Sleeping on it

Hey, so you know what I did?  I went to a sleep clinic and had a sleep study done.  This is a big thing for me because, as with many things in my life, while I adore sleeping- seriously, like one of my top 5 favorite things to do- I am not very good at it.  I scream a lot, and kick a lot and thrash my arms around.  I am sure that this makes me a relatively unique bed partner, but being unconscious for the whole thing, I wouldn't really know; DH says he is used to it now.
     Anyway, I have basically spent my entire life really tired, and to some degree resigned myself to that reality.  I know I probably should have taken a sleep study earlier, but, well, you know how I feel about doctors.  So, I went on living my life, souped up on caffeine, pondering the possibility of  injecting coffee into my blood stream directly, and  insisting to people that I really I do not have high energy but I need to keep moving so I do not fall asleep.  Then my new psychiatrist tells me that I absolutely have to try this neurologist she saw for her sleep problems, that he is a genius, blah blah. And I was like, okay, maybe I can write a blog entry about it.
     It was fine.  The test itself was fine; the bed was super comfy, I could watch TV until I felt sleepy, and the little electrodes they attached to my head, face, arms and legs were not actually to uncomfortable.
The consult afterward was not terrible, but I am not sure that I agree that the neurologist is a genius just yet, and that in and of itself is a little disappointing.  (I always have such high hopes...)  So according to my doctor I have a few things going on, that are really common for people with depression.  First and foremost, I have RBD, REM Behavioral disorder.  It is a disorder that essentially means I act out my dreams in my sleep and the doctor suggests it may be a result of the medication I am taking.  This already started sounding a little questionable to me because I have always thrashed, cried and shouted in my sleep, even as a baby; it can't just be from my medications.
     Anyway, since I obviously am not going off my medications, (I have resumed my meds ever since the little incident during my potential miscarriage in January) the doctor suggested I try clonazepam.
Sigh.
     Yeah, that's not gonna work.  First of all, clonazepam is a big no-no for pregnant ladies.  Plus, clonazepam and I are not friends.  I tired it in high school and it really only makes me ridiculously tired; not the kind of help I am looking for.
     So, the other problem my doctor noticed was sleep apnea; a very mild one.  I think I stop breathing like every four times an hour.  In order to fix this minor problem, the doctor suggested I wear SCUBA gear while sleeping.  Okay, not actually SCUBA gear, its actually called a CPAP, but it certainly looks like SCUBA gear, and definitely makes sounds like Darth Vader.

My first question: does it come with accompanying lingerie?

      It thrusts air down your nose and mouth while you are sleeping, and though I know people who swear by it, I cannot even imagine wearing something like that and being able to sleep.  There is an alternative device that is a little mouth piece you sleep with, but it will cost us almost $2,000 after the insurance pays its portion, and then it is only likely to sure 70% of my apnea at maximum.  Ick.
     So, I need to go back and talk to the guy I guess.  I mean- is it really worth it if my big problem is the RBD?  We'll see.
     Anybody out there use the CPAP or the mouth piece?  What did you think?

Almost half way through

I know I haven't written in four months, and that is because I have been immersed in the magical experience of pregnancy.
And of course, when I say magical, I mean nauseating.

No one really prepared me for the experience of having a another human being growing inside me, and that is because no one told me that the human would be a tiny, temperamental high school student with bulimia.  All of a sudden I was sleeping between 12 and 15 hours a day. Despite being perpetually nauseaus, my body insisted that I was continually hungry for simple carbohydrates, which I then immediately turned around and puked up.  I lived my life in this kind of hormonal haze that prevented me from understanding anything, unless presented in a TLC reality show a or Lifetime movie, in which case I find it heart-wrenchingly beautiful.  Yeah, so I was pretty much in high school for about six weeks there.
But, now. solidly into my second trimester, I am back on my way to feeling pseudo normal again.

Have you ever seen two people more in need of a drink?

And as part of that normalcy, I am all anxious about the baby coming.  DH and I went on a babymoon for a week, and as we laid back at the pool, and took our sweet time watching TV or napping as we pleased, I noted parents at the resort spending time with their families.  One couple in particular I noted as I passively completed a crossword puzzles beside the pool.  Both parents were absolutely loaded with every flotation device, bag, towel, plastic toy and first aid item known to man.  In additional, they also each carried a small child under one arm, one of whom had pulled off his water shoes and was using it to beat his father in the legs.  Both of the adults nearly collapsed into the deck chairs, dumping their gear, and exclaiming, "We made it!", before forcing themselves up again because one of their children was attempting to drowned herself in the pool.
Oh, yeah.  Can't wait to get me some of that!
It is supposed to be wonderful right?  I will love this screaming, pooping, drooling bald monkey that sucks up all my energy and time, right?
Someone tell me that there is an upside.

Whew! We are still in business

Friday morning the doctor called and said my HcG levels were high enough that they could check via ultra sound to scan for problems.  We got in there by 1:30 and everything looked good: no bleeding.
We are so relieved.  As of yet, we have  ahealthy, perfectly normal baby.
Almost as retribution for my worry, the baby has started making me sick.  No fun, but I am so relieved to have sign of a growing baby, I don't mind too much.

What a mess

So I am spotting- not even spotting- staining- a little pink/beige when I wipe.  Terrifying naturally, but potentially harmless.  Then again, potentially a sign of miscarriage especially considering I am having mestral cramps along with it.  Yeah, bad signs all around.
Add to that the fact that I got into the doctors to have my first hormone levels monitored on Thursday afternoon, meaning I will have the second level taken Saturday afternoon, and given that the clinic is not open on Sunday, I would have needed to wait until Monday to get the results.
Oh, and I am on half my medication.

Ten o'clock rolls around I am completely drained.  Dim the lights, raise the curtain and cue supernatural meltdown.  The kind where an uneducated observer would swear they were witnessing a one-woman exorcism: hyperventilating, dry heaving, screaming, writhing, snot explosions., each moment becoming more and more buried in anger and despair.
The despair is obvious; there is nothing like being unsure whether or not your child is actually dying inside you:  the massive disappointment, the feelings of inadequacy, and helplessness; it's unreal.
Then there is the anger- at myself- for not being able to hold my shit together and for keeping my husband awake.  It sounds like a little thing, but seriously, it takes quite a man to stay in bed beside a woman who, from all visible evidence, may be channeling the gateway to hell.
It is ironic, but it was probably the idea that I was upsetting him that compounded the melt down: because I was desperate to control myself and not inconvenience him, I dove head first into a frustration spiral with each choke or tremble of sadness.  It wasn't until I decided to go and lay on the couch by myself that I was able to quietly kick my own ass into submission.
So this morning I awake completely sheepish and grateful to my wonderful husband, who frankly sounds a little irritated with me, but understanding.  I am astonished by the amount of crap this man has to put up with.  I have married a saint.
I got a call from the doctor saying that I am far enough along for an ultrasound, and we will not have to wait until Monday, but will know after our appointment today.  My menstrual cramps have moved from my back to my front, and I am about 60% certain that we will not be leaving with good news.  It's sucks, but we'll get through it.  I don't know how, but we will get through it somehow.
I think I may go back on full medication though.