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.

When chaos rains!

We were able to spend much of the last week with our cousins from Arizona.  They came to Utah to visit and attend a couple of conferences.

Do you know what you get when you put five boys under the age of 5 and a bunch of slobbery dogs together?

I do.

Playing.

Playing.

Crashing.

Noise.

Chaos.

Tears.

and lots and lots of fun.

My mother-in-law has five, soon to be six grandsons without a little girl anywhere in sight - I'm not sure any of us would know what to do with a little girl anyway, so boys are definitely the way to go.  We have a basketball team when everyone gets together and besides that?  We have some of the cutest and funniest little guys around.  It was a great week and I'm sure that all the grown-ups would agree that it was a very exhausting week, too.

I mean, you should try and get them all to sit still for a cousin picture. Seriously. You should.

Not my baby anymore

In a few weeks, my baby won't be my baby anymore.

But, let's face it...he hasn't been my baby for a long time.

I mean, he doesn't say "tarmel" anymore.  Now he knows it's caramel.

The two of us have had some good bonding time these last two weeks when big brother has been in school.  We have three hours, just the two of us, and it's been fun.

We've done a lot of painting and coloring and stickering.  We've watched a lot of sponge bob and Scooby Doo.  My boy?  He loves himself some Mystery Machine Madness.  I honestly cannot believe how much he likes Scooby Doo - we find it every day and if it isn't on TV, we watch a DVD.  It's pretty funny because Elliott is pretty nervous about solving mysteries with monsters and ghosts.  But, my little Chickie totally gets that it isn't real and it's a cool show.

This kid is also pretty funny and I love listening to the stuff he comes up with.  Last week, he crashed on his razor scooter and gave himself a little head wound.  The other day in the car, driving home from some time with cousin Parker while I was at a doctor's appointment I heard a little grunt from his direction in the car.  I asked him if he was okay.  He said, "Mom, I got it!"

"Got what?" I asked.

"Dis."  He replied.  I turned to see some little thing in his hand.

"What's dis?" I asked.

"Part of my brain" he told me.  He'd picked off the little scab on his head and was convinced that his gray matter was oozing out.

He'd gotten so much bolder and more brave this summer.  Swimming lessons were a bust, but swimming with dad is going excellent.  Thank heaven's for Wednesday night dinner's with great-grandpa and the pool afterwards.  Minus the fact that we cannot keep his swimsuit on, he's doing really great.

Next week, this little guy starts preschool.  Every day after kindergarten drop off we talk about school and every day, he tells me that he doesn't want to go, that school is dumb, and he wants to stay home with me.  He might be one of those boys that cries.  Or, he might be the class clown and get into trouble all the time.  I'm really not sure, but I'm excited to see what happens.

That is of course, as long as his doesn't insist on wearing size 3 month pants to school.

a Quickie....

Our summers the last four years have been consumed by shaved ice.  Because we are so tied down to the summer business, we don't seem to have the opportunity to do much that requires we be gone for more than 12 minutes.  Compounded by the fact that in a few short weeks we'll be a party of five, I've been itching to get away.  Anywhere.

Enter Vernal, UT.

A quick trip to Dinosaur land was just what we needed.  We were gone a little over 24 hours, had a fun time, ate some good food, and got that little travel itch out of my system.  You see, my feet and ankles were not happy to sit in the car and by the time we got home Sunday night, were actually burning a bit.

But, my boys had a great time.  They love dinosaurs.  Heck, I don't even mind dinosaurs and pride myself on knowing the names and major characteristics of at least a dozen or more.  I can totally get into the Dino conversations of my boys and it makes me pretty cool.

Our trip was dominated by food, of course.  The dad in our house was in charge of where we went to eat, and even though it was just three meals, he made sure they were the best he could find.  El Chubasco in Park City, the Country Grub in Naples, UT for dinner and the Naples Cafe for breakfast on Sunday morning.

After a few quick visits to the Field museum in Vernal and Dinosaur National park visitors center and wall of fossils, we were on our way home.  But, whenever you get to stay in a hotel (especially when you finally have two little boys who will sleep in a hotel room), it's always fun.  I love not having to make three beds in the morning.

And, whenever I get to spend time with all three of my boys, even if two of them are super crazy and one occasionally ignores me for a date with his headphones, there aren't any people I'd rather hang out with.

And now....lots of pictures.

El Chubasco - with a monstrous salsa bar that has at least 15 different salsa's to choose from.

And, by the way, Vernal? You have the most amazing and beautiful main street flowers I've ever seen anywhere in my whole life. I was totally jealous.

35 weeks

35 weeks.  That's where the official ticker gets us today.  Up to right now, I haven't written much about this experience...probably because it's very similar to the other two.  But I thought, for the sake of documentation I'd share a few things.

The good:
*I'm 4 weeks away from meeting my third son.  This thrills me to no end.

*This whole process, minus being so slow (did you know that it only takes 60 days from start to finish for a baby polar bear to show his face?  Why can't I be a polar bear?), has really been very bearable for round three.  I feel super lucky.

*I'm still sleeping okay.  Not tonight of course because I'm writing this at 2:00 am with an absolutely insane and killer cold and I'm up because I cannot breathe.  But, honestly, I go to bed at night and except for some bathroom breaks, and said cold, I sleep right on through until morning.

*Even though I'm exhausted and feel so heavy that I might tip over, I can still do my regular stuff, albeit slowly.  My husband fired me from mowing the lawn a few weeks ago but I can still do laundry, dinner, make the beds, vacuum, plant flowers, pull weeds....you get the idea.

