Being in control...

(6 vials of Novolog.  Only one of my medications and only enough for 1 month)

Being a diabetic is always hard.  Throw into the mix some extenuating circumstances and being a diabetic is really hard.  I switched to a new doctor in December of last year and went to one appointment before finding out little twitchy was on his way.  When I went to my next appointment in February of this year, I told them about my "condition" and all of the nice ladies in the office put me on high alert.

Since February, I've been e-mailing my numbers, my daily carb intake, and the amount of insulin I use on a weekly basis in an excel spreadsheet.  It's a total pain in the butt in case you were curious.  Up until July, I had monthly appointments and now I go every two weeks so that they can check my A1C number (which two weeks ago was 5.9 - in the "non diabetic" category, yeah me!) and evaluate my numbers and insulin regimen.

I guess more for the sake of posterity than anything else, I wanted to document the major amounts of medication it takes to keep me going, as healthy as possible.

I use three types of medication:

Lantus insulin - this is a 24 hour insulin that I should only have to take once a day and it stays in my system for, you guessed it, 24 hours.  These shots usually go into my hip or my belly and are followed by a trail of bruises.

Novolog insulin - this is a short acting insulin that I take whenever I eat anything.  I use a sliding scale of insulin to carb and this ratio is generally pretty stable.  This shot goes into my arm anywhere from 3-6 times a day.  Bruises galore.

Metformin - this is the most evil medication I've ever taken.  It's a pill.  Each pill is 500 milligrams.  The number one side effect of metformin is nausea and vomiting and massive stomach aches/cramps, which affects 65% of the people who take the medication.  Thank heavens it hasn't made me puke but this medication has, on many occasion made me so ill I cannot stand up straight.  I've been experimenting with dosage a lot over the last 2 years.  I can tolerate 1000 milligrams a day well.  I do alright with 1500 if I take 500 in the morning and 1000 at night.  But, add that 4th pill, which I've had to do many occasions and within hours, I am tragically ill.

In January and February, when I was still exercising 4 days a week and feeling pretty good about life, my insulin use was at a bare minimum.  I was using about 20 units of Lantus a day, only at night.  My sliding scale for Novolog was around 1:30 (1 unit of insulin for every 30 carbs) and I was taking 2 metformin a day.  On days that I exercised in the afternoon, I usually didn't even need to do my lunch time Novolog because the exercise took care of it for me.

Fast forward many, many months and my body is a walking pharmacy. I take 177 units of Lantus a day (87 in the morning and 90 at night).  My sliding scale for Novolog is 1:2 (1 unit for every 2 carbs), except in the morning when I'm almost at a 1:1 ratio.  And I'm taking 3 Metformin a day (1500 milligrams), 1 in the morning and 2 at night.

I wish I could do math, and figure out the percentage of increase in my medication but I am not that smart.  I do know that even though it seems that my insulin use has gone through the roof to the moon, I'm still not using as much as I was before Wyatt was born.  The week before he was born three years ago, I was at 240 units of Lantus a day so I'm pretty proud of myself for only being at 177.

Once this kid gets here, everything will change immediately.  That change will be the scary one because i don't know where I'll be.  No idea how much insulin I'll need, what my carb ratio will be, or how my body will react.

That's going to be interesting.

Deja Vu

The day Wyatt was born three years ago, Elliott started to get sick.  By the time we brought Wyatt home from the hospital four days later, Elliott was crazy sick and our first night at home, the Chick and I camped out and Ross spend the middle of the night with Elliott driving him around to different emergency rooms. 

So as we've been in limbo this week about when this kid is going to arrive, guess what.

The little chickadee is sick.  It started with a bad cough on Saturday afternoon.  Followed by sleepless nights and lots of puking up of giant globs of goo.  Not a good sign for my bad lung asthma boy.  Though his mood was more pleasant than it's been for a couple of weeks, we knew something was really wrong with him so on Monday, our dad took him to the doctor.

Diagnosis?

A touch of group and the beginning stages of bronchitis.  He actually hasn't been this sick since February which is a miracle in and of itself.  But, he's still sick and he has a mama who is too out of it to take good care of him and a dad who is super busy trying to pick up all the pieces.

So what does that mean?  It means he gets to watch a lot of TV.  And I get to spend a lot of time with my feet up on the couch.

I don't think he minds though.  Just look at the pictures as evidence.

an all too familiar limbo....

At the hospital yesterday, my blood pressure was almost normal.

