitterdun: Uh, no. You need to fix it.

Donkey Surgeon: No, I don’t.

The Dark Lady and Dr. Gitterdun: Yes, you do.

Donkey Surgeon: No, I don’t. I am smarter than all of you, and I know what the problem is, but it’s not my job to fix it.

The Dark Lady and Dr. Gitterdun: Okay, fine. We’ll fix the problem, but only if you help.

Donkey Surgeon: Deal. That’s a fine idea, but let’s just pretend it was my idea, okay?

I am not even kidding you, that’s about how ridiculous it was. And when I went back for follow up with both Dr. Gitterdun and Donkey Surgeon, they still did not agree on what the problem was and who was responsible for fixing it. It’s all one big blame game, a classic case of CYA – Cover Your Ass. I still don’t know what exactly was wrong with me, but the bottom line is The Pain is gone, and I pray he does not return.

When I told the nurse who called to follow up after my hospital stay what antibiotics they have me on, she said “Ooh, they brought out the big guns!” And apparently she was right. I’m taking 600 mg of Clindamycin 3 times a day and I’m pretty sure it’s killing me slowly. Ironic, because they gave it to me to save me from the bacterial infection they drained from my belly. Now I’m having a different sort of abdominal pain. Gas pains, bloating, diarrhea, heartburn, painful swallowing. I sound like a pepto commercial. It’s kind of driving me crazy, but I’m going to stick it out for the remaining eight days because I know it’s important. The pain that this antibiotic is causing me is a walk in the park compared to the pain I was in last Wednesday. There’s no way I’m going back to that.

You know how in “What About Bob” Bob takes a vacation from his problems? Well, I’m sort of taking a vacation with my problems. An unplanned one. And it includes room service and all. I’m at the hospital. I’ve been here since Wednesday and I’m not sure when they’ll let me go home.

It all started on – wait, if you are squeamish you might want to stop here cuz I will not be sparing you the gory details. If you are not squeamish, have a seat. This is gonna be a long one.

It all started on Tuesday when I woke up at 3 am with severe abdominal pain.  It was the kind of severe that had me doubled over, although I could still walk a little. I debated in my head whether I should go to the emergency room, but after some time decided to take a mega Motrin and try to get some sleep before calling the doctor in the morning. I was able to fall asleep and the pain seemed to subside quite a bit, so I got up and went to work at the usual 7:30 am. I’m not real familiar with the location of all my organs so I wasn’t quite sure what kind of doctor I needed to call, but I’ve always had a quick response from my obstetrician’s office, so I called them. I talked to a nurse and explained the pain I was having and also mentioned that I had been having trouble emptying my bladder lately so I thought maybe I had a bladder infection. She took down some notes and agreed to talk to the doctor and give me a call back. The nurse called me back a few hours later and told me the doctor wanted to see me that afternoon and get a urine sample. Good. We’re gonna get to the bottom of this.

I started drinking lots of water for the urine sample, but I was worried because I had only been able to “go” (the docs call it voiding) once that day. When I arrived at the doctor’s office, I was not able to void into a cup. However, because I had just started my first period post-partum, I was able to pass a golf ball sized blood clot. They were happy to keep it. Since I couldn’t void on my own and they needed a sample the only option was to catheterize me. When they did that they discovered that my bladder was quite full. I had a feeling but I had no idea how full it was. The doc said a normal person would feel a serious urge to “void” at 250 cc. I had 350 in my bladder and I only just barely felt an urge. Since it was late in the day and I wasn’t feeling crippling pain (yet) the doctor planned to send me home with the catheter in and a pee bag strapped to my leg (he said otherwise I would end up in the emergency room that night with an over-full bladder). I would come back the next morning to have it removed and they would teach me how to self-cath at that time. By then they would have test results back from the urine sample.

