May I have the envelope, please?

I like to give credit where credit is due. This is true even in cases where it seems I've done nothing but complain about those to whom I'm giving credit. But the genetics department at Kaiser deserves some credit. Rest assured that the genetics department is a different department from the actual amniotic fluid taking department or the advice nurse department or just about any other department I've ever dealt with at Kaiser, which might explain why the aforementioned departments generate my bitch sessions and the genetics department gets my praise.

But praise indeed it gets. I expected the test results from the amnio sometime next week, since the sample was drawn on Monday the 18th and we were told it would take about two weeks. Exactly 2 weeks after the 18th would be New Year's Day, so I didn't really expect any news until at least Tuesday of next week or even later. Imagine my surprise (and mild terror) when I got a phone call the day before yesterday, Friday, from the genetics department - eleven days from the draw (and the fluid wasn't taken until, like, 5:30 pm). At our introductory class a few months ago, they explained how the call would go. If all was well, they'd say, "Hi, this is so-and-so from the genetics department at Kaiser and I'm calling with good news." This is standard, I guess. This is what I wanted to hear.

So Dave hands me the phone, saying it was someone at Kaiser wanting to talk to me. And what did I hear but, "Hi, this is so-and-so from the genetics department at Kaiser and I'm calling with good news." I admit I hardly heard anything after that. Good news means everything came back fine. While I cried from relief and tried not to get the phone all wet, the nice lady on the phone, whose name is now lost to me because I was only listening for the words "good news", explained something about 46 chromosomes and how they were all there and where they were supposed to be, and then something about AFP levels and how they were fine too so no neural tube defects, but I was honestly just trying to remain standing up. It is one of the very few times in my life when I thought my legs were going to go out from under me from emotion.

I really didn't expect to be so emotional about it. I guess worrying about this baby has become so second nature to me, especially after losing the last pregnancy, that I grew used to it. Over the last two days, I've noticed my brain idly wondering if all is well in there and then my conscious brain overriding it with, "Yes, dumbass - the tests are back, remember?" And then I get this wonderful release and a smile because my stupid brain forgot for a minute.

So then the nice mystery lady on the phone asked if we wanted to know if we were having a boy or a girl and my ears pricked up plenty then. Yes, we sure did want to know. And it turns out that we're having...(drum roll, please.... wait for it... waaaaaait for it...) a GIRL!

It's funny, isn't it, how, when someone tells you something like that, your first response is to screech, "REALLY??" Like they would lie to you or something. Was I expecting this nice lady to jump in with, "Naw, just funnin' ya. You're really having a boy. April Fools a bit early!" But I did screech out, "REALLY??" just the way I did when told I was pregnant in the first place. And the nice lady confirmed indeed that Tycho is a girl.

Of course, we were most worried about a healthy baby and you take what you get and of course I'd have loved a son too and blah blah blah. But let me be nakedly honest with you for just one minute now that it can't hurt anyone. I really wanted a girl. I wanted a girl very much. I do not know if this will be our only child or not, since I'm already 35 and Dave has 10 years on me and with what may well be my only shot at this? I wanted a daughter. I wanted dresses so lacy they'd make your teeth rot and dolls and pink onesies and bows and all the frills that go with a baby girl. I wanted girls soccer and Barbies and model rockets and My Little Pony. I wanted to sign up for "Go wash that makeup off right this minute" and "I know you hate me now but you will not hate me later and I can wait" and "Yes, honey, high school boys are a terrible breed and they stay this way for a long time but someday you will find a man as wonderful as your daddy, you just have to trust me on this." I wanted the options that a girl brings. The Mondays with baby dolls and the Tuesdays with karate. The broken mold that women are now that we have the freedom to choose ballgowns or sweatpants, service jobs or executive positions. I wanted to see it all again through another girl's eyes - a twenty first century, internet savvy, options wide open baby girl.

