Total Meltdown

We went to pick up my packet on Friday evening, returned something at the mall, had a calorically reasonable dinner at Zoe's Kitchen.  I convinced the family to come to the 5K the next morning because face painting and bounce houses.  We were good to go.

You know where this is headed, right?

I woke up on Saturday with the most terrible crick in my neck EVAR, got dressed, got P up and moving, and went to get Z up.  She had been working some serious snot for a few days, and it was crusted all over her little face when I woke her.  So I brought her to my bathroom and we were cleaning her with a warm washcloth when she started crying and said her legs felt funny.  Huh?  She didn't want to be standing any more.  Huh??  She hobbled over to my bed and said, "My legs felt unsteady.  I just want to lay here for a little bit."  I think I knew right then that everything was shot.  She looked so pitiful.  So I scootched her over a bit and layed down with her.  What else would I do?  P offered that I could leave them and go for the run, but I was worried about her and it didn't feel right.

She wasn't running a fever.  Her little eyes looked terrible, all bloodshot, so after she was cleaned up I got her some lubricating drops and crossed my fingers.  I also gave her some anti-congestion meds for all the phlegm.  And then we all just layed around all morning, me grading papers, P napping, Z watching the iPad in my bed.  Around noon she started screaming and crying about her ear.  Fabulous.

We immediately gave Tylenol (which WORKS, WAY TO GO TYLENOL!) and she cried herself to sleep (she never EVER sleeps during the day) while I called for a doctor's appointment.  After passing all the hurdles, we were told to get our butts to the closest office within 30 minutes, because they closed at 2 and it was now 1.  Done and done.  By the time we got there, she said it didn't hurt any more.  I told her I didn't care, she was seeing the doc anyways.  Saw doc and sure enough, ear infection AND eye infection. Got her meds and returned to the laying around pattern.

Post Tylenol, cried self to sleep.  Grimmy tried to help.

I finally finished grading around 3 so I took a muscle relaxer for my neck which hadn't improved AT ALL.  I fell asleep around 5 and was done for the rest of the day.

Sunday the Kid clearly felt better.  My neck was mildly better.  But my mood went to hell in a handbasket.  I don't really want to go into it other than to say that I got really really REALLY pissed about some things that were annoying, yes, but probably didn't deserve quite the reaction they got.  Then I had a full sobbing breakdown.  For the rest of the night I was useless, I felt like I was moving in slow motion, couldn't really focus on anything at all.  Went to bed around 6:30 because meh.

This morning I am better.... better but not ok.  Better means I am neither screaming at anyone or crying about anything, right now.  I.... I can't seem to find any distraction in the things that normally give me pleasure.  I can't focus on reading.  I end up staring off into space.  I feel... like I don't have any fucks to give.  I got up this morning and exercised because it is the routine, not because I felt internally motivated to do it, if that makes sense.  I don't feel internally motivated to do anything at all.  I guess that is it.  Bed would be nice.

I think that people who care think it is the Pill.  I think I might think that too?  But I don't know what I'm supposed to do.  I missed a single dose the other day and the problem restarted itself almost immediately.  Is this my choice?  Constant bleeding or dead inside?

On (Lack of) Motivation

My Kid is sick.

I'm not gonna lie: it was a rough, ROUGH weekend.  The kind where she basically was an emotional basketcase.  Horrible.  All we wanted was for her to go to sleep.  For the silence.  And peace.

Of course P and I got it too.

So then we're sick and dealing with it.

My plan was to run on Friday.  P90X on Sunday after I got to AD house.  P90X Monday morning.

I did none of those things.

And honestly when I woke up this morning and turned over and went back to sleep, it felt goooooood.

The dangerous, dangerous bit is the part of me that thought, "Oh, well, I missed Sunday and Monday, that's practically half the week, I may as well throw in the towel for the rest of the week.  Let myself "recover"."


UPDATE:
Z went back to the doctor on Tuesday and it was pneumonia AND an ear infection.  Lovely.  (She had been last week and they said cold.  Lovely.)

My lungs tightened up massively on Tuesday.  Feels sort of like bronchitis.  Still no fever though.  I am throwing in the towel on the week, but I think I have crossed the line from lazy to really trying to do what is right for my body.  But of course, starting back up next week will be a beast.  But I WILL do it.

Post-Sick Working Out

I took all of last week off from running - I was just trying to get my feet back under me after that terrible sickness!

Thursday I managed to work a full 10 hour day at work, so I figured Friday it was time to get back at it, but gently so as not to undo all my healing progress.  I rode the trainer at an "easy" effort for about 30 minutes, and man, it is tough knowing that only a week before I had been throwing down an hour's hard effort easily and now 30 minutes easy was a stretch!  But I was glad to get it done and be back in the saddle again.

Saturday morning Preston had to work, so I decided to take Z to the park after breakfast.  I wasn't planning on running, just a nice brisk 1 mile each direction walk.  But as I was walking along I was struck by a strong desire to run - I felt great, bouncy, ready to go - and so I did some little run intervals, usually to the next stop sign from wherever I felt the running bug.  And I did the same on the way back.  I was really excited about this!  For me it is really something to be out on a walk and to just *want* to run.  I was really feeling the love.

