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I'm just a big fat pregnant lady. I hit 4 months today, which was exciting. However, last night when I got home from work and got out of my car, I noticed a bizarre pain in my leg. I reached down to touch it and immediately realized it was one of my puffy varicose veins. Nasty. I walk into our apartment and check it out. It's red, bulging, tender and looks gnarly. I'm now scared to even sit down because I'm thinking it's a giant blood clot about to work its way to my lungs or brain and I'm minutes away from death. I imagine Jeff coming home to find me slumped over the iPad researching varicose veins, and think that I should immediately pull that up on Google so that if my demise does happen, some smart detective work would lead to my clue about what caused my death, potentially obviating the need for a major autopsy.

I then do the next best thing and call Ashley, my dear good friend who is preggers with her second baby and is also an ICU nurse. She asks me lots of questions and says that while she doesn't think it's a clot, I should probably call my nurse in the morning if it still hurts. I feel comfortable with that plan.

We go to bed that night, after me showing my poor husband the gnarl nastiness on my leg and him giving me a very unsympathetic grossed out look in response, and I wake up to pee and can barely walk. Crud. I'm now adamant that a blood clot is forming and that I'll either pass during the night or lose my leg. My sleep was pretty restless.

I get up in the morning, limp to the bathroom to get ready, and finally make it to work where I email my nurse. My phone rings about 10 minutes later so I immediately know it's not good. She says I should come in right away and can I be at the office in 30 minutes? Of course. I go, and I text with Ashley in the waiting room. She now decides it's a good time to tell me that "it doesn't sound normal" and that it could very well be a clot. She says she was trying to think best-case scenario last night. Hmph.

The doc on-call comes in to check out my gnarled leg. He points out the obvious: I have a trail of varicose veins running from my thigh down my calf on my right leg. Yeppers. Thanks genetics. Then he says the good news and gives me my diagnosis: Superficial varicose veins. I'm not at risk for a blood clot because the vein in question is not one of my major veins. Yippee!

Then he gives me the really awesome news about my treatment: 1) Elevation; 2) Heating pad; and 3) SUPPORT HOSE. 

I'm going to try to find these in thigh-high

 Dang.

He admits they're "unsightly," but says they should really help and offers to give me a prescription for some seriously intense compression stockings. The words just make me cringe.

Then he really tries to make my day and says, "Do you want to hear your baby?" Yes!!! We listen to the heartbeat and hear the pretty 152 beats per minute. Fine. I'll wear the stockings.

So, we live in Texas and I'm about to go in search for some hot-for-all-the-wrong-reasons thigh-highs to wear every day until July.

Yours truly,
Hottest prego chick in Dallas

Part 4: InfertiliTEA

At the end of my first acupuncture visit last June, my east doctor explains that I am supposed to mix all of the packets of herbs together, add a 1/2 cup of hot water, and drink it twice a day for 6 days. Then come back for more acupuncture and more herbs each week. I'm so confused on what I'm supposed to do with these packets and how to make this "tea." I keep asking for more directions, and she just keeps saying, "No taste. Drink fast. Just swallow." Interesting. I don't like tea, so I'm very concerned about how this will taste.

 

I walk out onto Michigan Avenue wondering if I have pin pricks all over my face and a little worried about carrying a big bag of what looks like a whole lot of weed.

 

I get home and text Jeff saying I can't wait to tell him about my first acu. I'm so pumped up about this whole thing, and I probably sound like a lunatic talking to him about my kidney yin deficiency, my pulse and my too-hot body. I tell him I have to figure out how to make this tea that night and that she's totally going to fix my uterus. 

 

We pull out the 12 packets and I start cutting them open and pouring them into a glass. 

 

The packets all have weird names, most of which end in the word "root" and have lots of Chinese symbols on them.

I'm still smiling, but getting nervous.

They stink. I mean stink. Like rotten bomb farts of earth. Each one smells worse than the last. 

Smelly seed-like powder.

