Migraine, Angry, and Tired of the Wizard


It’s probably not a good mom thing to say, but I’m a little bit tired of the Wizard of Oz at the moment. I’m glad we have three days off. I watched the whole show again tonight and I came home with a migraine, complete with auras and shooting light issues. I’m going to be upfront and say I just took an Ambien, so I have about 10 minutes to write a halfway decent blog before I lost all sense of reality.

I have written two blogs and not published them over the past two days. Yesterday’s blog was a complete angry overshare. I’m pissed at my husband. The problem is not only am I pissed at him for crap he’s doing now, I’m pissed at him for something he did 7 years ago and I realized that I just can’t let it go. That’s not good or healthy. It’s not that it’s something on my mind 24/7, but when we sat down to talk about why I feel like I’m last on his list behind his mom, sisters, work, etc. and I started to give examples it just hit me. There was no greater example and perhaps that’s something that I just can’t forgive.

I was hesitant about writing about it, even in an anonymous blog because it’s an issue I don’t discuss much; not with friends or family. I have a few select friends who know the story, but most know bits and pieces that I’ve allowed them to know. I always say I’m not a people person and I get mocked for that because I come across friendly and nice. It’s not that I’m not nice, it’s more that I don’t know how to let people in or let them get to know me. I’m not special or cool, and I certainly wouldn’t let most people see my pain. But then today I thought it might be therapeutic in some ways to write it, so I will. If I regret it tomorrow…I’ll just never discuss this blog post again and we can’t forget it ever happened.

I had a terrible time getting pregnant. I had several miscarriages before I eventually found a fertility specialist that allowed me to tell him what I wanted to do to get pregnant. I was a crazy person…a true maniac on the subject. I researched everything to the point that I couldn’t stop. I knew so much that when we met with the new reproductive endocrinologist and I discussed everything with him, he asked me what type of physician I was. My husband nearly burst out laughing.

Anyway, my new doctor was wonderful and I had three successful pregnancies on the first try each time I tried with him. When we tried for the third baby, however, things didn’t go smooth. Well, I had horrid pregnancies with hyperemesis and IVs at home, but that’s a story for another day. My third pregnancy was a triplet pregnancy. When you hear you are pregnant with triplets and you have a 2-year-old and a 1-year-old at home, I can assure you the reaction is not one of joy…it’s terror.

We lost one baby very early on, and came to terms with the fact that we were going to have four children under the age of 4. I was a mess. I was scared. I’m 5-feet-tall and at the time I weighed about 105. I was already high risk because of the hyperemesis, but now I was in a whole new category of high risk. They were worried I wouldn’t physically be able to carry the babies to term and would need bed rest, but whatever, I’d do what I need to do.

At 16 weeks I went for an ultrasound and one of the babies had died. I don’t remember the details of that day very well. I insisted on going in to work and didn’t discuss it with anyone there. In fact, I didn’t tell them for about a week, and when I did I just blurted it out because I didn’t know how to tell them. There were so many things that happened all at once but the main concern was for the baby that was still alive. It was looking like she had severe issues. They did a higher level ultrasound and diagnosed her with clubbed feet. I was told that a lot of people in the past chose to abort babies with clubbed feet because of potential other issues. I’ll never forget that sentence as long as I live.

Because I’m a maniac, I then researched every possible thing on clubbed feet. I knew what kind of treatment my daughter would have and that it needed to begin within three days of birth. It involved full leg casting that changed weekly and then bracing for years. I was prepared.

I gave birth to my baby on February 12, 2007 and I was afraid to look at her at first. There’s that innate fear of, “omg, what if it’s so bad they can’t fix it.” I didn’t look. I let her latch on and breast feed and I snuggled her tight and promised her I’d never let her go and I’d never let anything bad happen to her. From that moment on, I became the most protective mom you’ve ever seen. I’m an overprotective mom in general, but I can’t even put into words what it felt like. I just knew I had to protect her from the world.

She got cast on a three days old and we were told that her feet and legs “weren’t that bad.” I forgot to mention that my sister-in-law (husband’s sister) and I were due 7 days apart. She had an easy pregnancy. So there I was with my three week old baby in casts (she was born 5 weeks early) and I felt something happening to me. I had intense cramping like labor. Minutes later, I passed a large mass of tissue. When I looked closer (as gross as that sounds) I could see that it was the remains of a partially formed baby. It was small, very small…maybe 4 inches. I called the doctor and they told me to bring it in to the ER to be analyzed to be sure, but why? What for?

So that brings me to the part of the story where I get mad at my husband. About an hour before that happened we got the call that his sister was in labor. His family does everything together. The fact that I wanted no one at the hospital until after the baby was born was almost world ending for them. They called the house and wanted my husband to come to the hospital. It didn’t matter that we had two toddlers and a newborn. But then this happened. And he still went…

And I don’t forgive for that. I’m not looking for anyone to make any nasty comments about him please. I actually do really care for him. We had a long talk today and I really went off about this. He said that he’s apologized a million times, but to be honest I think today was the first time he’s apologized and said if he had to do it again he would never have made that choice again. But it is done and I can’t let it go. And that’s when things fell apart because nothing anyone can say or do will ever convince me that I’m more of a priority that his family. If I wasn’t a priority on one of the hardest days of my life, I never will be.