Sunday we went to the pool, but I wasn't feeling it, and I've officially missed triathlon season, so I just played with the baby and didn't do any laps.  And I'm ok with that.

This morning I went back out for my first "structured" run since the sickness.  I walked a warm-up, then ran 4 minutes, walked, 5 minutes, walked, 6 minutes, walked, and then 7 minutes, walked.  I intended on doing a hard 3 minutes to close out an even 30 minutes of run/walking, but when I went to do that last interval, my left knee was PISSED.  I'm not sure what was going on.  It didn't hurt at the end of the 7 minutes, nor did it hurt during the walking.  It only hurt when I tried to pick up the pace again.  I walked some more and tried 3 more times, each time immediately quitting because it was so obviously tweaking.  I'm not too worried yet.  I'll take some Ibuprofen and go easy on it until I run again on Wednesday.  It is probably just me trying to come back from the sickness to soon or something.  *crosses fingers*

So now that my triathlon season is over (without ever completing a tri, sigh), I'm wanting to focus on running and fun workouts.  I think the spontaneous interval session was a great start, and I think I'm going to throw down some P90X in the morning "for fun".  I'll do an arm focused one so as to lay off the knee.  Bring it!

The Aftermath

I DNS'd on Sunday after the vomit finally stopped around 2:30am and I was able to hold liquid down at 4:30 in tiny little sips, separated by 30 minute breaks just to make sure my stomach didn't flip. 

I was so exhausted I could hardly move.  I slept almost all day Sunday, and yesterday scarcely got up from the couch.  I'm giving it the old college try today, upright and pretending to feel human, but truly I feel weak as a newborn and I've probably had about... 500 calories of solid food in the last 72 hours?  Plus maybe another few hundred of Gatorade.  Yeah.  Awesome.  I have my favorite Kashi oats sitting on my desk right now, 1 packet, 150 calories, and I've been trying to choke it down for freaking 30 minutes and just can't.

I was so disappointed about the tri that I was in tears.  I've identified another that I could do this Saturday, but at this point wonder if I can be ready by Saturday when I'm not even sure I can sit up for 10 hours today?  If not Saturday, a tri might not happen for me this year.  And that is not cool, y'all.  Not cool at all.

Dear Zoë, thank you for being such a sweet sharing girl.  Please quit sharing these evil stomach viruses.  Sincerely, lovingly, Mommy.

FML

So Z was up all Thursday night puking her brains out.

I just "deposited" ALL of my cookies in the Silverado Ladies' room. Not exactly ideal pre-race fueling.

FML.

Lungs are Back on the Run!

So I finally went to the doctor last Thursday for the cough that had been plaguing me for 10 days.

Bronchitis.

Dun dun dun....

So she put me on some uber strong antibiotics and told me no running til Sunday.  I finally felt a bit better Saturday, and have seen steady improvement since then.  Sunday I still didn't feel up for running, but this morning was THE morning.

I decided to do run/walk intervals so that I didn't overtax my still-raw lungs.  I was running on my track-loop course, so I figured run to the end, walk the end-cap, run back, rinse, repeat.  Turned out that running to the end was almost exactly 4 minutes, so I set up a 4/2 interval.  I only coughed up lung-goo once, so I'm counting it as a success!  2.53 miles in 30:33 on a 4/2 interval, except the last one where I ran 6:33 to close it out.

My lungs feel.... a little scratchy and raw.  I'm still definitely coughing a bit.  But I don't think I messed anything up.  I think I just need to continue in the relatively conservative vein at least until the end of the week.

And the best part?  When I got in Edward and turned on some music and started driving to work, I felt so good.  I mean SO GOOD.  Happy.  In the morning! 

Weekend Update

So this weekend started off crappily, I'm not gonna lie.

Z was scheduled for her 18 month check-up on Friday, and shots were involved, so I anticipated that end-of-Friday and most-of-Saturday would be suck.  What I didn't anticipate was the the other baby in the house, the man-baby, would also be sick.  He stayed home from work on Friday.

I cleaned most of Friday.  I cleaned off the DVR, and I cleaned all over the house with a focus on cleaning off surfaces so that MY MAID can do her good and thorough work on Tuesday!  I struggled but mostly succeeded in not being bitter that Preston wasn't helping much.  He was sick, after all.

We went to pick up the Z early from daycare for her appointment.  Note to future self: 15 minutes from daycare to doctor.  She ate an ENTIRE BOX of fiddlesticks throughout the waiting and the appointment.  I brought them thinking to treat her after her shots, but she was honestly done with most of them before the Dr. even showed up.  She weighed 24 lbs (40%, up from 20% at a year), was 33 inches tall (90%, up from 40% at a year), and I don't remember the number for her head, but it was 97% (up from like 80% at a year)!!  My little bug is turning in to a tall smart skinny bug!

Doctor said she is way ahead of the curve on all targets.  She said she doesn't even ask if they use pronouns (much less correctly) until they are 2!  And over 100 words at 14 months is off the charts. 

And then they gave her shots.  Sad face.

