So sick. Soooo sick.
Feel like I’ve been bursting with stories to tell, things to post, etc., but posting is much too annoying from my new non-Droid phone, and now that I have my new non-Droid phone and can check email and whatnot while lying on my side, it’s been difficult to get myself to sit upright and use both hands at an actual computer. Lying on my side is MUCH better as far as various pregnancy symptoms are concerned. But here I am, though if I haven’t mentioned it yet, I feel sooo sick.
No stroke yet. Dr. SuperStroke read the MRI, finally, and called us back, finally, and… had nothing to say. Apparently the stupid arteries look the same as they did in January. You know, the last time she had a TIA. Feh. Oddly, Dr. SuperStroke kept saying they look “good.” I suppose I’m glad about that — who doesn’t want their kid to have nice-looking arteries? — but lady, if she’s still having TIAs, the arteries are not “good.” So, there’s no news. Just like I said there wouldn’t be. No news until the next one, that is. And I shall insert my requisite “God forbid,” though I confess it’s more than a little forced. In the meantime, my evil explosive mood has abated (I do not say “improved”) perhaps 5%, and I don’t think I’ve bitten anyone’s head off in at least three days.
Girls started camp today (this was written yesterday, i.e. on Monday). Boy quite lonely. It’s pretty sad. “Goze?” he asks (= “girls”). “They went to camp,” we tell him. But it isn’t long before he asks again. Poor kid. 
Anyway, turns out the twins were put in the same bunk because they don’t have quite enough post-second grade girls in attendance to fill up two bunks. So they’re together again. Feh. We were really, really hoping to get the ball rolling on having them each fend for themselves, especially YS, who we believe could use some space from R. We felt like camp was the perfect place to start, especially right before they’re holed up on top of each other for three weeks during our annual road trip. Heh. Meanwhile, counselors, division head, and nurse have all been prepped about R. “Here’s what to watch for. Here’s what to do. Also be sure she drinks a lot.” Of course, the nurse and division head know all about her from last year, unless for some reason they forgot (HAHAHAHAHA).
Speaking of last year, know what tonight is? 17 Tammuz. Remember what I did last year on 17 Tammuz? Broke my fast, among other things. R was having her angiogram, see. So on the Jewish calendar, it’s been a year since the stroke. Shudder. Don’t want to think about it. (HAHAHA, good one)
Hey, here’s a funny story from the hospital last year. So among other things, R had to have an EEG, by which I mean lots of wires attached to her head and hooked up to a computer that recorded her brain activity, in case she had a seizure (she didn’t). Now when you have an EEG, you also need to be watched by someone’s eyes, because if the computer records seizure activity, it’s important to also see what the person’s body is doing. In some cases R has been put in a monitored room, by which I mean there’s a video camera recording her and it’s all visible from the nurse’s station. But when she had the stroke in July, none of the monitored rooms were available. So this funky spherical thing was attached to the computer instead, looking sort of like a lamppost, but really it was a video camera that recorded everything in the room at once. You couldn’t duck out of its way; it covered every corner.
So there were G and myself, sitting in the room with our six year-old daughter who had just had a stroke, and no one knew why, though there were a few theories based on the MRI, and it was nighttime and R was asleep, and G and I were of course in total shock and still reeling. We had decided I would stay at the hospital and G would go home, and suddenly I realized something — it was the night of 17 Tammuz, which meant the 3 Weeks were starting the next morning, which meant no haircuts, and my hair (such that it is) was already a straggly overgrown mess. “G, you need to cut my hair,” I said. So we got scissors (from where? who knows) and I yanked off my handy dandy bandanna, and I realized something else — the spherical camera thingie was recording this, i.e., me with my hair all naked and visible to the world. GASP And I don’t do that, see.
Of course, the problem was that as I said, this particular camera recorded the entire room. There was no escaping it. I don’t remember why we didn’t duck into the bathroom, but we didn’t; I’m sure we had a reason (maybe not wanting to leave R alone? who remembers). So — I ended up taking a blanket and throwing it over the sphere while I bared my head and G did his usual bang-up job of making my hair look like it’s been chewed up by chipmunks. Heehee. But then again, if I wanted to marry a hairdresser, I’d have married a hairdresser.
So I thought this was pretty funny, because how many couples do you think throw blankets over the EEG camera for a few minutes of privacy, and how many of them do you suppose do so in order to engage in a romantic moment of haircutting? I remember being distantly amused somewhere in the back of my frozen mind, trying to imagine what we must look like to people outside of our loop. Of course, I ended up sleeping in that room that night with my bare naked head on my pillow, perfectly visible to the camera. Oops. I realized this as G was getting ready to leave, and we had a brief conversation about it, and whether we were just too drained to care, or we actually decided it was ok for some reason, I really couldn’t tell you.
Anyway, this year I ain’t fasting, but not because I completely lose it after waiting for my child to come out of her somewhat invasive brain procedure. Even if that does happen again (heh), I will not have been fasting in the first place, on account of my being sick as a dog with this pregnancy. Whee! There are perks to pregnancy illness after all.
Ok, now it’s Tuesday evening, and guess what? I have heartburn! And here’s a somewhat new one — I’m also cramping. Nice (ouch). But I don’t need to call the doctor, because I just came home from the doctor about an hour ago, having had the major ultrasound, or “anatomical scan,” wherein they check all the baby’s organs and bones and fingers and toes and eyeballs and who knows what, and they actually saw me cramping, and they didn’t seem to care. Sure they don’t care; they aren’t the ones in pain. Feh. So baruch Hashem it all looks fine. Baby has everything it needs and it’s all good. They did, however, tell me that I’m a carrier for some disease I never heard of, and they’re making G come in to be tested to see if he’s a carrier too. This irritates me for all sorts of reasons. First of all, I’m sick of all the paranoia in this world, especially when it comes to pregnancy, and second of all, they never tested me for this before, so why am I supposed to think this is a big deal? The doctor told me they keep expanding the “Jewish panel,” or the number of genetic tests they do on pregnant Jewish women. Now call me some sort of liberal maniac or whatever, but my instinct, which is probably stupid, is to immediately bristle at the idea of someone testing me for something just because I’m a Jew. Did I tell them to do this test? Truth be told I probably did; I pretty much sign everything they stick in front of me. But still. Who are they to screen my blood just because I’m a Jew? Isn’t this what we call racial profiling? Yes, thank you, I know it’s for my own protection, and more importantly the baby’s protection, but I can’t help feeling instinctively uncomfortable with the idea. Even if it supposedly a good idea for which I should be grateful. Maybe if I’d ever heard of this disease I’d feel differently. I suppose I’ll look it up. (No, I am not going to say what it is.)
There are other matters afoot that I don’t feel like writing about, such as the unimaginable bizarre incompetence at the Board of Ed (short version: R’s services never started, and things are still not in place for them to start in the fall. Yes I am making a pest of myself. No I am not going to get into it), and my son’s obsession with girls’ shoes, and the fact that after years and years and hundreds of transactions on ebay, we were actually ripped off for the first time a few weeks ago (not with the car!), and it looks like I might have just been ripped off a second time. ?!?! What’s that all about? But I’m going to go take my heartburn and abdominal cramps and lie down instead of writing. Have an easy rest of the fast.
Tags: Dept of Ed, Holidays, Pregnancy, Stroke