I went home feeling humiliated, dejected, discouraged, you name it. Having to go home wearing a catheter at age 31 is just not my idea of a good time. And being on my period doesn’t help because, you know, interference. Just too much going on there. When I got home that Tuesday night (after balling my eyes out the whole way) my son ran right to me and gave me a big hug and kiss. Then he looked at my tear-stained face and asked, “Mommy, you feeling sad?” Oh it just broke my heart. I told him “yes, I’m feeling sad, but I’ll be okay. Now Mommy needs to go to the bathroom.” And then he proceeded to hold out his hand to offer me help walking to the bathroom. Isn’t he the sweetest?

That was Tuesday. Tuesday I was in pain but I was functioning. By Wednesday morning that pain had exploded. I told Mike he needed to take me to the doctor and we made arrangements for Grandpa to come and watch the kids. We made it to the doctor and they did all as planned, plus an ultrasound to see what was going on in that abdominal region. They even let Mike sit in on the self-cath lesson so he could help me do it the first couple of times. Actually it was more like insisting than letting, but Mike was more than willing to do what needed to be done. The ultrasound showed nothing but they suspected appendicitis so they made a call to the emergency room so they would be prepared for my arrival.

I didn’t have to wait very long to get into the emergency room. They take appendicitis pretty seriously. The first thing they wanted once I got into a room was a urine sample. I tried and tried but still could not give one. They had to put another catheter in. Yay. Once they got the catheter in they hooked me to an IV, got some blood, gave me some painkillers, and started running tests. Wednesday was such a whirlwind. I had doctor after doctor coming in to push on my belly and ask me questions about the pain. It was excruciating. On a scale of 1 to 10, my pain level was at a 10. They had to try several painkillers to give me any sense of relief. With morphine I was still at a 10. With dilaudid I couldn’t even count to 10. It made me crazy. I was dizzy and heavy and paranoid. At one point I asked Mike if I was terminal. I thought I was dying. I was sobbing. I sort of remember they had taken the catheter out for some reason and I tried to void on a bedside commode but it just wasn’t working and I was freaking out. The pain was so intense I couldn’t move my own body, Mike had to lift me to help me to the commode. He wins husband of the century for all that he has been through with me this week. They did finally try a pain med called fentanyl and that helped. It brought the pain level down to an 8. Not much of an improvement but it did help and my head at least felt clear again. Fentanyl is my friend.

After a CT scan, blood tests, and another ultrasound they still couldn’t figure out what the problem was. They expected to see a high white blood cell count if it was appendicitis or some infection but mine was normal. It turns out that is because the interferon I take for MS lowers my white blood cell count, so an infection would bring it back up to “normal”. By that evening my fever spiked to 103.1 and my heart rate was up to 156, so there was no denying I had some sort of serious infection. Mike could see all the doctors congregated outside our door and they seemed to be intensely arguing over what the proper course of action was. It was seriously like an episode of House. By 11:30 pm they finally agreed that I needed surgery so they could see firsthand what was going on. Within two hours I was under the knife and within three and a half I was waking up from anesthesia and feeling almost human again.

Since the surgery it’s been a slow progression of earning back my privileges. I was on a liquid diet until yesterday at lunch time. I was on IV fluids for quite awhile. They finally took out the catheter (cuz they put that back in after the commode trouble) to see if I could void on my own. I was probably most excited about the catheter removal. Wouldn’t you be? The main problem with it was that I’m still on my damn period and pads just don’t fit well with big ole foley catheters. I counted – 7 times I needed to have nurses come and help clean me up. I’m all practiced up for life in a nursing home, let me tell ya. Modesty was out the window days ago. I just thank God I’m voiding on my own now. It turns out the bladder voiding issue is a common symptom of MS, and the infection my body was trying to fight just made that symptom worsen. It makes sense to me, at least.

What they found was an abscess near my ovaries and attached to it was my appendix. This is just one explanation, however. The doctors still don’t seem to agree on what actually was going on in my abdomen. Oh well, I just know I’m feeling better. They drained whatever was in there and removed my appendix. Now I just get to sit and wait for the cultures to grow so they can figure out which antibiotic to send me home with. For now I have to be on an intravenous antibiotic. As we say with our son after we put the toast in the toaster: “Now, we wait.”

I would rather be waiting for toast, obviously.