And it was weird, it was kind of like she immediately felt bad.  I got her stopped crying, and we went out to the waiting room for the 15 minute wait for no allergic reactions, and she just collapsed against me like she was exhausted.  And by the time we got home, she was almost immediately fussy.

And the fussy carried over into Saturday.

We actually were ALL running a fever on Saturday.  Every last sick one of us.  Not my best parenting day, but we let Z have a LOT of access to the iPad on Saturday.  Because when she plays with the iPad, she doesn't fuss.  (Zombie babies don't fuss.)

Nevertheless, we made a few little trips to preserve our (adult) sanity.  Grocery store in the morning.  And we were perking up just a bit in the evening, so we ran up to Zales Outlet (because I asked to get some of my broken jewelry fixed for my birthday) and Old Navy.  Old Navy was mostly a bust: P got 2 jeans and I got a pair of shorts, but I was sad because I picked up 10ish things that I thought were cute, but nothing was cute ON me.  Sigh.  That little outing was a little too much, so we headed home, ate leftovers, and crashed.

Sunday the baby woke happy, thank goodness!  It was a normal day of cleaning, a little cooking (but not a big cooking day, certainly).  We took a walk in the morning, and a longer walk to the park in the evening.

She calls it a seal the first time, every time, but she knows it is a whale.

RUNNING down the driveway.

"Hi Mr. Turtle, what are you doing?  He's walking.  Bye bye Mr. Turtle, see you later!"

And because Monday morning is still a little weekendish in my mind: got up this morning 2 hours before the butt crack of dawn.  Jumped up quickly so as not to lose my nerve, but still dawdled enough to hit the road at my normal time.  Ran 4 loops in 35:30, which looking back at my logs isn't fast, but the first 3 were in 26:30, which is fast.  Weird.  It was hot, maybe 75 with 90% humidity.  Nasty.  When I got back Preston freaked out about my red-purple face which looked like I had put a crazy mask on.

A Day with Daddy

Last week the Z missed a day of school for a fever.  I had to work, so Preston had her all day.  I could hardly stand it, so I kept asking him to text me pictures, and behold: a day with Daddy.

Breakfast!

 

Asleep on the way to/from the doctor's office.

What Daddy built during her EPIC 3 hour nap.

Snack = In Mah Sick Belleh!

Scarf, Babushka, Hajib, Daddy's shirt - it's all the same.

"Helping" Daddy.

Sick day home with Daddy = priceless.

Annnnnd Obstacles Abound

First off, the good: Saturday we spectated the US Olympic Marathon Trials, and it was THE AWESOME.  I have plans to write a spectator report.  (But I also have plans to write up a Christmas recap, so.... we'll see.)  But it was THE AWESOME.

Then Sunday we set the alarm early to get up and get me to the EP5K.  I went upstairs to wake the Z, and the child was FLAMING HOT.  Serious fever.  So I didn't run.  I probably could have gone by myself, but I had planned on getting dropped off and not worrying about parking.  So I was already running late at that point.  And I definitely wasn't taking Z out of the house in the cold with a fever.  And I really didn't much want to leave her, either.  And so Mama had her first DNS casuality to the baby.  Something tells me it won't be the last.  But I was really disappointed and kind of down about it all morning.

I took the baby up to pat her down for her nap around 11.  While I was patting her, I kept imagining that I heard Preston's voice, odd, because neither of us ever really talks on the phone, and there was no one else in the house.  Also odd because there was a ton of white noise in the house: clothes washing and drying, pressure cooker, dishwasher, hood vent.  When I finally got Z to sleep, I went downstairs to the news that Aunt Dollie had had a heart attack. 

We actually jumped into action rather slowly.  At first P misunderstood and thought that it had happened the night before.  And she was awake, so it wasn't quite as alarming.  Pretty soon, though, the caregiver called back and told him that he needed to get to the hospital asap.  I knew we couldn't take the Z, so I sent him along, finished the cooking, and then took her to her grandparents' house so I could go to the hospital.

It was dark times.  P called me while I was driving.  Aunt Dollie is a DNR and they were wanting to intubate.  I got to his dad's and basically threw the baby at them and ran back to the car.  I was at least 45 minutes from the hospital, and all I could think of was that he needed my support.

When I got there... well... I just didn't see how she was going to make it.  You know what a normal heartbeat looks like?  Hers was unrecognizably in A-fib.  It looked more like a TDF elevation profile than a heartbeat.  And her breathing.  She was struggling so much to breathe.  Every breath expanded her chest and her neck... it looked like she was using every muscle she had just to get air.  And her heartrate was hovering around 120.  She's 90 years old.  A heart that old just can't sustain a workload like that for very long.

I won't go into the minutia of the rest of that day.

The shocking thing was the next day: I went to see her and she looked *better*.  Quite a bit better.  Not struggling to breathe.  Much.  Heartbeat looked more like a heartbeat.  Which is always comforting.  She even ate a few bites of food.

She wasn't and isn't out of the woods yet.  Her heart is still in an irregular rhythm.  That puts her at risk for blood clots and other nasty issues.  But yesterday she sat up.  And today they are talking about moving her into a real room.  Some day soon I'm going to write a post about how amazingly strong this woman is.  90 years old.  Has survived cancer, a broken-hip fall, 2 major abdominal surgeries at 87 and 88, and now a major heart attack.  She's a true tough Texas woman.  No doubt.