 I heat up some water and mix half of the tea mixture into it. It looks like diarhea in the cup. Dark brown, stinky hot mud water.

Smells so bad. You have no idea.

I start to drink and I about die. Die. Gag. Tears are forming in my eyes it tastes like shit. Serious shit. Not like, "oh this pasta tastes like shit." Because we've all had crappy and stinky food (I'll never forget my gnocchi during our honeymoon that smelled like dirty feet....).

I'm doing my best to be enthusiastic and trying to get my elbows up. Notice the wide eyes.

So bad I have to stop chugging. I almost spit and I'm getting tingles from the terrible taste.

Coughing into good 'ol Go Blue.

It's over. I drank it all.

I have just eaten rotten mulch earth shit from the backyard of a stinky old man with donkeys. It is the worst tasting thing ever. I'm gagging, Jeff's laughing, and I'm remembering Dr. Yang's last words: "Drink fast. No taste." She didn't mean "This tea will have no taste or flavor whatsoever." She meant, "This rotten mulch liquid tastes so bad I'm advising you to do anything and everything possible to avoid having to actually taste it. Drink it fast as hell and gulp it down before your taste buds even register what's shitting in your mouth." Oh the language barrier she and I had.

 

I knock it back, rinse my mouth and brush my teeth. I did it the next morning, and the next night, and the next morning for the next 4 months.

 

When we moved to Dallas, my wonderful new east doctor concocted her own mixture of stinky herbs in a little jar for me each week. No more mixing. The fun part for me was when I only had a little bit left at the end of the bottle, I would feed it to my sweet money tree. She needs life in the worst way. 

 

Sprinkling my money tree with herbs.

Once I'm able to upload pics to our crappy computer again, I'll post a pic of my money tree post-herb. You'll be amazed at how well she's doing! 

And, after a stinky 4 1/2 months, I've also sprung life in my belly.

***I don't know what's going on with the highlighted text. I can't get it to go away.

Incense and Peppermints

I interrupt my regularly-scheduled post from our pre-pregnancy days to bring you a real-time update.

 

I really thought things were getting better and that I was figuring out how to handle my first trimester hangover. Then week 13 hit and the next 4 days were indescribable and unpredictable.

 

I've been eating snacks constantly to battle low blood sugar and keep me from barfing. Peach juice has been saving me.

 

I've been sucking on leftover candy canes and other peppermints to help ease my quease.

 

I've been trying out Tums to fight my heartburn and the most awful feeling of having a piece of apple lodged in the back of my throat that I can't swallow (what I've learned is actually acid reflux) every afternoon/evening. Bizarre.

 

I've been drinking tons of water to make sure I'm not dehydrated and to try to get rid of the headaches. Not really working.

 

I've been taking my vitamins at night, at what I thought was the perfect time after dinner and before bed, while food is still in my belly but I'm not awake long enough to potentially feel sick from the vity.

 

Then Thursday night I have to jump out of bed at 10:45 p.m. to hurl, with barely enough time to find my goggles and grab a random hair tie. And it hurt my stomach muscles and gave me a headache. Ugh.

 

Then Sunday morning we go to Mass. I walk in and immediately sniff the incense in the air. Oh dear Jesus. We walk to our pew and I actually think to myself, "Good thing the incense is this weekend and not any earlier weekend, because I'm feeling so much better." Then the church gets crowded. So crowded that it's standing room only. Interesting. I know the Epiphany is a good reason to celebrate, and I especially love a good round of "We Three Kings," but it was abnormally packed with a capital P. And the choir is singing. All of this means it's going to be long, hot, crowded and a little stinky. Still, I'm thanking Jesus that I feel so much better.