So, yeah. I'm pretty damn happy.
Posted by GoddessKristin on 12/31/06 at 10:33 AM [link]

The Know-Nothing Party

Note: While the title of today's entry refers to this political party, I think it's also an apt representation of everyone at Kaiser Permanente. As you shall see.

Well, I had the amniocentesis on Monday. A fun time was had by all, if by all you mean absolutely nobody, especially me. As is quickly becoming the norm with Kaiser, it's just one bit of mass confusion after the next, with Tycho and I firmly in the middle.

Dave and I arrived for the appointment 15 minutes ahead of time, as instructed. I had been drinking water for the last hour and a half. When the appointment was being made, I was told to drink 32 oz. of water 90 minutes before the appointment and hold it. After I picked myself up off the floor from the hysterical laughing fit I had when told this, as I am completely unable to even look at a glass of water without needing to pee desperately these days, I tempered the directions with my own judgement. I assumed that drinking 32 oz. of fluid within the 90 minutes prior to the appointment would suffice, so I started with small amounts at 2 pm and by 3:30, when the appointment was, I'd polished off all 32 oz. Right in time!

The one thing I didn't count on in my brilliant plan was that if your doctor's appointment is anything but the first one in the day? You will be brought in late. Very late.

AN HOUR LATE.

And the thing they kept telling me was, "We're not quite ready for you yet." Now, "We're not quite ready" indicates, to me, that a little clean up needs to be done. Perhaps a needle needs to be sterilized or a file put away. "We're not quite ready" is good for about 10 minutes of wait time because it indicates the state of Almost Ready, just not Quite. As we approached 20 minutes of wait time and everyone who'd come in after me had disappeared into the offices, I leaned over to Dave and pointed out that, time wise, we'd passed "not quite ready" and gone into "we're running a little late" time.

But it didn't end there. As we passed the 30 minute mark and my bladder started indicating in no uncertain terms that it was full! And hurting! And please please for the love of God visit the restroom, won't you!? I pointed out to Dave that we had now blown past "we're running a little late" and entered "we should have told you about this when you checked in".

The next 10 minutes were a meditation exercise in which I thought only of deserts and the surface of the moon. Places where there is no fluid to be found. Unlike my bladder, which was holding all the fluid in the Western Hemisphere. It's not only embarrasing to be doing the Pee-Pee Dance as a grown woman, but also very uncomfortable. Who would sign up for that? Nobody. I mean, I dare you to drink 32 oz of water and then sit for 2 hours. You would refuse, and you would be right to!

When we got to 45 minutes late, and I'd told Dave we were clearly at, "We've stopped giving a damn about you" time, he caught a nurse and asked how much more time we would be waiting since my bladder was at critical mass.

Do you know what she said? Can you guess? Because I couldn't have guessed on a bet.

"Oh you don't have to have a full bladder. They keep telling people that on the phone but it's not necessary. You can go to the bathroom."

I admit that I sort of lost my cool at that moment. In a voice that was a wee bit lounder than I'd intended I blurted out, "Oh my GOD, are you KIDDING me? Why did they tell me to drink 32 oz of WATER two HOURS ago and then HOLD it for God's sake? Why didn't anyone TELL me this 45 MINUTES ago!? Where the hell is the BATHROOM??"

I think the rest of the people in the waiting room were laughing at me, which is good, I like to be the afternoon's entertainment, but JESUS! When I got back from my pilgrammage to the porcelin Mecca, I told Dave, "I think this is confirmation that Kaiser hates me as much as I hate it."

Eventually we got called in. The tech who did the ultrasound said about 3 words to us the whole time, so Dave and I got to play "Guess That Baby Part". I hoped that by making wildly innaccurate guesses ("Is that a leg or another baby?") the tech would be prompted to give us a clue as to what we were looking at, but no dice. This tech, following the Kaiser protocol of Keep 'Em Uncomfortable, mashed the living hell out of my lower abdomen, apparently in the belief that if he crushed the baby, it would provide better images. I'm still sore today, almost 48 hours later. He said he needed to do it to get better pictures, but that was total baloney because when he would let up the pressure, the image didn't change one iota.