Then in the midst of all this, I came up sick yesterday.  I'm not running, and I obviously can't expose Aunt Dollie to my evil germs, so I'm back out of things for a bit.  What a wild ride we're on.  Seriously.

On Considering a Second, Update

It isn't my period. (Unless it is my period plus food poisoning, or my period with puking as a symptom...)

I threw up this morning, which you could stack up to morning sickness or food poisoning.  So still no tie-breaker on the potential pregnancy issue.

I'm tempted to take another test on Sunday, if I can make myself wait that long.  In the meantime, I'm scared to eat and still queasy.

Weight this morning: 130.6.  Oh, what a little hurl won't do to bring me almost to goal weight, cruel irony!

More Sicky Sickerson

This is getting ridiculous!

On Thursday I woke up with a sore throat and bad headache and bagged my workout.  Boo.  I never ran a fever, but my throat got progressively more and more sore through Saturday.  I tried to be good all weekend, napping every day and staying close to home.  Yesterday I saw slight improvement, and today a bit more.  In the throat area, that is.  I aslo have a nagging, hacking, dry cough that came along with the throat, and that seems to be sticking around.  I bagged my run this morning in favor of an indoor stationary bike ride, thinking that that might tax the respiratory system a little less, and once again, ease me back into things.

I wonder at what point it'll stop being "back into things" and just become "into things"?

Screw it all, but I'm going for a run tomorrow morning!

(Oh, the good thing this morning?  I biked in a pair of my old running shorts, AND THEY FIT!!!  I think they were the last holdouts, yay!)

Reevaluating

I didn't say this in my post about the Epic Memorial Day Weekend, but I'm convinced that if I lived somewhere else, or somewhen else, I'd have died last weekend.  I'm not exaggerating or overreacting or looking for sympathy; I truly believe that I'd have died.  My death certificate would have said something about "dehydration as a complication of diahrrea/vomiting".  Or as my great-uncle's said: "dysentery".  He died when he was only a baby.

I've never had an experience like this before.  Until last weekend I had only been hospitalized once, and that was to have a baby.  And I had been to the ER once, for a broken wrist.  I consider myself to be strong, healthy, an athlete.  I hadn't missed a single day of work since I had Bell's Palsy in 2007, and before that, since I had the flu.  So I'm not exaggerating when I say this is the sickest I've *ever* been.

The entire experience has me re-evaluating everything.  Everything.  I wrote this in an email to J, and thought, I really need to blog it... so here are exerpts:

I keep thinking, "I just had a baby, and I could have died. That would be it. My baby would grow up without me." Usually followed by, "At least I'd leave something behind." Followed by, "Holy shit, I should be dead." I totally feel like I'm living on borrowed time now. Hope I didn't tick Death off by escaping, you know?

The other weird thing is that I always thought I was the strong one. I haven't been sick in years. I work out. I eat well, you know, all that shit. And here comes a nasty killing bug and it tried to kill ME. Not my baby, not my mom, not my wimpy big scary husband, but ME. That's some fucked up shit.

[And then re a situation at work:] Like I can't believe I'm having to waste energy on this shit, I should be dead! I know it is just circumstances, but it seems like *nothing* is going right for me right now, and the [thing] is just one more comedy of errors to fuck my shit up. And all I want to do is be home with Zoë. Soooo badly. This made me want to stay home sooooo badly. I mean, what if I had died? What if I had worked up to my deathday? And spent my last day here with this bullshit and NOT my baby? What kind of fucked up world do we live in where that is ok? It isn't ok. That's the answer. So really "almost" dying just made me want to quit again. I'm sitting here but I can't get a handle on my desire to NOT be here. Can't not feel like this is a waste of time. Arg!!"

I don't know if I'll quit my job.  I don't know if anything will change at all.  I do know that when I go home at night I hug my baby like I don't ever want to let go.  And tears spring up in my (still hormonally challenged) eyes when I think that I could have died on her.  Every moment is precious and wonderful and needs to be fully experienced.  (Not that it makes me hand her back to Preston any slower when she starts yowling about something!)

When I found out I was pregnant, I wasn't sure I wanted a baby.  Even as I carried her, I wasn't sure.  But I remember when she became alive, human, to me in that 19th week ultrasound.  And every day since I had her I just love her more.  She is everything to me.  It hurts my heart every morning when I leave her for work.  I ache to see her all day long.  I am so proud of her and so much better with her in my life.  I want to be there for her.  I want to be better for her.  And I want her to have the best life possible.  The question is: can I provide that life for her with me working (more money) or with me not-working (more attention)?  My mom suggested to me last night that quality trumps quantity, and perhaps that is true if the quantity is of poor quality.  But if the quantity is high-quality, then more is always better.  So what do I do?  Will I use my near-death experience to make a real change in my life?  Or will the reevaluation show that I need to stay my course?  I don't know the answer.  But sometimes it helps to blog the process.

