Popped Bubble Wrap

*Note: I typed this out on Thursday and had to wait until I had internet again, and then until it was actually working to copy and paste and publish this post. Stupid, stupid, STUPID country and everything in it.

Anyone that has been following this blog and/or the one I had prior to this one will know that a lot crappy things have happened to me. As a matter of fact, I attract crappy things like a crap attracting magnet. Despite all the whatevers that have been going on, I have been trying, desperately I’ll admit, to be as positive and calm and cheerful and relaxed as I possibly can. If not for the baby or Taurus Man or my furballs, then to keep the pieces of my sanity floating around until some kind of miracle happens so that when I tell people “I’m fine” I’ll actually be able to mean it.

Today, however, is one of those days. The kind of day that makes you want to sit on the floor, throw your hands up in the air and say “I give up. What now?” Yeah, I should try harder to keep a smile on my face and make everyone comfortable and try to be more of a positive influence and less of a party pooper. There are a lot of things I should be doing. But the invisible bubble wrap I’ve wrapped myself in to keep the bad feelings out? All my bubbles are officially popped, and it’s not so much fun sitting in popped bubble wrap. (If you don’t get that I mean that figuratively….well….just know that I mean that figuratively)

Kitty’s death has finally soaked in. My due date is that much closer. My suspicions of the crappy hospital protocols I’ll be subjected to in this country have been confirmed. The options I thought I might have available to me have been shunned. The liberties I hoped I would have until then are gone. Taurus Man is getting more and more insistent on putting Hyper Doggy in the garage and giving away the kittens. There are more and more things piling up on my plate and I have less and less time to deal with these things and work them out. All those things on my plate? My plate got too heavy and today I dropped it. I cracked under the pressure. I fell and hit the ground hard. And I looked around to find myself in a dark little room, alone.

There is ONE person in my family that still has my back and has welcomed Taurus Man as my husband and always treated me with kindness and consideration. She is the only person that regularly checks up on me, albeit online, and shows any care or concern even while tending to her own family. She is the only person that has offered to help me with the baby after delivery. I know I will most likely need help. If Taurus Man is hopefully working by then, it will be me, by myself, to tend to all the household chores, take care of the baby, myself, and deal with Cancer Grump’s crap. With my history, I’m worried about post-partum depression being an issue as well. I would like to take up this family member very much on her offer, but Cancer Grump’s track record doesn’t read too nicely. He bullies Taurus Man and I on a regular basis. I had one of Taurus Man’s friend’s wives come over earlier in the year to help me cook for a prayer service when I was unwell. Cancer Grump insulted her and tossed offensive comments about her religion and cooking style around and tried to start a fight with the priest/pundit and quarreled and complained through half the program until he finally locked himself in his room. The friend left hurriedly as soon as she finished and did not look at me or say a single word. It took until after Taurus Man’s heart attack for her to finally come forward and admit why she left so quickly and requested that she never have to come back again. The relative with the curious questions who stayed with us for a week that I mentioned in the last post? By the morning of the third day, she was near tears. Cancer Grump had apparently been interrogating her and quarreling with her every chance he got her alone. Taurus Man had had a serious talk with Cancer Grump before she came over, stating that a relative of mine (we referred to her as my ‘cousin’) was coming over and that Cancer Grump was to leave us alone, especially me with the additional responsibilities on my hands after Taurus Man’s heart attack. Taurus Man laid down the law and said he would not tolerate anymore of Cancer Grump’s bullying me around. So, Cancer Grump had been waiting to get my relative alone to bully her instead. She actually intended to stay longer, but by the end of that third day, was desperately trying to make plans to find somewhere else to stay. The earliest she could leave was a week after she came and she reluctantly stayed until then. I do not want to risk losing the last family support person I have. Taurus Man thinks that if she’s willing, I should let her come and just explain the situation, but I don’t think he understands how troubled these people are by his father’s actions. The most he can do is ask Cancer Grump not to quarrel with someone, and by then, the damage is already done, and Cancer Grump does as he pleases anyway. Most likely, I’m looking at being alone and unsupported with the baby and everything else that will be going on then. The most I can hope for is that Taurus Man is still unemployed (which I shouldn’t hope for) and can help me and act as my line of defense against his dad.