Then... he left. Without telling us anything. Being a reasonably intelligent person with eyes, I could see for myself that Tycho has but one head and one spine and appears to have two legs and an arm or two (given the angle it was hard to see both at once). The one very thrilling thing we learned is that Tycho moves! I could not feel this, but we saw it with our own eyes. Tycho kicks and waves his or her delicate little arms around and jerks about in a way that made Dave say with great sympathy, "I think you have a kicker in there." It was exteremly creepy, to tell you the truth. I have a little parasite in me that moves around and I can't feel it. It sort of gives me the heebie-jeebies.

In a miraculous, wonderous sort of way.

So then, finally, Dr. Wonderful arrived, to great fanfare. I had started referring to him as Dr. Wonderful in a sneery, sarcastic way - I can't imagine why my Snarkometer was peaking. I asked Dr. Wonderful what news he could provide, as the tech had told us nothing. Was a nuchal fold measurement taken in the 45 minutes of abdomen mashing? Was it within normal ranges? Were other measurements on track... from the 45 MINUTES OF PAINFUL ABDOMEN MASHING? Dr. Wonderful informed us that, despite the fact that Tycho was measuring exactly to dates, he or she was a wee bit too small to see things like a heart and brain ("and da noive...") which they like to check out. I would have liked to have been assured that Tycho has a heart and not an empty black cavern in which hate and despair festers, but no such luck. Many measurements could not be taken today. I would have to come back in 3 weeks for that reassurance.

I would like to digress here for just a moment and send up a plaintive WHY??? to the universe. Why on God's green earth did Kaiser BOTHER to schedule this appointment at 16 weeks if the baby, who is measuring exactly 16 weeks, would be too small to check out!? Doesn't someone KNOW when an appropriate time would be? I am confused. It is not the first time, nor, I fear, will it be the last.

So anyway, then the party really started. The needles were brought out, my belly was iodine covered, and I promptly freaked the hell out because OH MY GOD WE ARE STICKING A LONG NEEDLE HALFWAY THROUGH MY BODY WITHOUT PAINKILLER AND ALSO IT WILL BE VERY NEAR MY BABY AND HOLY CRAP THIS PROCEEDURE HAS COMPLICATIONS AND WHAT WAS I THINKING!!!!!?????

And then it was over.

Actually, it took longer than that and do not believe anyone who says, "Oh it doesn't hurt, you don't even feel the needle" because they are lying to you. I'm here to tell you that I felt the needle. I felt it pierce my skin and I felt it pass through my abdomen and I felt it go through the uterine wall and I felt it move around and hurt and I hope this grosses you out because this is the real world, baby! I don't sugar coat it. That needle hurt. I felt it. I whined. I said quiet little "ow"s so the doctor would know I felt it and it hurt and my eyes got big as saucers and there was a needle halfway through me, people. Who would believe you wouldn't feel that?

And when it was removed I knew it (because I could feel it), and there was a great outpouring of breath on my part because who knew I could hold my breath for that long? Learn something new every day.

So. In summary. Here is what we know:

We know that I am gestating a baby and not a shrimp (I had my doubts). We know it has an actual head. We know there are legs and arms and a spine. We know that it moves (actually, we know that it's capable of flipping over - the tech pictures showed it belly down but by the time the doctor showed up, it was laying on it's back. My child is the next Nadia Comeneche). We know it is measuring right where it should. We know that needles stuck through our abdomens are painful (which should be a big duh, but somehow surprised even me).

Here are some things we thought we might learn, but did not:

We do not know the baby's gender. We do not know if the nuchal fold measurement indicates any potential problems. We do not know if Tycho has a four chambered heart like other mammals or if he/she is harboring some sort of freakish mutation which will turn on us in a bloody rampage.

Not knowing these things is troubling. I will keep you posted.