And now back to your regularly scheduled, and hopefully happier (!!) programming.

Epic Memorial Day Weekend

But not in a good way, unfortunately!  I could also title this "The Curse of the Daycare Germs Continues".

Here are the nitty, gritty, DIRTY details (saddle up, this one's gonna be a doozy):

Thursday morning when I woke up to pump I felt... funny.  I hooked myself up and got everything going, and then about halfway through had to stop to RUN to the bathroom.  Thought maybe I had a stomach bug, so decided to skip my morning workout and nap for a bit longer before work.

When Preston's alarm went off, I felt really funny.  Kind of dizzy, fuzzy headed, and definitely like I was going to puke.  Which I did.  And as is common, I almost immediately felt better.  I called in to work (I have a cancer patient who works in my department who I wouldn't want to expose to anything) and told them I'd work some from home.

Very soon after that I started feeling bad.  Then I puked again.  And again.  And went to the bathroom.  And puked.  And bathroomed.  You get the idea.  It was bad.  Really, really bad.

I tried to sleep it off.  No dice.  I tried a sip of Gatorade.  No dice.  I tried EVERYTHING.  When the doctor opened I called and she called in a Phinergan (anti-nausea) prescription in for me.  Preston went to fill it while I puked my guts out.  He got back, I swallowed the pill, puked 5 minutes later, and twice more in the hour.  I called the doc back and they told me to go to the ER.

So I went to the ER, got all my paperwork filled out and got triaged, and then helped myself to a bench to sleep on until they called me.  Preston said it was only about an hour.  They called me back (I dry heaved all the way from the bench to my spot) and put me into a curtain bay with one of those uncomfortable hospital chairs that reclines.  I went back to sleep.  Eventually the doc came to see me and they started IV saline to rehydrate me and gave me Zofran for the nausea.  Zofran works, y'all.  Very soon after that I was sure I could hold liquids and I started asking for Gatorade.  Which of course took forever because the doc had to order it.  But eventually it came and I held it down.  So they decided to load me up with one more liter of saline and send me home to sort out my bathroom problems on my own.  (I should note here that while we were in the ER we called my mom to come down and help with Z.  Daycare called and said she had diahrrea and we needed to get her.  And Preston threw up also.)

In the ER. It was freezing!

And I thought the worst was over.

I continued having bathroom issues all night and the next morning, but I continued to hold my Gatorade down.  I didn't feel like I could eat anything solid, so I just kept pounding the Gatorade.  At some point mid-morning I took a nap, and when I woke up I felt AWFUL.  I was shivering violently.  I had to actually call for help and mom and Preston bundled me up, but I kept shivering for a long time.  I drifted in and out of sleep.  When I woke up again, I had stopped shivering, but I felt even worse.  I took my temperature and it was 104.4!  104.4!!!  I called the doc and asked if I needed to go to the ER again.  They said yes, take Tylenol and head over.

Once again I got there, got my paperwork filled out, got triaged, and found a bench for my waiting nap(s).  I was obviously even sicker than the day before, so I assumed the wait wouldn't be that bad.  Boy was I wrong!  I eventually saw a doctor in a little cubby in the waiting room.  He ordered a ton of tests (x-rays, blood, urine, stool), and they actually started my IV to rehydrate me IN the waiting room.  They wouldn't give me a blanket because of my fever, but they had also given me motrin, so I shivered and groaned my way through a massive fever-break in the waiting room.  Awesome.  Those other people must have throught I had the plague, because you have to also picture that I was running to the bathroom every 10-15 minutes whenever I was awake.  After I had been there about 6 hours, the x-ray tech that took me back for my abdominal x-ray told me that there were over 20 people waiting, they were closed to trauma because they were so full but ambulances came anyways, and I was probably looking at at least a few more hours.  I thanked him for his honesty.  About 7 hours into the thing I decided I had to pump.  I asked the triage nurse where I could go, and he told me the bathroom.  The single bathroom with a locking door that was serving the 50 sick people in the waiting room.  I told him I'd tie it up for probably 30 minutes and he just shrugged (asshole).  So I took my pump and went in there and was trying to figure out how to make it work (remember that I can barely stand.  And there is no lid on the toilet to sit on.) and the bathroom was just so dirty and filthy and I just broke.  I started crying and came back out and there was a nurse calling my name for another test.  When that was over I told Preston I was going to the car to pump.  So I went out, IV port (bag was already in me) and all, and got set up in the car.  Right as I started the suction, Preston knocks on the window and tells me they've called me and they're admitting me.  UGH! 

So I disconnect and go back in and Nurse Twitchy takes me back into what looks like an office where they've parked a hospital bed.  I ask him what's wrong with me and he says he doesn't know, he thinks I'm the patient with gallstones, but I'm being admitted.  I'll just be held here until a room is ready.  And they're going to start antibiotics through my IV.  He tosses a gown on my legs and leaves.  Ok... odd.  So I go find a restroom and then come back and he's like, "Oh, you aren't ready, I'll come back."  And I tell him I'm not sure what I need to do to get ready?  And he tells me to put on the gown, and oh-by-the-way-you-don't-have-gallstones, you have diarrhea-presumed-infectious.  Nice.  Quality care, there.