Go figure.

This baby obviously needs some more time to cook and is willing my heart to slow down and stop working so hard.

Now, we wait until my appointment on Thursday.  If my blood pressure is high tomorrow, then my Doc and I will discuss having the baby this weekend, on Saturday, my parents wedding anniversary.  If my blood pressure is in that nasty gray area again, he's going to have me wait it out another week and go back to our planned dates of the 6th, 7th, or 8th of September.  Which means it could be one of the most icky weeks of my life.  Ug!

It's a tough spot to be in for me.  Miserable doesn't begin to describe the swelling and the headaches and the intense feelings of anxiety and chest pressure that are created by my high blood pressure and the fact that I'm a total paranoid spaz.

But, if this kid needs another week he can have another week.

I've been told in an important blessing that there will be times in my life where angels will need to look down on me from heaven to make sure that everything is okay, and that my health is okay.  I'm suspecting that this is one of those times and those wonderful grandma's of mine are working overtime - taking care of their heavenly duties and making sure I don't implode down here on earth - to make sure that this little baby gets every chance he can to get a good start.

It's funny though, that as terrible as I feel, I still have a sort of sense of peace about the whole thing.  Even though I think I want this kid here two weeks early, I really don't.

And so?  We wait.....

and wait.....

and wait......

But?  Last night before falling asleep, that husband of mine and I had a quick discussion about names.  We seem to have maybe settled on one, perhaps out of sheer exhaustion on the subject.  We'll just let it be a surprise to everyone.  Are you excited?

37.4

I'm really, really lucky that for the most part, being pregnant is "easy" for me.  I don't get morning sickness in the beginning, life trudges along as normal through the middle, and for most of the end, no matter how uncomfortable I get, I still seem to be able to keep up with the demands of my life.

Until now anyway.

One of the reasons Elliott was born 15 days early is because my blood pressure was just too high.  It wasn't heart attack/stroke high, but it was higher than it should have been for someone my age.  And, because my diabetes was totally out of control (but still sort of under control) we had to deal with a sick baby, underdeveloped lungs, and 9.5 days in the NICU.

Flash forward to Wyatt.  My diabetes was better controlled and my blood pressure was low.  Just at the point it started to climb with Elliott, a few weeks before he was born, with Wyatt it actually started to drop.  I was shocked but happy.  It meant that he got to cook a little bit longer and in the end, he was 5 days early, spent a couple of hours being checked out in the NICU and then he was all mine.

Now flash forward again to "little twitchy".  

First, he still doesn't have a name so if you've got a good idea, share it in the comments.  No "double tt" names, please.

Second, about a month ago, my blood pressures started climbing.  Not major climbs mind you, but when your hanging out in the 120/67's and jump to 135/82 that's cause to be concerned.  Luckily, I go for Non-Stress Tests twice a week and though my numbers in the office have been high, the 4 pressures that get taken at each test have been pretty good.

At my 37 week appointment four days ago, my blood pressure was 147/92.  That's high.  "Normal" is 140/80 and my doctor would like be to be 130/80 or lower.  Oops.  All the blood pressures at my NST's have sort of bought me some time, or so I thought, and at that appointment last week we set a date of Thursday, September 6 at 7:30 in the morning for the little twitch to arrive.  One week early, two weeks to go and a light at the end of the tunnel.

Then I went for my 8:30 am NST on Saturday morning.  The worst BP?  157/92.  The best BP?  147/82.  That's not so hot.  It means I'm failing.  And, by failing it means that the baby has to get here sooner than later before I have a heart attack or a stroke.

Yes, I'm being dramatic.

Before I can leave each NST, The nurses call my doctor to give him the report of my test.  When the nurse came in on Saturday she said, "I just got off the phone with Dr. Nielson, and he says when you come in on Tuesday for your next NST, that we'll set up a c-section date and you'll have the baby by the end of next week."

Okay.  Cool?

So, my high blood pressure and I came home on Saturday and went straight to bed.  I stayed in bed almost all of Saturday and almost all of Sunday.  Getting up only to supervise/check-in on one of the many projects I'd assigned my good husband, to go to the bathroom, to eat,  or just to stretch my legs.  In the last 48 hours, counting night time, I think I easily spent 30 of them lying down.  It was good for my ankles, but my BP is still high.