 

So we get to the kneeling. The infamous time in Catholic grade school when kids would fall in a clump in their pew from fainting. I start to get hot right at the time the priest chants, "Let us proclaim the mystery of faith" (or has that been changed with the new translation? Dad??), and I fan myself with my missal. I look on both sides of us in our pew and realize we're smashed in the middle with no easy way out. I sit back on the pew because I'm getting really uncomfortable all of a sudden. I look at Jeff and say, "I need air." Then 4 seconds later I look at him and say, "And I need you to come with me." Praise Jesus we're now singing the Great Amen and everyone's standing up.

 

I run over the nice couple sitting next to us. From my feeling warm to needing to get out of that pew right then felt like a matter of 20 seconds. It all happened so fast. I turn to make sure Jeff is behind me, and I actually run into the giant pillar at the back of the aisle because I've completely lost my balance. I'm HOT, can no longer walk straight, my vision has turned into a kaleidoscope, and I think I'm going to barf.

 

Jeff grabs my elbow and leads me around to the back lobby. I'm looking for a bathroom, he's looking for the door. He wins, and pushes me to the left. I look like a drunk. My head feels like a bobble-head. I'm tempted to just give up and crumple to the floor. Way too many people are there to witness this. He opens the door and I collapse against the outside brick wall in an awkward squat and suck in fresh air like I've been drowning. Jeff shoves my head between my legs and asks, "Feel better?" I say, "No." He pushes my head farther, and asks again in about 5 seconds. I say, "Yes." I touch my neck and realize I'm drenched in sweat. He walks me to a bench and says the second he saw my white face in the pew he was ready for 100+ pounds of dead weight to fall on him in the middle of church. He retrieves our coats and we sit in the fresh air for awhile. Holy Epiphany Sunday.

 

We figure my blood sugar must have dropped, despite my normal breakfast routine. We go to Paradise Bakery where I get a giant fruit salad, chicken pesto sandwich, and root beer. The fruit and root beer couldn't get down my throat fast enough. Sweet relief.

 

Murf - enough is enough. Let us move onto the second trimester and put this hangover to rest already.

Part 3: 27 Needles

At my first appointment with my east doctor in Chicago, I filled out a ridiculously lengthy questionnaire regarding my cycles, my pooping, my health history, by body, my hair, my diet, and my infertility testing so far. Way too personal for comfort. She quickly shuffles me into a room and asks me lots of questions while reading my 10 pages of embarrassing health information.

Our conversation consists of lots of short questions ("You no ovulate?" "How old?" "How long trying?" "You have PCOS?" "How you sleep?" "You hot at night?" "You hands cold during day?") and lots of me saying "Excuse me?" and then dumbly answering. Then she says, "Let me see tongue." I stick out my tongue as far as it will go. She says, "Tongue red." I say, "Ok."

Then she takes 3 fingers and feels my pulse on my arm. I had read about that part and knew she was feeling for my "kidney pulse" or something. Then she looks at me like it's written on my forehead and says, "You have kidney yin deficiency. You too hot. I give you acupuncture and herbs" (but "herbs" sounded to me like "pulls." I had no idea what she was going to pull).

"Lay down." I jump up and laid on the table. I was probably looking at her and acting like she was Jesus by this point. I would have done anything she told me. She tried to explain more about "Qi" or "Chi" and how my kidney yin and yang need to be in balance. My "yin" is way outta whack, and she said she can fix it. I didn't ask too many questions.

I lay down and before I know it she's unbuttoning my pants and folding them down so my stomach is showing. I closed my eyes immediately, a little nervous. I hadn't read about this. She comes over to my head and starts putting needles on the top of my head, forehead, in between my eyes and in my ears. It felt like she was flicking me. She stopped and said, "Needles no bother you?" I said, "No, I think I'm ok." She said, "Good." She proceeded to flick needles into my arms, hands, belly, knees, calves, ankles and feet.

I counted 27 flicks.  

Then she pulls out these wires and I get nervous pervous. I can hear her pulling some sort of machine close to the table. My eyes are open now but I'm too scared to move or look anywhere but up a the ceiling for fear I'm going to see 27 needles sticking out of my body. She hooks two clips onto two of the needles sticking out of my freaking belly and says, "You feel pulse." I'm not sure if it was a question or declaration. I panicked a little and said in a probably very high voice, "Is this going to hurt?" She says, "No hurt."