Anyways, they finally get my IV started.  Then the ER doc and my PC doc's rep come by on rounds and tell me what they're doing to me, which is basically pumping me full of broad spectrum antibiotics to kill off anything and everything bacterial that ever thought of living inside of me, in hopes that a bacteria was causing my distress and not a virus.  Brilliant.  Then I got a new nurse, who we'll call Nurse Tattoo.  I tell him that I'm gonna pump, and I finally get that process started.  He manages to forget and walk in and freak out a few times (not that I care - the guy is supposed to be a trained healthcare professional, and I'm performing a necessarily bodily function).  The holding of the pump up causes my IV to get ticked off and beep very loudly and obnoxiously.  I call for someone multiple times.  30 minutes later, the thing is still beeping, and I have to go to the bathroom again.  Remember that I'm still in someone's office, or something.  So I go down the hall with my beeping machine and the bathroom is in use.  So I stop outside and just close my eyes and try to rest while I stand there and wait.  With my beeping machine.  Right by the nurses' station.  Where there are 3 nurses talking to each other.  Eventually, apparently, my beeping became so annoying TO THEM that one came over and made it stop.  Then the bathroom opened up, and by the time I got back to my "room", Nurse Tattoo was there to take me to my real room.

Which was quite nice, actually.  It was a single with a nice big bench thing for Preston to sleep on.  We got settled in around midnight and crashed for the rest of the night.

The next morning when they hung my second bag of Cipro, I started having an allergic reaction to... something.  So that was fun.  Add Benadryl to my list of awesome drugs.  And the doc switched me from Cipro to Bactrim.

My "spots".

My diet was defined as "Clears", so a tray containing chicken broth, cranberry juice, apple juice, and NOT-red jello appeared for breakfast.

Orange.

For lunch I was given the culinary delight of beef broth, cranberry juice, apple juice, and NO, STILL NOT-red jello.

Green.

When my doc made his rounds I told him I thought maybe I could try something soft but solid, like mashed potatoes.  He said that if I could hold that down, they'd let me go.  Eventually a menu worked its way to my room, but I couldn't order "Room Service" because I had no phone.  My nurse ordered for me: biscuits, chicken noodle soup, mashed potatoes, apple sauce, jello (nope, still not red).  I ate a little of everything, so they let me go at 10pm, but not without one more bit of insanity: I'm all signed out, packed, and ready to go, so the nurse goes to call for a wheelchair.  I seriously think that that is the dumbest hospital policy ever - I'm well enough for you to let me go, but I'm not *allowed* to walk out under my own power?  What is that?  Anyways, I wait and wait and wait and Preston is waiting in the car outside with the baby because she isn't allowed inside.... for 45 minutes!!  I finally call and say, SERIOUSLY???  And someone comes and tells me that they can't FIND a wheelchair.  A HOSPITAL.  Can't FIND a WHEELCHAIR.  Ugh!!  So they let me walk out.

My Quarantine sign.

The rest of the weekend was rest and recovery and helping my sick baby, husband, and mom as much as I could.  The (Epic) End. :-)

Various and Sundry and Whatnot

Ok, so here's how it all went down:

On Friday the 13th, P graduated from his electrical apprentice program.  A graduation 5 years in the making.  Z spent the night with her Nana so that we could go to graduation and celebrate.  Yay, Journeyman Preston!

On Saturday, we woke up early at the hotel and headed to get Z, by way of stopping at my ex-boss's garage sale and the Friends of the public library's annual book sale, where we got some more rock-bottom priced board books.  After that we hung out at Nana's for a few hours, then headed home to do laundry and other weekendy things.

On Sunday (8 days ago, not yesterday), the Z got a little congested.  I couldn't believe that she had only been well for 3 days and was already going to be sick again!  Further proof that starting daycare is super-lame-o.  A few hours later, I got a little congested.  And my throat hurt a bit.  Neither of us was running a fever, so we carried on with our normal Sunday (which is primarily prepping for Monday).

Monday morning when I woke up to pump I felt really crappy.  Took my temp and was running a low-grade fever.  Made the decision right then to stay home, since Z and I were both showing symptoms on Sunday, I was sure she'd wake up with a temp and wouldn't be able to go to daycare.  I thought the day at home with the increased nursing that it would bring would help her to fight off infection more quickly, also.  And I just felt terrible, so I was phoning it in.  What turned out happening is Z never developed a fever and seemed fine (other than the congestion) all day Monday while I felt totally crappy all day.  I figured if I was still only running a low grade fever, I'd suck it up and go in to work on Tuesday.

WRONG.  Tuesday morning when I woke up to pump I was running a 101.4 temp.  Called immediately for a doc appt.  When Z woke up, she was still fever free, so I shuttled her off to daycare so I could sleep.  Went to doc, EAR INFECTION.  Seriously??  Seriously.  Spent the next several days fighting it.  Started feeling half-human again on Thursday.  Still weak, went into work for half a day Friday.  Still congested, even now, because you can't take a decongestant while breastfeeding because you risk drying up your milk.  But I'm finally feeling quite a bit better.