*I'm starting to panic a bit about this kiddo like I've done with the other two about how well he'll be breathing when he's born.  I pray that he'll be okay, won't have an extended NICU stay and that we'll actually get to hold him, introduce ourselves to him, and love his squishy squeakiness the day he's born.  So far, things are going in the direction of healthy and I've got confidence that the grandma's in heaven are looking out for him (and me) and that everything will be okay.

The Bad:
Oh, where to begin?  Not wanting to use this forum as a complete complain session (I mean, I do get to keep the baby after all) I'll keep it brief.

*swollen ankles, worse than with the other two I think
*swollen feet
*numb toes (I've almost completely lost feeling in the three smallest toes on my left foot, ick!)
*nerve pain in my right butt cheek
*fat, fat, fat!  Did I mention fat?
*back pain
*using the bathroom like it's going out of style
*no longer able to get up from sitting on the floor
*constantly out of breath

You get the idea, right?  It's funny with this whole process how you go from feeling super icky, to feeling so "normal" that you forget there is a space invader living inside of you to quite literally all of a sudden feeling like you are so heavy and bloated and slow that you might tip over or that said space invader might fall out, like a paper grocery bag that is too full and starts to rip at the bottom.  Every day when I get down and feel a bit sorry for myself (which, lets face it, is happening more than I'd like to admit), I just remind myself that I get a baby.  That I get to pick his birthday.  That I get to hold him and love him forever and ever.

The Ugly:
Like I said, this third round of baby boy feels like in a lot of ways, it's been "easier" (knock on wood) than with the other two, but it's been so much harder, too.  Harder because there are already two of these little boys here to take care of.  Harder because this summer has been so insanely hot that I've got my thermos stat set permanently at 71 degrees.  Harder because quite literally, I'm losing my ability to walk.

But, the really worst part is all the appointments.  Finding someone to watch my kids while I go to two NST's (Non-stress tests at the hospital), my OB appointment, my diabetes appointment each week  is just overwhelming.  The amount of insulin I'm injecting into my arms and hips every day is astounding.  Weighing more right  now than ever in my entire life (or I ever will again) just makes me want to cry.

And, the two kids I've got already in front of me are driving me crazy.  You can cut their nervous energy with a knife and I'm not sure how much more yelling, screaming, hitting, bathroom talk (no, Wyatt, we are not naming our new baby diarrhea or port-o-potty) and general, "I'm being crazy but I don't know why" - ness I can handle.  Just wait until the baby gets here - then their really going to lose their minds!

But, the end is in sight.  I'm actually looking forward to the whole process.

And, I cannot wait to hold a sweet, squishy little boy, part of our clone army, in my arms and kiss his head as much as I want.

Elliott, 5 days old

Wyatt, one day old

Lauren and Nate

Not only was August 2 the first day of Kindergarten, it was also the day my cousin Lauren chose to marry.  The boys and I missed the morning ceremony because of school, but we were able to make it to the luncheon and the reception that night.  The wedding was very pretty and the reception was held at "the old meeting house" on highland drive.  It was a bit of a nostalgic evening because the last time I was at that reception center was for my sister's wedding, just over 5 years ago, when Elliott was six weeks old.

It was fun to be back and remember that time from so long ago.

Because we didn't make it to the ceremony, I really didn't take many pictures.  In fact, I assigned my camera to my brother and he took the majority of them.  He even did a pretty good job with quite a few.

Congratulations to Lauren and Nate!  And good luck.  Being married is an awesome thing.  And it's really hard, too.

FYI - There are more pictures.  Click HERE if you'd like to see the rest on flickr.

all the grandkids in attendance (I don't think that this was even half?)

My mom and her siblings, two were missing

The first of many firsts

On Thursday, August 2, 2012, this kid started Kindergarten.  

He told his dad the night before that the only thing he was really nervous about was the bathroom.  The Kindergarten bathroom has "tiny toilets" and he was nervous that if he had to use one, he'd be too big.

On Thursday morning, with a little bit of coaxing, the kid got out of bed, dressed in his Welby t-shirt, and refused to eat breakfast.  I managed to get most of a peach and a fruit rope into him before it was time to get in the car and go to school.

We got there a few minutes early, with the rush of parents and so many nervous little five year olds.  My kid though, seemed to keep his cool.  He chatted with me, sized up the rest of the kids, and waited patiently for his teacher to come outside.  Just as it was almost time to walk into the school on the first day of the next 13 years of his life, he looked a wee bit nervous.  But, he's my kid, up for any challenge, and was ready to take on this new adventure.

I was so proud of him.  It's so hard for me to believe I have a kid in kindergarten.  How did he get this old?  This big?  This grown-up.  Though I did not shed a tear like most of the moms waiting around, and I didn't force a hug in front of his peers, I did have a momentary "choked up" moment as he walked into the school.

We'd had a little bit of drama getting Elliott onto the right track and morning kindergarten but once he got to school, I knew that the stomach ache I'd had for the last week would finally go away.  He doesn't know anyone in his class, but I think that he has a great teacher to lead him through this first experience in public school.

When it was time to pick him up, the Chick and I got there a little earlier than we needed to, just in case.  We kept ourselves entertained in the car, waiting for the big kid to come outside.

Once we found him, he bounced across the street, gave me a big hug, jumped into the car and couldn't stop talking about how awesome school was for almost the next hour.

He loved it.

I was so excited.

What a big boy.