She turns on the machine and I feel electric pulse waves on my stomach. I laid there not breathing. Omg I did not sign up for electric shock therapy. I thought this was supposed to be "natural." She said relax. I didn't say anything or move a muscle. I'm not sure if I had started breathing again. She turned out the light, walked out of the room and shut the door.

Then I just laid there and listened to soft Asian music. It was amazing. I fell into a little daydream trance. I never felt the needles and the electrodes became less and less noticeable.  

Thirty minutes later she comes back, removes the needles in about 6 seconds, and says, "You all done. You come back next week." I don't think this was a question, either. I hop off the table, button my pants, put on my shoes and walk out the door. She's sitting there with a bag of what I now realize she's been saying all along - "herbs."

Oh God, the herbs....

Part 2: East Meets West

When I was told in June by my west doctor that my only option (I'm not kidding - she said "only") was to head over to an infertility clinic, meet with a fancy fertility doctor, and start having the hubs inject my toosh with hormones every morning, I decided there had to be something else. We weren't there yet. I knew Jeff was not there yet, and that he would faint on me in the bathroom during his first attempt to stick me. I didn't even consult with Jeff before I told my west doctor that I would not need a referral and that we were going to sit tight for a little while.

Jeff had literally just received his job offer that morning. We were moving to Texas in about a month. I was told I'm sort of infertile right now. "Shit pants" was about all I was thinking on that 2 mile walk downtown Chicago. My body was messed up and I wanted to fix it. So I did what I do best. Internet research. 
 
I found the most amazing information about "unexplained infertility." That's me. All of the results led me to one place - Traditional Chinese Medicine (TCM) and acupuncture. The studies and findings about the positive effects of acupuncture on fertility and conception are outta this world. This stuff works. Women going through IVF have way better chances by including acupuncture in the early days after implantation. And women who have unexplained infertility, especially lack of ovulation (me), get incredible results after a few months of acupuncture. Some even get immediate results.
 
I read and read and read about this wonderland of eastern medicine. I looked up east doctors in Chicago (any doctor who practices TCM will now be referred to as an "east doctor"). Jeff comes home from work that night and I tell him I have some amazing information to share, and that I want him to try to be really open-minded. I pull out the laptop, explain what I've found and tell him I want to try it. I have no idea how much it costs, how long it will take, or if it will hurt like hell and scare me. He says go for it. God bless him.
 
I call a nice-looking Chinese doctor named Dr. Yang and ask to come in for an initial consultation. She can see me in just 2 days. What happened after I walked into her magic world of TCM, needles, and herbal supplements will hopefully amaze you as much as it has me. 

Part 1: I Did It My Way

I did all the right stuff. I've read every article about preparing to prepare to try to conceive. Since June of 2010 I've been taking vitamins and a fish oil supplement every day to make sure I'm getting all my folic acid and omega-3s, well in advance of conception. I yelled at Jeff when he sat with the computer on his lap for too long, telling him to put a pillow or blanket between the sperm-killing-heat-radiation-laser-bombs of our Dell and his pants. He rolled his eyes and sighed. I stopped drinking pop (unless it was a weekend and it had Captain Morgan in it). I had months to prepare and I even made an appointment for a pre-conception consultation in the Fall of 2010. My west doctor (I'll refer to any doctor who practices western medicine as a "west doctor"...more on this later) talked to me about vaccines that I should be current on before trying and genetic testing. I had blood work done, everything was good to go, and I labeled myself "adequately ready to conceive should Jesus also agree." 

 

October 2010. The day we were no longer actively trying to avoid babies. Yikes-a wikes-a. I've documented everything like a statistician. I have charts and spreadsheets that you wouldn't believe. Jeff thinks I'm crazy.