With all the recovery going on, we didn't do much this weekend.  But, IMTX was taking place about 20 minutes from my home on Saturday, so we did make an afternoon trip up to Market Street to spectate/cheer for a bit.  I have to say: I've always wanted to do an Ironman.  The allure of pushing my body and mind is difficult to deny.  Of course, I know/knew I was nowhere near ready.  Before I got pregnant I was trying to build up my tri distances slowly with the goal of getting to the iron-distance within a few years.  Pregnancy changed everything.  And the baby changed even more.  I cannot imagine doing an Ironman now.  Not like this.  Not with a little one in the house.  It would just take too much time to train for.  But not only that, I was watching these athletes walk/run/shuffle by me, knowing that all of them had been on their feet for 9+ hours.  They looked worn out.  They were doing it, don't get me wrong.  They were duking it out with 140.6 miles, and they were becoming Ironmans.  But the suffering - to me it wasn't inspiring.  The feat is inspiring, but the actual seeing of it, the evidence, the minute-by-minute grind of it was the opposite of inspiring to me.  It was a turn-off.  I remember how I felt near the end of my marathon.  I reckon I looked pretty bad there at the end.  I know I felt bad!  And I don't know why I would want to do that to myself, again, even more extremely?  At least not right now.  So here I'm telling the world about the official tabling of my Irondream, at least for the forseeable future.  And that is ok.  I'll focus on getting my fitness back (was already obviously trying to do that), then on short races and maybe building a little speed back into the old rusty machinery.  Because I can be my best runner, athlete, triathlete without going long.  At least for now.

Pregnant Sicky Sickerson

Uggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!

I'm sick! 

It started with a sore throat over a week ago, every morning when I woke up.  Assumed it was from all the snoring.  (Yay, preggo sexiness!)

Then on Monday night, it went beyond that.  I kept waking myself up with the snoring.  And Preston kept waking me up to try to stop the snoring (he had earplugs in and a pillow over his head and says he still couldn't sleep from the racket - he finally ended up on the couch).  And before you knew it, I had had the worst pregnant night ever. 

Tuesday I felt really crappy from the moment I woke up.  The sore throat was soooo much worse, and with the lack of sleep, I was just slaughtered.  I ended up going home early from work.  That night, I fell asleep sitting up on the couch.  When I woke up, I asked P if I had been snoring when I was sitting.  He said no, so I decided to sleep on the couch.  I started laying down, but switched to sitting around 2am because my throat was hurting so bad, and I felt like the snoring was exacerbating  the problem.

When I woke up on Wednesday, there was no way I was going to work.  If I wasn't preggo, I'm sure I would have tried to go in: my general rule of thumb is no fever and no involvement below the neck means I go in, but if I can't cut myself some slack now, when will I ever be able to??

I slept off and on all day, hardly getting up from the couch.  I had no appetite at all.  Called the OB, and of course, no Afrin, no Throat Coat tea, nothing but Tylenol and liquids, ugh!

Slept on the couch again last night.  Had like a 30 sneeze sneezing fit in which phlegm ended up in my mouth.  A lot.  Gross.  Didn't even bother trying to lay down: slept sitting the whole time, wrapping pillows around my belly for support.  Even with the house set at 72 degrees, was hot.  Ugh!  (But still no fever.)

Decided to go ahead and come into work, but only for 7 hours today.  I mean, I can be miserable at home, I can be miserable sitting at a computer at work and getting paid for it.  But I must say, it doesn't inspire confidence how many emails were waiting for me after only one day off!

But ugh, still miserable.

Belly check on Friday.  Maybe doc'll help??

(Can the baby come out sick?? I want this kid out, but I don't want to go through labor feeling like this!!!)

Recovery

Well, last week I was sick practically all week. Had a fever for 7 straight days. It really sucked. It also really sucked because I was anxious about not running. I even skipped my long run on Saturday because I knew I couldn't get through it.

Sunday night I was determined to run on Monday morning, fever or not. As luck would have it, that was the first day I was feverless. I ran 3 easy slow miles, just trying to remember that I *could* run.

Tuesday was a scheduled speedwork day, and I really wanted to do it. I was seriously fatigued when I woke up. I ran a very slow 1.5 mile warm-up, and then did the 10x30sec/30sec that I had planned. It went pretty well. I was able to maintain a fast pace through the intervals. I jogged every other rest interval, and walked every other one. I still totaled out only around 3 miles.

I have had a slight bit of heel pain since Tuesday...

Wednesday I biked for 30 minutes easy to give myself time off my feet.

Thursday was supposed to be a 35 minute tempo run. I did 30 minutes. It was the first morning where I could really tell that the (slightly) cooler temp was really helping me. It was about 70 degrees, and I was running 9:30's when I felt like I was running 10+s. It was nice.

I also got off work early yesterday, so I went swimming. Swam 2400 yards in about an hour. Did a nice 500 to warm up, 500 steady, 500 hard, 500 steady, and 400 cooldown. My arms are totally blown today, but in a very good way. I've really missed swimming. And how incredibly cool to not be there when it is all crowded in the morning!! I think I'll have to make that my regular gig when I get off work early.