If you’ve ever had an MRI you understand why I call it the Torture Tube. They squeeze you into a head brace, shove foam in your ears, and slide you into a big tube leaving only inches between you and the plastic. It’s a lot like a slide at a water theme park, only without the water. And the sliding. Once you’re safely inside the tube, the machine starts buzzing at a noise level that could wake the dead. It seriously sounds like they’re drilling into your head, and you almost wonder if they are and maybe you just don’t realize it because you’ve already gone crazy from the whole being stuck in a tube for who knows how long. You would love to ask “how much longer?” but they’ve instructed you to hold completely still – or else – so you don’t dare move a muscle. But then after you’ve been in there for over an hour your muscles start to twitch involuntarily and you fear that you’re going to screw it up and have to start all over.

I had an MRI last night. It was of the thoracic and cervical areas of my spine, so it took an extra long time. All together I was on the MRI table for just short of two hours. At least they let me bring my own music so they could pipe it into some special earphones. I’ve had 3 other MRIs and this was the first time they told me I could bring music. It made such a huge difference. It’s really hard to relax and pass the time when all you can hear is the drilling and buzzing. The drilling and buzzing is SO loud. That’s why they give you ear plugs, so as not to damage your ear drums. It’s that loud.

They had to do part of the test with contrast, so just when I was hoping it was over, they had to insert the dye into my veins and then throw me back in for another half hour. The long sleeve shirt I was wearing was practically a tourniquet when they tried to pull it up past my elbow, so the tech had no trouble finding a vein. He did have trouble finding a vein with the correct routing structure, however. The dye wasn’t going where it needed to go so I have holes in both arms now, thank you. It’s a good thing I don’t have a fear of needles or enclosed spaces. They would have had to shoot me with a tranquilizer gun to get that test done.

All of this was just to get a baseline, to see what things look like now. So down the road if I have another flare up I can go have another trip into the torture tube and see what’s changed. Who said MS wasn’t fun?

It turns out I’ve already lost 20 of the 40 pounds I gained with Natalie’s pregnancy. Twenty more pounds to go and I’ve only just begun. Totally manageable if you ask me! As soon as these 6 weeks are up and I can start exercising again, I’m getting back to the YMCA to shed these pounds. There’s an elliptical there with my name on it.

After shedding 20 pounds, then getting pregnant and gaining an enormous belly and the aforementioned 40 pounds, I am downright sick of switching from one clothing size to the next. My bedroom is littered with clothing from every different stage. My wardrobe needs stability (not to mention some better fashion sense). I am anxious to lose that 20 pounds again so I can settle into a nice healthy size. And then… then I will go shopping!!

I can’t believe the day is already this close. It’s been a long journey, this pregnancy. Typical for me as far as pregnancy goes. A horrendous first trimester filled with worship at the altar of porcelain, tachycardia appearing in the second trimester, then lots of lower back pain as the baby grew. The third trimester has actually been pretty kind to me as far as pregnancy discomfort, but that would just be too good to be true so we threw in an onset of neurological issues and a new diagnosis of multiple sclerosis. Needless to say, the past couple months have been a little stressful.

MS is a big hairy deal and requires a lot of action and research and fighting – you can’t just sit back and see what happens. So my mind has been there mostly, but I have been working hard to keep my “eye on the prize” so to speak. I have needed to find some excitement in the midst of it, to remember that I’m having a baby! and she’s going to bring us joy! That has been difficult for me to stay focused on, but now the time has come. She will be in my arms tomorrow.

Life with a newborn will be tough. Recovering from a c-section will be tough. Starting MS medication will be tough. But I know that there will be plenty of room for smiles and I will get through it. I have the most supportive husband on the planet, and a vast network of friends and family who seem to just be chomping at the bit to jump in and help at a moment’s notice.

Natalie Joy, I can’t wait to meet you and hold you in my arms! You are going to love being a part of this family, I just know it

I have plenty to blog about, but nothing I really want to blog about. The big deal in my life right now is multiple sclerosis and early maternity leave, and that’s just a drag to go on about. So I’ll try not to.