And now, what you actually came here for. Pictures!

Here is Tycho on his or her stomach. The head is on the left, body in the middle, legs are scrunched up on the right.



And here is Tycho about 30 minutes later, flipped on his or her back. I love this picture because you can actually see the face. We made a baby with a nose, people! This seems like a great accomplishment! Good job, kid! See you again in a few weeks!
Posted by GoddessKristin on 12/20/06 at 11:06 AM [link]

So. Much. Food.

The thing about being a teacher is that, despite the fairly abysmal pay, the constant blame of politicians and the pressure to fit an hour's worth of lesson into 42 minutes, you won't go hungry. At least, you won't at my school, where even on a normal day you can find something to eat just about anywhere. Teachers bake things. This seems to be a truism across the board. They are givers. And they are never more giving than at holiday time, where the food starts pouring in the day after Thanksgiving break and does not let up for a second, culminating in an orgy of culinary delights on the last day before break. Which is today.

Let me think for a moment and sum up the food this week:

Bags of homemade almond brittle: 1
Snowman covered bag of Ghiradelli chocolates: 1
Box of chocolate covered macadamia nuts: 1
Pot luck lunches: 1
Pot luck breakfasts: 2
Very large bags of Harry and David's peanut butter truffles: 1

And then? Then? to top it off? We're having our classroom party today. Oh, the food has reached ridiculous proportions! To wit:

Liter bottles of soda: 11
Gallons of lurid red punch: 3
Dozens of cupcakes: 2
Boxes of candy canes: 1
Boxes or bags or plates of cookies: 6
Tins of brownies: 3
Packages of muffins: 2
Plates of hot chicken wings: 1
Ginormous plates of homemade sushi: 1
Containers of Indian food: 2
Plates of unidentifiable but homemade pie-shaped items: 1
Bowls of macaroni salad: 1
Jello pies: 1
Loaves of bread with containers of spread that might contain tuna or might be crab: 1
Loaves of quickbread: 3
Bags of chips: 5
Huge plates of watermelon: 1
Things ties up in bags that I haven't even opened yet: 2
Enormous pizzas that I will order at 11 o'clock and which will disappear into the hungry maws of 8th grade students exactly 2 minutes after they arrive: 2

Lord help us.
Posted by GoddessKristin on 12/15/06 at 10:45 AM [link]

Google is my new doctor

Just in case anyone was concerned (certainly nobody at my doctor's office was), the pain in my pubic bone is nothing to worry about. Merely an inconvenience of pregnancy. Of course, I had to race across the Tri-cities to confirm that, but I needed to raise my blood pressure anyway, right?

Actually, I knew I was fine. I was all but convinced that I shouldn't even call Kaiser on Monday because a quick Googling on Sunday of "pubic bone pain pregnant" revealed lots of links to information about a condition called Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction. Basically I'm one of those lucky women for whom the hormone relaxin is very effective. As this hormone begins to help the pelvis stretch and the pressure of the growing baby pushes down on the pubic bone, the ligaments... look, there are owies, OK? Early-in-the-pregnancy pelvic owies, but... you know... boo-boos that are normal, if inconvenient.

See, I'm not a doctor. Apparently it takes a scientist (or the Internet) to explain this, because, when I finally got the Real Sophie on the phone yesterday afternoon, she insisted that I come in immediately and talk to a midwife. Like, can you get in the car and be here asap? Well, yes I could, if I dropped everything, which I did.

So, I jump in the car and race across Union City and Fremont, convinced that my cervix must be opening and all will soon be lost, despite the fact that Google had assured me I was just fine, thank you, on Sunday.

I get to the clinic, walk in, get registered, pee in a cup, sit down and immediately get called to be weighed, have my blood pressure taken and placed in a room. Within 2 minutes the midwife walks in. I swear to you, it was the fastest I have ever been served at Kaiser and I didn't even have an appointment 20 minutes before I got in the car!