I have done a lot of research on birth over the years, and I had decided on some options I would have liked to have when I was ready to give birth. For this reason, Taurus Man and I were working on a plan. The gist was that we wouldn’t consider kids until we could save up to get out of this house and have a place of our own, where a child could grow up safely and hopefully happily, without fear of abuse or mistreatment. I told Taurus Man we would consider it after 5 years of marriage. I figured with both of us working, we should have a little something to get the ball rolling. With his mother constantly pressuring us for grandchildren and insisting that she would financially support us and the child, Taurus Man and I agreed that even if we were to take her up on her generosity, the earliest we would go was 4 years. According to my plan, 2 years before we were ready, Taurus Man and I would both get into shape and have regular exercise routines. 1 year before we were ready, I would start prenatal yoga and exercises, we would both get check-ups to make sure our health was top-of-the-line, and we would both be eating as healthy as we could and Taurus Man would be on multivitamins while I started pre-natals to see what my body would tolerate and adjust to and whatnot with all my sensitivities to side effects. 6 months before our planned time of conception, we would have enough money to live off of for at least a year in case we needed time off or either of us was too sick to work during my pregnancy and after the baby was born. We would also make sure that we had a list of essential things for the baby covered financially for at least the first year, so once the time was right, it was just to go out and spend money. We would have spoken to our doctors about trying to conceive, make sure they okay-d our health and saw what our options were for proper health care in this country, where my dad is, and where his mom is. We would have chosen the best place with the best options and made sure we had enough money saved to go with that option and support ourselves comfortably. 3 months before trying to conceive, we would have enough money to try egg or sperm donation or IVF if we couldn’t conceive naturally. We would treat ourselves and enjoy our time as a couple to have “that time” before taking the big leap into parenthood, and when we were ready, have as much fun as we could trying to conceive, holding off if it got too stressful, and stopping to get my much-awaited hysterectomy if we had no luck after 3-5 years of trying.

You know how I said I’m like a crap-magnet? I didn’t think that I would become as sickly as an invalid and have to give up my job after being pressured by the very managers that begged me to take the job in the first place. I didn’t see endometriosis being thrown at me. Taurus Man, laid-back, playing-football-three/four-times-a-week-for-fun, healthy as a horse getting a stress related heart attack with an unknown genetic heart problem at the age of freaking 27? Taurus Man’s job refusing to continue letting him work because technically, they didn’t sign the contract yet, so technically they had the right to turn him away without “discrimination” if technically he wasn’t legally their employee yet? Taurus Man’s family unleashing hell on us both and trying to break up our marriage AGAIN? Turning to my family for emotional support to have their figurative doors slammed in my face? Cancer Woman, my wonderfully supportive MIL, withdrawing her love and support to renew her obsession with Cancer Bitch? My depression spiraling out of controlling, reaching out blindly to anyone there for help to find all backs turned, and end up in the hospital after a carefully planned out triply backed up suicide attempt? Cancer Woman insisting to Taurus Man that I didn’t love him if I didn’t want to live and Taurus Man, after his confusion about his love and faith in me when his family intervened with the heart attack, turned on me again to believe her? Trust me, things were not supposed to happen this way. I know, I know, life laughs in the face of plans. But to end up like this? Seriously? What the hell?

When I realized my shrunken boobs were filling back out, my nipples were constantly standing on end and darkening, my typical PMS of wanting to murder Taurus Man was replaced by mushy lovey-dovey-ness and non-stop tears during action movies, I looked at Taurus Man and said one word. “No.”

Taurus Man stared at me for a long time before I spelled it out. “I CANNOT be pregnant.”

Taurus Man stared at me for a long time again. “Are you late?”

“No. I still have a couple weeks. But I feel it. I know. But I can’t be.”

“Let’s wait and see. It might not be. It can’t be. I highly doubt it. When is the last time we…?”

“I can’t remember. But I know my body. This doesn’t happen. This has NEVER happened. I keep thinking I love you so much. At this time of the month, I’m supposed to want to kill you.”

“Oh. I knew something was different! That’s it! You’re not mad at me! Wow. This is weird. You’re always mad at me by now.”

“But I’m not. Why do I want to hug you and cry? This doesn’t happen. Not now. And look.” *pulls off shirt*

“Oh yeahhh.” *cops a feel*

“NO. Wasn’t I complaining that my boobs were shrinking? LOOK. AT. THESE. THINGS.”

“Oh yeahhhh.” *cops a feel*

“You’re an ass. I can’t be pregnant.”

“But you love me. And we’ll wait and see if you’re late. You know you want kids. You’ll be a great mother.”

“Yeah I do. And I want kids, but not now. What will we do? I really think I am.” *starts to cry*

“Nah, you’re worrying too much. Don’t worry until you have something to worry about.”