 

We didn't know how long it might take. We've had friends who sort of "oopsy" got preggers a little sooner than they planned, and friends who tried for a couple of months. We hoped it would happen for us in early winter. 

 

Elbows up. (nice butt in the background)

Not only did we not get pregnant, but literally nothing happened with my body. Nothing. We waited and waited, thinking "gosh, we must be pregnant." I took test after test. Negatory. Nada. Nothing. We went to Cancun in January and we thought we might be pregnant, so I didn't drink. In Cancun. On vacation. I know - I fooled you with those pics of me doing elbows up. Virgin daiquiris, my friend. All of them. Mango. Banana. Pineapple. Strawberry.

 

We got sneaky at bars and restaurants thinking we were pregnant. I would order a drink and Jeff would later tell the waiter or bartender to make it virgin. I drank a lot of sprite during the winter of 2011. Don't you feel duped. I feel cheated.

 

I got antsy, so I ordered mega quantities of ovulation predictor kits from Amazon and took them once, sometimes twice, a day for MONTHS. I was peeing in cups and on sticks like it was going to save my life. Nothing.

 

I called my west doctor in March 2011 and said something must be wrong. I went in and had blood work done. I also had an ultrasound to check out my insides. Not the pretty kind of ultrasound you see in the movies on a big preggo belly. A scary ultrasound that no one adequately prepared me for. I thought something was awry when she told me to take off my pants. Something was definitely awry.

 

My hormone tests all came back low, but I was told that everything was "still pretty normal," that I did not appear to have polycystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS) and that I had "beautiful" ovaries based on the ultrasound. Seriously. She said beautiful. No eggs and nothing else going on, though. She told me to give it another 3 months and call back if still nothing.

 

Still nothing happened with my body, so I called back in May. Screw waiting 3 more months. My west doctor willingly gave me some drugs to jump start a period, and more drugs to take after that to force an eggo release. I took all the drugs on the right days and went back for another bizarre ultrasound in June 2011 to see if it worked. Take a guess. It didn't.

 

Sidebar: On that day in June that I went in for more tests and to find out if the drugs at least worked so that we could try to get pregnant, Jeff received an offer for his new job in Dallas, Texas. All in one day. We didn't know our heads from our asses that day.

 

My west doctor told me that not only did I not have a single egg ready to go in either ovary as hoped (and after the drugs it was actually possible for me to have multiple eggos ready to go), my uterus was in no shape to let an embryo implant. Basically, I'm dry as the Phoenix desert. I'm cold. Frigid. I jinxed myself in high school when I said I never wanted kids and that I should just have my ovaries removed. (I was going to be a high-powered prosecutor in NYC. Laughable now.)

 

In the little consultation room at my west doctor's office, I'm thinking, alright, round 1 didn't work. Let's try round 2. She said the drugs failed so badly and that even an increased dosage would do nada. She felt bad and said this was as far as she could get me. She recommended I head right on over to the infertility specialists and start taking the mega-hormones. She said she was absolutely 100% positive that "they" could get me pregnant.

 

My head starts spinning. I'm no fool. I know this means that they're going to make Jeff shoot me up with drugs in my butt every morning. Then I would end up having a zillion eggs harvested, my body would go into forced menopause, I would be implanted with only a few, but they would all quadruple so that I'm all of a sudden carrying 24 babies like a golden retriever. Something seemed so forced and chemical about the whole thing. I began to babble about how my husband just accepted a job offer in Dallas that morning, and that we're going to be moving. I said we're just going to take a step back, move to Texas, and not seek advanced infertility treatment in Chicago. I asked her for a referral in Dallas for a regular west doctor and an infertility specialist. Lucky for me, she went to med school with a doc who now practices in Dallas. I was armed with my doctor info and ready to walk out. She gave me the last words of caring advice, including, "Try not to stress. Find ways to relax. Go to the spa, get some acupuncture."

 

I had no idea how famous her last line would be, and poor Jeff didn't know what was coming...