The midwife (not my normal wonderful Maggie, but a nice woman named Maria), reviews my pain and then tells me... drum roll, please... that I appear to have Symphysis Pubis Dysfunction. Basically this means I'm one of those lucky women for whom the hormone relaxin is very effective. As this hormone begins to help the pelvis stretch and the pressure of the growing baby pushes down on the pubic bone, the ligaments...

I should have stuck with Dr. Google.

Note: I did get to hear the baby's heartbeat again, which was nice. Everything seems on the up and up in there, and we're having the amnio on Monday. Long, long, long story short? We're all fine Chez Shrimp-in-mah-belly

Posted by GoddessKristin on 12/14/06 at 08:38 AM [link]

As much fun as a slap in the face with a wet tuna

Oh my goodness is it ever fun to call Kaiser. Except when, you know, nobody has a clue.

Which is always.

On Monday I called the advice line about a pain I have been having since last Friday. I've been having sciatica, which is no fun but not something you get nervous about when pregnant. But the new pain is smack dab in the center of my pubic bone and, while not internal and scary, still isn't exactly expected. So, like a good patient, I call the advice nurse to get reassured that all is well and this is normal.

No such reassurance is forthcoming. Instead, the advice nurse on the phone decides that it's sort of early in the pregnancy to feel this pain and decides to send a "clinically urgent" message off to a qualified medical professional. Whether this professional is my OB (who I have not laid eyes on since May and has nothing to do with my prenatal care at this point) or my midwife (who is the primary caregiver 'round these parts), I was not told but I have my suspicions. The Big Fun with Kaiser is that their system is completely unable to send messages to midwives, despite the fact that the midwives are the primary caregivers for a low-risk pregnancy and everyone is routinely assigned to one. All messages appear to need to go to your OB of record, even if he wouldn't recognize you in a lineup of one.

Which seems like a great system, no? Send your "urgent" messages to someone who has no medical history of you instead of the woman you just saw two weeks ago? Yeah, I love that too. Also, I am increasingly convinced that my OB of record is an asshole since he routinely takes days and days to have an assistant get around to getting back to you.

So off the message goes into the mysterious ether of my OB's inbox. Please note, it was marked clinically urgent. URGENT. I was assured that someone would call back within the hour.

That was two days ago.

At 12:25 pm today, I got an email from Dave saying that Sophie from Kaiser called. Please call her back. Immediately, I think "Hurrah! They finally got around to my urgent message! What great service! They will be out to lunch from 12:30 to 1:30! I have 5 minutes to call them and 12 kids to get out of my classroom first! What fun!"

Except, you know, with all the sarcasm I could muster.

So I call, right? About the "clinically urgent" message that I left ON MONDAY? And it is now WEDNESDAY? Yes, OK, you are with me. And when the phone is answered, Sophie has no idea who I am. She does not know what my problem is, who my doctor/midwife is and in a repeated act of desperation, wants to schedule an appointment that she is conviced I want. Which I do not. But since she cannot find any information about me at all even after I give her my name three times and my medical number twice, she really just wants me to schedule an appointment to get me off her hands, I think. The conversation goes something like this:

Sophie: And so you want to schedule an appointment?

Me: No. I want to find out if this pain is something I should be concerned about. I was trying to get advice and the nurse on the phone sent an urgent message two days ago.

Sophie: What is your name again?

Me: Kristin. Pinnatore.

Sophie: We called so many people this morning...

Me: (!!!!) Yes, I imagine you did. Two days worth of urgent messages would be a lot.

Sophie: (Oblivious to the only slightly bitchy tone in my voice) And what was the problem again?

Me: I have been having intermittant sharp pain in the pubic bone. I am pregnant. I am concerned. I left a message. On Monday. Don't you actually have that message? To refer to?

Sophie: And your name starts with a P?

Me: Yes. A P. As in Probably I will drop dead before this conversation is over (OK - I didn't really say the last part. But I thought it).