“You’re not listening!” *throws pillow at his face*

“See, that’s more like it. Get angry. PMS means you’re not pregnant.”

*stare at him for a long time*

I peed on a stick for the first time exactly a week after my missed period. As soon as my urine touched the stick, a thick black line showed up. I ran out of the bathroom pulling up my pants as Taurus Man and I scrutinized the instruction sheet and tried to figure out what it meant. One line was negative, two lines was positive. But the pictures showed the other line showing up as negative, and on the positive result, the other line was thicker and meant positive. We held our breaths and shook the test and waited. “Maybe it’s negative?” I asked sadly.

“I thought we don’t want to be pregnant?” he asked confusedly.

“I know, but it was exciting to think about. But we’re not ready. But it would have been nice. But we’re not ready.”

“WOMAN. You’re confusing.”

The second line had shown up, albeit thin and faint, there were now two lines. Maybe I did the test wrong. I’m not sure how you pee on a stick wrong, but I was sure I did the test wrong. But a stupid smiled crawled on my face and I hugged Taurus Man. “We’re having a baby.” I said.

“I thought you said the paper said the lines have to be the other way?”

“It doesn’t matter. I know I’m pregnant. I told you I was.”

We went to the doctor the next day, I peed on another stick that tested for HCG, and the doctor looked at both his pee stick and mine and confirmed my pregnancy. As soon as I got home, I called my dad, Taurus Man called his mom, and then we called everyone else we could think of. It was either that night or the next morning I put a picture of my pee sticks on facebook and announced it there too.

You might be confused. I didn’t plan to be pregnant and I was hoping I wouldn’t be. We weren’t ready for it. But I’ve wanted kids my entire life. My entire life, every decision I’ve ever made, has been structured around what I will tell my kids one day and what kind of example I want to be for my kids. The endo crushed me. After all of my careful plans, all of my health-nut freak-ness, after barely managing to deal with Taurus Man’s heart attack, you’re telling me I have an incurable problem that will eventually lead to infertility? A problem that leads to most of its sufferers having hysterectomies by the time they are 25(doesn’t matter that I was already planning one)? A problem that may screw up my insides and kill my careful plans for children? A problem that is impossible to track and diagnose by stages unless it’s bad enough to see with the naked eye during surgery? As much as the diagnosis took a weight off my shoulders by explaining why I bled and was in pain every day for months after losing my virginity, and why my periods are so heavy that blood gushes out onto all my clothes, the floor, and my hands, and why I am in constant immobilizing pain and occasionally have a swollen belly and swollen extremities and other symptoms of pregnancy every few months, and why I have menopausal symptoms like hot flashes that get so severe I can’t breathe and eventually pass out, it crushed me harder than everything else Taurus Man and I had faced. My greatest hopes and dreams were planned around, focused on, and were children. So as unprepared as we were for the pregnancy, and even though it came at the worst possible time, I was pregnant. With a child. After finally accepting that I may not be able to have children. BAM. Accidental pregnancy in the middle of WWIII. Life wasn't just laughing in the face of my plans. Life was rolling on the floor, gasping for air, and convulsing from hysterical fits of side-splitting, tear-inducing, lung-popping, screaming laughter.

It was only at today’s OB-GYN appointment that I was finally allowed to ask my doctor about labor. Call me a hippie, but I was hoping for a water birth, for Taurus Man to catch the baby and cut the cord, for the baby to be placed on my chest for skin to skin contact and encouraged to latch on right away, for the baby to be exclusively breast-fed if I was able breast feed easily, for the cord to pulsate before being cut, to stamp the afterbirth, to allow the labor to take its course naturally, to have a birthing mirror, to videotape the birth, etc. NONE of those options are available. In. The. Country. Hospitals country-wide follow a certain protocol to keep things going quickly and to avoid lawsuits. They also bully you and traumatize birthing mothers if you don't like it. No option or say for me. Taurus Man says he understands how I feel but I should just accept it and move on, since we can't do anything about the situation and the end result is a healthy baby. WHAT? Nuh-uh. Oh no he didn’t just say what I think he said to this hormonal mama. I cried the whole way home. I am now sitting with a bottle of Chloraseptic at my side because my throat hurts from talking while crying until he distracted me with food. 