Instead, I’ll tell you about my exciting morning of grocery shopping! Since my legs are failing me due to the MS and I’m super pregnant, I haven’t been moving around so swiftly. In fact, if you add in the compromised sense of balance, walking is kind of dangerous. I’ve sworn off driving for awhile. But I cannot bear to be stuck here in the house ALL day, so my husband is kind enough to let me tag along as he and Luke run errands. It’s a win-win situation: I get some fresh air, and he gets to use my handicap parking permit.

We made two quick stops for groceries at Aldi and Horrock’s, and then went to Wal-Mart for diapers, pop, and a few other things. Wal-Mart is a big place, too big for me to walk around in, but that’s why they offer fully charged electric scooters at the entrance! I have many times fantasized about riding one of those carts when I feel too tired to shop but then I would thank God that I was healthy enough to not require the use of one. Today I was thanking God that I had an excuse to ride one because it was so much fun! Total mobility at the push of a button. And it beeps when you back up! It was fantastic.

Sadly, that is the most excitement I’ve had all month. Riding the scooter at Wal-Mart. Woo. Hoo.

Things I am thankful for at this time in my life:

1. My son, who is a total morning person. He wakes up with a huge smile on his face and my heart melts when he shouts out, “HI MOM! I sleep good!” He gives the sweetest kisses and when he hugs you, he pats you on the back and says, “Ooooh”.
2. My husband. If he ever tries to tell you he doesn’t do much around here, you have my permission to call him a liar. He is the glue holding our family together right now. He does everything I can’t and more. He cooks, he cleans, he’s almost raising our son singlehandedly. He comes with me to all my neurologist appointments and he even joined me for an MS support group meeting. He does all of this without hesitation or complaint (and he looks pretty handsome while doing it, if you ask me). God has truly given him supernatural powers.
3. Facebook. I know this is silly, but it’s the one thing that keeps me connected so that I don’t spin into a hole of depression. I’ve never been the best at keeping in touch with people and I’m not much of a phone talker so FB allows me to keep those lines of communication open.
4. My job. Not only do I enjoy the work I do, but it pays our bills and allows Mike to be home with our son (and soon to be daughter as well). The people there are friendly and supportive and often times feel like a pseudo family.
5. Health insurance. When I found out what the cost is for the MS medication they are putting me on, my jaw dropped. When you are looking at a pricetag of $25 – 30,000 per year, a $40 or $50 copay with a $2500 deductible doesn’t look so bad.

There are plenty more things to be grateful for, but these are the few that are in the forefront for me right now.  When you are delivered a diagnosis such as multiple sclerosis, it helps to see what you can be thankful for. I have been given so much. As Dave Ramsey says, I’m better than I deserve!

It is days like these I wonder if I’m gonna make it. I have felt strong and positive up to this point about the MS diagnosis, but the last few days have been very hard. Obviously being 36 weeks pregnant is making it worse than it needs to be, but I have 18 days until the baby will be delivered via c-section. Eighteen days seems like FOREVER when it takes every ounce of gumption you have to do routine tasks such as rolling over in bed or standing up or walking three feet. I know mobility goes down the more and more pregnant you get, but the MS just compounds the issue. It’s getting cold here in Michigan and when my legs are cold they tighten right up, making it extremely difficult to move or bend them. I try to keep them warm but I can’t feel if they are getting too cold because the sensation in my legs and feet is all messed up. My nerves are like a chewed up power cord and the messages aren’t getting through to my brain. It’s like a sick game of Telephone.

Every day I struggle with the thought of starting my maternity leave early. Every morning the thought of one more day of work torments me. But really, the real hard work is just the work of moving around. If I can just get to my desk each day then the hard part is over. It actually helps to be able to just sit and focus on something other than the crap going on with my body. When I’m working I don’t feel like such a prisoner.

I guess you could say today is a bad day. I know there will be bad days but there will be good ones too. And maybe sometimes the days will have a little of both good and bad. It’s only noon so it’s not too late for a little good to show up. And if it doesn’t, there is always tomorrow.