Sophie: Hmmm. I can't seem to find your information.

Me: But you called me. You called me! This morning! Just a few minutes ago!

Sophie: ... So... did you want to make an appointment?

Finally I ask her if she is the doctor's assistant or what because, like, am I in the Twilight Zone? And that - THAT - is when I find out that she is no relation to the Sophie who actually has any information about me. There are two! Two Sophies! One of which is confused as hell and the other who is not there!

I will call back later and hopefully the Real Sophie With Information will be around. Otherwise I will sit in the corner and eat my own head.

I swear to you, when this kid is born, someone related to me is required to follow it everywhere until it has been marked as ours with indelible ink. Because I do not trust Kaiser not to try to send us home with a Chinese baby and say it is just a virus.
Posted by GoddessKristin on 12/13/06 at 01:17 PM [link]

A Womb of One's Own

Just in case the ultrasound was confusing, what with all the static and the fact that the "baby" resembles a deep fried shrimp in the picture, here is a helpful annotated portrait of the child we are currently referring to as Tycho:

This ultrasound was done at 7 weeks, 6 days. Today I'm 14 weeks, 2 days. I assume the kid has grown some since the last peek and has developed more... parts. Next peek is December 18, where we hope to see an actual baby and not the entree at China Village.

We heard Tycho's heartbeat last week. It was a helpful 140. The old wive's tale says above 140 is a girl and below 140 is a boy. Apparently we're having a hermaphrodite.
Posted by GoddessKristin on 12/07/06 at 08:36 PM [link]

And how've you been?

We've been busy, Chez Yarn Hacker. When last we spoke, the kitchen was devoid of... well, anything, huh? It was pretty darn empty.

Well. The next night, Dave and I spent 2 hours puzzling out Ikea instructions (which include an odd, blob-like, Schmoo-shaped drawing that is supposed to represent you, the proud owner of this Ikea merchandise but looks more like you, the industrial accident) and came up with this:



(Notice the new flooring, please. We did not lay that. That's why it looks so good, methinks. Notice the paint job on the walls. My mom and Dave did that, which, again, is why it looks good. I am a danger to myself and others when I paint.)

Impressive, no? NO! That is only ONE cabinet! There are eighteen - 18!! (I wish there were capital numerals so I could emphasize that even more. 18, people) cabinets to build and install! This, frankly, was terrifying.

But we perservered. And soon we had this:



Stacks and stacks of cabinets. Ok, five. Five cabinets. Not all of them, I know. But, you know. Some. Enough to start work, which we did the weekend before Thanksgiving. By the end of last week, we were at this point, which, you have to admit, is good:



It looks like a kitchen, doesn't it? Sort of? A little? Expect the appliances are all scattershot and there's no drawers or doors or... or counters... or...

OK, it's not so much a kitchen as the shadow of a kitchen. The hint of kitchens to come. A whisper thin promise of a coming attraction. But it's a hell of a lot further than where we started from, I will remind you.

Last weekend, with the help of my mother and my brother-in-law, we got even further and installed the microwave, thus we have this:



It doesn't look a lot different, but I'm into the documentation, so there ya go. The Corian people, after some confusion, came out three days ago to measure for the counters and in a week or two we will have said counters, the installation of which requires that we do some substantial work this weekend to prepare. This is a good thing, as it lights the proverbial fire under our asses. This is the boring middle section of the renovation, where the big, scary, major work is complete (demolition, all floors are complete, all cabinets are built, 15 or the 18 cabinets are secured to the walls and not going anywhere) but everything is still stacked in the other room and you can't use anything yet.

We're still camping out upstairs since there's no place to sit downstairs, but that's actually been OK. I've been reading more, which is nice, and in a short 2 weeks I'll be out for the winter holidays so life is pretty good.

Oh, and there's one more thing. While we've been busy making a new kitchen for ourselves, something else has been baking...


Posted by GoddessKristin on 12/01/06 at 04:21 PM [link]