This childbirth is special to me. Extremely special. Like rainbows and sparkles and fairies and unicorns kind of special. You’re telling me I’ll be forced to have an enema and possibly Pitocin and/or an epidural and preferably back labor on a hard-ass hospital bed because it’s protocol? That I will have an episiotomy against my will because if the baby doesn't shoot out as soon as he/she is crowning, that means the birth is taking too long? My flesh needs to be sliced the very minute the baby starts making progress out of my womb because of your fucking protocol? After forcing the baby out as quickly as I can (or as quickly as my body can be forced to) according to protocol, my child will be whisked away until you see fit to allow me to bond with my baby? Some unknown type of formula will be shoved in my baby's mouth with no encouragement or effort to help me breastfeed because of fucking protocol? If I do not push when I am told because I am exhausted or scared, you will bully me, quarrel with me, yell in my face, and talk down to me because I'm not following your orders per said timed protocol? If my after birth isn't sliding out of me as soon as the baby is out, you will reach in and yank it out because it will take too long to allow me to deliver it naturally? And then charge me extra for your MANDATORY surgery like performance? Because it makes your job easier Ms. Doctor Lady? Even though I’m paying you $12,000-$13,000 (minimum) to sit there and pull this kid out? You’re going to do the SAME THING the nurses and midwife will do in a public hospital? And I shouldn’t do research or read or ask questions about this stuff? I’m supposed to relax and wait until that day to figure out what’s going on? Because the women who have spoken about having the kind of birth I want, who all EXPERIENCED it and had happy, healthy babies, will mislead me? Because it's a coincidence that the women who have given birth in this country have ALL had episiotomies and left the hospital with at least one "minor" complication? Because spending 5 minutes with my baby after birth is against protocol? I can’t HOLD MY BABY until WHEN? I can’t SEE my baby until WHEN? THE FUCK WOMAN??!?!!?! 

So yeah. The second those words came out of Taurus Man’s mouth, the tears started rolling. Typical Taurus Man. But he thinks I’m being unfair and blah blah blah. Readers, we don’t care about anybody else but me today. Today I’ve been devastated. Today we will all sit and crook our heads to the side and go “awww you poor thing”. I told Taurus Man this is why I didn’t want to have a baby in this STUPID country and I had made all my plans in the first place. I know there’s nothing we can do but go with it. But did you hear me? Today, we will crook our heads to the side and say “awwwwww, you poor thing.” It’s about ME and what I wanted right now. Sure, a lot of the babies born in this country are born this way and are healthy. Not good enough. This country has an extremely high infant/newborn mortality rate and post-partum complications record for all of their fancy advancements (this protocol has probably been in effect since the 80's or before). Countries like the US, Australia, South Africa, Europe, and parts of South America have these options available. Are you saying this third-world country is more advanced than them? So advanced, that every time the public questions the mortality rate or a woman tries to sue for what she believes is mistreatment, or a family tries to sue for the death of a laboring woman or newborn baby, the government covers it up while doctors and nurses alike go on strike as they play the blame game until the public forgets about their cause and allows them to pretend it never happened? So advanced, that THIS is what they do, and stick to the same medieval protocols to get the same results (death, complications, etc) instead of reviewing their protocols to leave room for advances in medicine and scientific research? Give me my time to mourn the death of my right to choose and have options and have a say. Now, repeat after me. “Awww, you poor thing!” Very good. Carry on.