It's okay right at this exact moment, but as I was panicking last night trying to decided if I needed to go to the hospital or not because I didn't feel so hot, I sent my good husband out to get me a blood pressure cuff.  At 11:00 pm.  He is such a good husband.  And what was the result?  It was 157/98.  Ahhhh!

Once I actually knew what the number was though, I calmed down a bit.  I re-read the symptoms of preeclampsia my doctor gave me and decided I was okay - that the best thing to do right then would be to go to bed.

Which I did.  And I woke up exactly 7 times to go to the bathroom.  Blah!

Anyway - today is Monday.  A normal every day kind of day.  Back to routines and school and laundry, if you don't count Wyatt being home and not at school, sitting on the couch watching "bubble guppies" and coughing up a phlegmy lung.  Life doesn't seem to hold still and I'm doing my best to "rest" and stay "calm" whatever that means.

Tomorrow, on Tuesday, I go for my next NST.  I'm hoping it's my last and that they let me leave AND that I leave with a surgery date for sometime on Thursday, Friday or Saturday.

Little twitchy will be two weeks early.  But, hopefully the good control I've had over my bedes this time around will give him good lungs.  If not - we've done the NICU before and will survive.

I need to lie down.

Off to pre-school

I'd been looking forward to this day for weeks and weeks.  The day that the Chick started preschool and I'd have two hours alone, in silence to put my swollen feet up, catch my breath, and chill with a diet coke and some Doritos.

My baby.

Oh my baby.

He's been a little sensitive the last few weeks.  He knows that his little world is getting turned upside down with a new baby and doesn't really know how to cope - and doesn't know how to tell us about his emotions and what's really unsettling for hi.  All he knows how to do is cry that his legs hurt, get mad, and throw mighty tantrums every day.  And then, he cuddles and burrows and just loves you to pieces.

A little bit of three year old bi-polar disorder.

If a new brother was about to take over your turf, you'd probably act the same way.

Anyway, we were all on egg-shells this morning - the morning of the first day of preschool.  No one wanted to upset the happy boy who woke up at 6:30 and ate his breakfast and willingly got dressed.  That kid - he gets what he wants most of the time but this morning, it was like he was king.

We dropped big brother off at school.  This week, we now have to do the drop-off instead of walking him to class because there is too much of a time crunch to get one kid to school and then the other.  Watching my first born walk himself to school?  It's killing me.  He is so big and brave and smart and he doesn't need me.  He can do it himself.  In fact, I think that he prefers it.  He knows I drive up the street and that Wyatt and I watch him walk to where his class lines up.  He doesn't know that every day I hold my breath to make sure he can do it, and then sigh one of those deep, "my baby doesn't need me anymore" sighs when I see he was successful.  Oh man, this boy growing up is way harder on me than it is on him.

Once we dropped Elliott off, it was time for the 10 minute drive to preschool.  Wyatt has the same teacher Elliott had - the same classroom - the same structure.  Only difference?  He is not Elliott.  There are a lot of things that make me nervous about sending my baby to school, most significant, right now, is his emotional stability.  I want school to be awesome for him and not sad or scary or traumatic.

We got to the parking lot.

He was SO EXCITED!!!!  He hopped, skipped, and jumped all the way to the front door.

The two of us, my boy and me, hand in hand walked into school, into the classroom, and found his cubby.  He got the mandatory squirt of hand sanitizer and then just stood there, not sure what to do or what to look at.  I suggested a few different toys and he wasn't interested.  I suggested I leave and he have a good time and school and he clung to my leg.  ("Please don't cry.  Please don't cry.  I cannot leave you here if you cry" I kept repeating to myself)

Finally, we found some puzzles.  He likes puzzles.  I helped him get one started and after a minute or two, I told my sweet baby boy that I was leaving.  He looked at me with confidence, lifted his hand in a wave and silently gave me the OK, I was free to go.

I made it to my car before I started to cry.  Dumb hormones!

I cried just a little mind you - only a few tears.  I was so proud of him.  My baby...he did it.

Then, I came home with almost two hours all to myself.  I started a bunch of projects and didn't finish any of them.

At the appointed time I jumped in the car to go and get my boy.  Once I arrived at school, I watched him through the window in the door.  He was cooperating and participating.  I was so proud.

Then, the door opened.  I waited for him to catch my gaze.  When he saw me I gave him the biggest smile that I could and waved.

What did he do?

He burst into tears!  And it took me ages to calm him down.  Thank heavens I had a juice box and goldfish crackers waiting for him in the car.

Preschool, dear Internet, is hard work.