Friday, November 23, 2007

Okay, so it wasn't a cold...

Welcome to yet another blog post that revolves entirely around me and my health.

Apparently I don't have a cold. I have pneumonia. Pneumonia is not fun.

I had assumed that the pain in my chest and upper back was pregnancy related...after all, everything else is due to my growing womb and surging hormones. I don't know how many times I've called my doctor about my itchy neck, shooting pain down my leg, or it-feels-like-I-tried-to-dry-swallow-a-huge-horse-pill only to be told, "Yeah, that's just the pregnancy."

However, after a prenatal massage that only seemed to make my back worse, I began to wonder if it was something else...something, perhaps, that might leave me maimed...or worse.

I was in some serious pain when I went to bed on Tuesday night and gave John these instructions: "If I don't wake up in the morning, tell the doctors that it had something to do with the left side of my chest."

I thought I had my bases covered until I asked him to repeat what he would tell the medics and he replied, "Um, your side hurts?"

"Which side?" I prompted.

"Uh, your right?"

In his defense, sometimes I walk a fine line between making jokes and making my death wishes known. And given that it was 11:30 pm and he had just flown in straight from San Diego after a good but brainy conference I think his response was understandable.

So anyway, like I said earlier, I have pneumonia. It hurts when I breath, yawn, cough, or laugh (which is much harder to stifle now that John is home entertaining me). Thankfully, I have not gotten the hiccups yet. I can't lie down without exacerbating the pain, so I've had some lovely nights trying to sleep sitting up.

I think I'm on the mend, but from what I understand, these symptoms can linger on and on. Under normal circumstances, pain when I breath wouldn't be all that bad except for the fact that in a few short weeks I will be embarking upon the lovely journey of labor and delivery where I'm told breathing is of considerable importance. Can they administer epidurals to one's lungs?

So pneumonia combined with my midwives prediction that I could deliver in as little as two or three weeks has me a wee bit apprehensive. Your prayers are welcomed.

Monday, November 19, 2007

Feeling sorry for myself...

I'm feeling very sorry for myself. I'm at home in drizzly New Jersey by myself with a bad cold, a backache, and a body that has been pregnant for the past 36 weeks (John is in sunny San Diego at AAR where I'm sure he is drinking lemonaid and mingling with movie stars).

My most pathetic moment came yesterday afternoon when I mustered up the energy to go to the grocery store to buy a few items necessitated by my lovely cold (of course, the cold hit after John left for California, so I couldn't send him to do my bidding). After purchasing my items I stopped at the grocery store's Starbucks kiosk to purchase a caramel apple cider. After placing it in the cart's drink holder, I proceeded to push the cart to my car. In the middle of the parking lot, in the pouring rain, I hit a bump. My full cup of caramel apple cider flew up in the air and landed upside-down in one of my grocery bags, filling the bag with sticky goodness. I couldn't tell if I wanted to laugh or cry, so I just stood there for a minute or so. Did I mention it was raining at the time?

Not wanting my lovely trunk to get sticky, I proceeded to take out each sticky item in the bag and wipe it down the with the new box of kleenex I had just purchased. Whenever I have a cold I "reward" myself by buying the softest, most expensive tissues, and I was so annoyed to have to waste my tissues-with-lotion on cleaning up a spill.

Even as I'm writing this, I'm realizing that my pathetic moment doesn't sound nearly as pathetic as if felt. The black and whiteness of this post does not do justice to the pathetic-ness of my situation. You'll just have to trust me that it was very pathetic and that you would have felt very, very sorry for me had you seen me standing there in the pouring rain with a plastic bag full of chicken noodle soup and apple cider.

Wednesday, November 07, 2007

Using my Belly for Evil

Last Wednesday night I used my belly for evil.

For the past four Halloweens, John and I have purchased multiple bags of candy, only to be left with a hefty stash of leftovers. I could count the amount of tricker-treaters on one hand. And so this year, I thought it prudent to purchase a single bag of candy.

Bad idea. An hour into festivities we ran out.

John was immediately taken with the idea of grabbing some candy from friends. I, on the other hand, thought it much more reasonable to raid our cupboards and fill the empty bowl with the individually wrapped Lifesavers we had acquired over the months (I figured they were better than my left-over Preggie-Pops).

Since Lifesavers are small, I told our tricker-treaters that they could take two candies...which I thought was very generous of me. Meanwhile, John kept up with the mantra that we needed to go find "real candy" to give out. I finally had to acquiesce after two girls politely thanked me for their Lifesavers before one of them loudly whispered to the other, "This is why we should have started earlier."

I closed the door and announced, "That's it! I'm getting some candy." So I skulked across the street to our neighbor's apartment. They were not home, but had three large vats of candy outside with a sign informing it's readers to take and enjoy. After a swift look around, I filled both of the kangaroo pockets of my sweatshirt with multitudes of candy and hurried back to my apartment, prepared for questions I might encounter along my way.

"Mandy, is that a Butterfinger in your sweatshirt?"
"No, it's his elbow."
"Is that a Snickers bar sticking out of your shirt?"
"Hmmm, must be his heel."
"Looks like you've got a Reeces Peanut Butter Cup there."
"It's his butt. The doctors have said it's square."

I made it back to our apartment, replenished our pathetic stash, and made our neighborhood a happier place. But I couldn't shake the feeling that I had used my belly for evil. I had used my son to break the 8th commandment.

I suppose I should go over to our neighbors and confess...actually, I think I just did. Sorry Sarah and Andrew.