Taurus Man is also under the impression that the baby will DIE if he/she is around animals like Hyper Doggy and/or the kittens. Okay, okay. He didn’t say die. He said get sick. Same thing. Anyway, he wants them all out of the room before the baby comes. The fuck did you say bitch? Nuh-uh. Not my babies. But Taurus Man is Taurus Man, and when it comes to things like this, I can whine and protest all I want, but he will get his way. My arguments that hurt my throat more? Grizzly and O’Malley, our first fur babies, were sent to live downstairs. From the garage to a kennel to the back and side of the house, Taurus Man insisted that they would be happy roaming free and playing in the grass. The bitch used PETA quotes to get to me (I’m an avid PETA supporter). Bitch. But I said okay, they did look happier playing and rolling in the grass. What happened? Cancer Grump gave them away to some stranger. Without a word to us. My babies, GONE. Taken by some animal eating, organ selling, abusive CANNIBAL. Taurus Man said I have an active imagination and the guy might be an animal lover and blah blah blah. We don’t care. My sweet canine babies were gone. Stig was the best cat I ever had. He had to go outside because he was greedy. He’s an ANIMAL. Duh. But he’s greedy so he has to leave. Blah blah blah. Less than a month after being outside, he disappeared and we never saw him again. The most human-like, loving, and affectionate cat that ever existed, gone, possibly kidnapped by a cat eating psycho or killed somewhere deep in the bushes. My loving, nose-kissing, face-hugging baby was gone. Jolie was a cute little kitten. Taurus Man was the one that took her in without telling me anything. But she meowed funny and he got a funny vibe and he thought she might be possessed or have some deep rooted problem and he was afraid of her. As quickly as we got her, she was gone, and never heard from again. My sweet, scared little baby was gone. Kitty got curious. She tried to jump out the window numerous times and succeeded numerous times. She brought fleas inside every time she escaped and broke Taurus Man’s internet antenna thingamajig. She had to go outside. She was actually living quite comfortably on the steps and hunted in the grass next to the house and made a few friends. But she was hit by a car just recently and died. Sweet Mama Kitty that just had babies, only wanted love and freedom, gone. Schizo cat is just scary and I stay away from her. I do not mix matters with that she-demon. I see her on one side of the step, I carefully go down the other. Her previous owner encouraged her to scrape and bite and possibly overdosed her on catnip. Not her fault, I know. But she is one scary psycho-cat. She, ironically, the one that I stay away from and cannot bond with, is still here, chilling out in the garage. Any animal that leaves this room is either killed or kidnapped or eaten or somehow or the other GONE. We cannot have outdoor animals roaming free in the grass. They ALL disappear. Hyper Doggy is my favorite and she has to go too? To that place of no return? Nuh-uh. The kittens have just lost their mama and they have to go too? Sigh. I know Taurus Man will get his way and he means well, but today, he’s the bad guy, and we’re all going to feel sorry for me. In unison now, “Awww, you poor thing.” Thank you. He’s all Hyper Doggy will be happier and she can run around more and have more space and get fresh air. Yeah. I’ve heard that before. And then Grizzly and O’Malley were GONE. Plus, Cancer Grump has a habit of leaving the house, garage included, wide open when he leaves to go somewhere. Who’s to say someone won’t see my pretty doggy and steal her? Do you know what criminals do in this country when they want to rob a house and there’s a dog in front of the house? They CHOP THE DOG TO DEATH. Cancer grump ALWAYS leaves the garage open. There was even an instance where a man threatened to come after me when I was home alone and tried to come through the garage but couldn’t figure out how to unhook the hook on the inside of the garage door to open it. And I’m supposed to slap a smile on my face and let my baby girl go down there? Nuh-uh bitch. Nuh-uh. I told Taurus Man that after this, I don’t want any more animals or babies. I can’t take losing anybody else or watching anybody else suffer under Cancer Grump’s wrath.

I haven’t done any real cleaning since I was hospitalized in June. I was ill and soon after we found out I was pregnant. Then the pregnancy symptoms from hell took over. Taurus Man told me not to worry about cleaning. Everything has been standstill since. All of the dishes in the kitchen are dirty. I have a hundred loads of laundry to do. 

Before Taurus Man cleared the cobwebs the other day, this place looked like a haunted house. There is A LOT to be done. As much as Taurus Man will tell me not to worry, it’s now December, and there is still A LOT to do. I need all of this stuff taken care of before the baby comes and I still need to plan out what kind of meals I’ll be cooking and freezing before the baby comes.

Cancer Woman has insisted on sending down some baby clothes, supplies, and maternity clothes. We have no say in whatever it is, we don’t know what it is, but we are grateful. There has been no mention of when she will start shopping to send these things, but we will need to go to the other side of the country to clear customs once everything is shipped. Hopefully it will not be too close to the due date or when we bring the baby home so that I'm not waddling around with a dropped baby awaiting labor or a newborn baby and post-partum me trying not to faint in the unsanitary over-heated warehouses these places are headquartered in. HOPEFULLY.

There is A LOT to do and not much time. My pretty spreadsheet gave me the luxury of doing one thing a day, but did not take into account my palpitations, fainting, or constant bouts of weakness. The only exercise my doctor wants me to do is 15 minutes of walking in the morning and night with at least an hour’s sleep during the day. I am not allowed to do anything more. I am not allowed to lift or move more than 10 pounds of anything. I’m starting to not like this doctor. I don’t think she understands what I mean by “I have A LOT to do.” That also means that aside from Taurus Man, who comes home from every other football game with an injury (currently, a dislocated thumb and sprained ankle) I have NO help to do all of these "lots of things". That spreadsheet doesn’t even cover everything. My third trimester starts this month. Half of that list isn’t done yet. I hate the world today. I really, really do. All together now, “awww you poor thing!” Great job guys. Great job.