I was freaking starving by the time I got home. Ate about 1000 calories and was still hungry! I forget how much swimming takes out of me...

Slept 11 hours last night, and still feeling slightly fatigued. Taking it easy today, because I've got 12 miles to run in the morning...

A Quote, in absence of a substantive post

I'll all kinds of sick, have been for 4 days, am finally going to the doc today, and haven't run since Sunday, thus, no blogging.

In absence of a real blog post, I give you these words that I copied out of a diary before I left my old position:

The most insignificant, obscure life is worthy of record. [snip] The diary grows more interesting as the years multiply - particularly to the one who writes the entries therein. Oh! How old memories spring up like a flock of birds, when the yellow, age-stained pages of an old diary are turned, and the daily records of the long forgotten past glide ghost-like by us. We can detect a look of reproach in the faces of some, for evil deeds committed, or duties neglected, that shall forever remain undone - haunting phantoms of the vanished years; and in the starlike eyes that illumine other countenances, we catch the love token flashed to us, which bid us to become not weary in well doing, because in due season we shall reap if we faint not.
How fresh those paragraphs read, as tho' written but yesterday! They tell of our daily doings, and the doings of precious loved ones - long ago laid in the grave - whose memory lingers like the fragrance of a lovely flower. Can it be that they are gone? The diary summons them once more into our presence and we are young again.
--John E. T. Milsaps, diarist

And I couldn't say it better myself.

Plan alteration (already)

The more I think about the Austin Triathlon, the more I think not this year.

Will aim for the full oly on the Clearlake one, though.

I've been feeling pretty crappy for about 3 weeks now. It is starting to wig me out a little. It started on my birthday. I was having a great day, fun, eating whatever I wanted, and by afternoon I felt like I needed to throw up. I figured that I had just eaten something (or a combo of somethings) that didn't agree with me or each other. The problem is that I've had intermittent nausea ever since. And I've been really tired - sleeping more than normal and still barely able to drag myself out of bed in the mornings. I've been missing workouts because of it. And I'm hungrier than normal. I actually was afraid that I was pregnant, but I am not. (I am sure that I am not.) Preston wants me to go see a doc, but I just don't know what I'd say to a doc, you know?

We'll see. I'm not sure how much more of this I can put up with.

Photo Fun with Palsy

Lopsided smile.

Big smile.

I always wanted to be able to lift only one eyebrow at a time.

It's all good with the Palsy.

Amber as Gene Simmons on Palsy.

Preston has taken to calling me "Palsy Bizzy". Bizzy was my nickname before...

You know, I think the hardest part of this is the mental aspect. Imagine waking up one morning with half of your face paralyzed. I don't know if everyone is this way, but a large part of my self-image has to do with the way that I look. I always found identity in my red hair. I was never super-confident... I never really felt pretty, and I was still trying to lose weight, but I had gotten to a point where I was relatively confident with how I looked. Imagine having that confidence shattered one morning when you look in the mirror.

Imagine that everyday tasks are suddenly very difficult. Imagine brushing your teeth when you can't close the right side of your mouth. Imagine taking a shower when you can't close one eye. Imagine having to manually blink that eye at regular intervals thoughout the day. Imagine having to tape it shut to sleep. Imagine trying to eat or drink when the right side of your mouth won't close. Imagine developing a lisp and an inability to say p b or f sounds over night. Then imagine that your husband's name contains both a p and an s. Imagine trying to smile at your husband and he doesn't smile back because he can't tell it is a smile.

I Have the Palsy

Saturday morning I woke up with an earache (right side).

Sunday my right scalp felt hypersensitive and my hair "hurt".

Monday I went to the doctor and told him that my viral throat infection from 3 weeks ago had never really fully cleared up and now this new stuff was happening. He looked in my ear and said that I didn't have an ear infection. He felt my throat and said that my lymph nodes were swollen. I told him I knew that - that they had been for 3 weeks. He looked in my throat and told me it was red. I told him I also knew that - that that had also been the case for 3 weeks. He said, "Three weeks is a long time, let's try a Z-Pak." A Z-pak is a short run of antibiotics.

That night I drank a bottle of water that tasted funny. It didn't taste funny to Preston.

Tuesday morning I woke up and the right side of my face was numb and partially paralyzed. WTF????????

I proceeded to have a mild freak out, take an asprin in case I was having a stroke, and go to work. My face became increasingly less responsive. I called my mom. She called me back and told me that it sounded like Bell's Palsy and I needed to go to the doc as soon as I could get an appt.

I got to work. People asked me what was wrong with my face.

I called to make an appointment. They forwarded me to a nurse. I told her my face was paralyzed. She said ok. I said that I thought that was a pretty major change in my sypmtome and I thought maybe I should tell someone. She asked me why I hadn't gone to the ER. I told her I didn't know, I was 26 and I don't just go to the ER. Plus the copay on the ER is pretty big, I was just hoping to see a dr. today. She told me for facial paralysis I needed to call 911. I told her why didn't I just drive over to the minor emergency center where my copay is only $40. She told me to have someone else drive me.

So *my boss* drove me over to the minor emergency center. Where they told me I have Bell's Palsy.