Ok, well this blog is a complete downer and I really try not to do that, but if you’re still reading it, thank you for letting me ramble this out. Sometimes you just need to get your feelings out, and for me, this isn’t a story that I tell, and it certainly isn’t an easy one, so thank you for listening.

On a MUCH lighter note. The Breakfast Club is on tv and I haven’t seen this movie in YEARS. What a great movie. You young people that haven’t seen it need to watch it! I remember when this came out, and it’s still hilarious. I got talked into watching The Notebook last night. I’m not much of a movie person, but it was sweet. I’m not sure what all the hype was about, but it was a sweet story. I might try and read the book in all my spare time now that my son is starting football practice. Oh yes Monday through Thursday 5:30-8:30, because I have nothing else to do!

At least for the first few weeks it’s at the high school and I can walk the track. Maybe I’ll lose more weight.


A Birthday Party, Gluten-free Pasta, and Rheumatoid Arthritis


I survived the family birthday party for my soon-to-be seven-year-old daughter. She’s my little fashionista so everything was zebra print, including the cake. She had a great time, though twenty+ people in a small house is chaotic. I spent the better part of yesterday cooking and cleaning, only taking one or two timeouts to rest.

I actually thought I’d be doing much worse today than I was. And surprisingly, I made it through the party staying gluten-free! I tried Ronzoni gluten-free pasta, and I truly didn’t know the difference. I separated my little baked ziti from the normal one just in case it really sucked. Surprisingly, people wanted to try it and everyone liked it.

I’m not a big cake person, so passing on the cake was not a big deal for me. My step-mother made this dessert that I like that has sherbet, Jello, and Cool Whip. I was happy eating that, and I gave the evil eye to everyone that wanted some of my delicious treat. All in all it was a good day. I’m wiped out, but it was worth it for my baby.

My pregnancy with my youngest was not a pleasurable time for me. Actually, I had three hellish pregnancies after multiple miscarriages. My pregnancies involved lots of puke and IVs of fluids at home for several weeks at a time from hyperemesis. With my youngest daughter, my pregnancy started with twins and I lost a twin at about 16 weeks. In the process, my daughter was crushed by the position of the second baby and her legs and feet were mangled.

At my 20-week ultrasound we were told the baby had clubbed feet. I knew something was wrong. The nurse was super quiet and it took about 30 minutes for the doctor to come in and speak to us. I told my husband something wasn’t right, but he told me I was over-reacting. It turned out that I was correct. I zoned out as other things were mentioned that often went along with clubbed feet including neurological issues, etc.

I was scared to look at my daughter when she was born. I was so afraid to see her legs and feet, but there she was…almost five weeks early, this tiny, beautiful little baby. She was put in casts up to her hips at three days old, and the casts were changed every week for six weeks. At that time she was given special shoes with a Dr. Brown’s bar that forced her feet to turn out. This was a very difficult time for me emotionally. I felt a fierce need to protect my daughter from everything. I cried for her that she was uncomfortable with the bar, and I can’t even tell you how many times I got smashed in my head, hand, arm, etc. with the big metal bar.

Like everything else in my life, I researched every detail. Before she was born I knew what treatment method I wanted and I interviewed doctors. When my daughter’s feet corrected way sooner than clubbed feet and they didn’t show the typical rigid signs that clubbed feet have, I emailed the founder of the treatment method. He’s a 92-year-old (at the time) man who still practiced at the University of Iowa one day a week. About ten minutes after I sent the email, Dr. Ponseti called me on the phone to discuss my daughter. Basically he agreed with my that it wasn’t clubbed feet but rather a positional issue from the womb.

Try explaining to your pediatric orthopedic doctor that you know he is a great doctor, but you actually talked to the man who created the Ponseti Treatment method. That’s me. That’s who I am, and there is nothing I wouldn’t do to help my kids.

Seven years later, my daughter never stops moving, running, jumping, singing, and talking. She’ll talk all day, whether anyone is listening or not. I wasn’t planning on going in to that whole story tonight, but I think it is a huge part of my history and who I am. I found strength that I never knew I had. I am very blessed that the worst of my issues with her is ADD (and a bit of sass).

As for my fibro and RA, today was pretty good. My hands never quite warmed up, but I conveniently gripped my cup of tea most of the day to keep them from freezing. My hands are hurting right now, but it could be much worse. It’s also snowing again…go ahead and feel the joy that’s oozing out of that statement. How many more days until spring?

I hope my online autoimmune peeps are doing well tonight. Stay warm!