Surprises in May

The original purpose of this blog was to stay connected to friends and family back in Iowa when Isaac and I moved to Michigan for his medical schooling.  When I got diagnosed with cancer a few weeks after moving, it took on a new purpose--being open with people about our struggles while navigating through them.

This year, we celebrated our anniversary on May 8th.  It was awesome.  I had to close at Nordstrom and Isaac worked in the morning, so we didn't get to do anything the day of.  However, the morning after, I had my routine PET/CT scan and then was off for the day.

Since we were no longer preventing pregnancy, the hospital had to do a blood test for pregnancy before I could get my scan.  Had I realized how long they had to wait for the labs to get back, I might have stopped by the morning before so I didn't have to sit around for an hour, but lesson learned.  While I was waiting to get injected with the radioactive glucose, the tech and I were chatting about life.  When you get tests like this done regularly, you start to get to know the people at the hospital pretty well.  This guy was new to me--I'd only had him once before--so we were talking about family and how long he'd been working as a tech.

At some point in the conversation, he started talking about the statistics of how many people have actually been pregnant when they come in for their PET/CT scan.

Zero.

In his 12+ years of working as a radiology tech, he said he'd never had a result come back positive.  That's not exactly comforting.  I wasn't exactly sure what it meant, but it indicated to me there's a pretty strong correlation between people who get PET/CTs and not being pregnant.  Maybe it's because a majority of the people he sees are older, maybe it's because there's an unknown side effect of getting them regularly, or who knows what.... but I was kind of bummed when he told me that.

When the lab finally called, he went into the other room to hear the results and I was straining my ears to see if there was any surprise in his voice that might indicate I was pregnant.  Nope.  None at all.  By the time he hung up the phone I was settled in and ready to get injected, even though I was bummed.  He came back in the room and surprise, surprise: "Well ma'am, you're not going to be able to get your scan done today because we don't want to bake the baby!"

I'm sure I had a really big smile on my face but the only thing that absorbed at that point was that I wasn't going to be able to get my PET/CT.  Still, I walked out of the hospital grinning like a goon.  And I still smile now remembering the feeling.  I started to process it on the way home and screamed and cried a couple of times in the car on my way home.  Isaac was supposed to be at the hospital that morning, so when I pulled into our apartment complex and saw his car there, I was even more excited that I'd be able to tell him right away.

Now, my husband is a man of one face.  His expression rarely changes, regardless of the circumstance. I have no idea how that works, because everything I feel shows on my face.  I decided I'd try and play the "one-face" game when I told him to see if I could get a reaction out of him.  The conversation went something like this-

Isaac: "How did your scan go?"

Me: "I don't know."

Isaac: "Well, how do you think it went?" (You normally have to wait a few days to get results)

Me: "I don't know.  I didn't have one."

Isaac: "Why?"

Me: "We're pregnant."

Isaac: "What?"

AND HIS FACIAL EXPRESSION NEVER CHANGED!!!!!!  I tried, ladies and gentlemen.  I tried.  At first he thought I was joking, because I was doing a good job at hiding my own excitement.  Once he finally understood that I wasn't pranking him, he did crack a smile and laugh a bit.

Over the last couple of weeks, we've started doing things that I'm sure other parents-to-be do: talking about the baby, discussing names, figuring out insurance, finances, etc...  We've gotten a little attached to it and were envisioning a future with a child.

I say "were" because this morning I miscarried.

This week has been crazy, stress-wise.  My closest friend in Michigan, Pearl, has packed up and is moving to Texas today.  The cosmetic line that I manage started a gift with purchase on Wednesday (which I worked a 12-hour shift for).  And today we started a department-wide event that will run through today and tomorrow and will draw in hundreds of women and lots of chaos.

When I arrived at work this morning, I started to bleed a little bit.  I only noticed because I'm out of my "good" undergarments and I felt like I was getting an underwear line that was showing.  I went to adjust it, and while using the facilities, saw blood.  Bright red blood.  Pregnant women shouldn't bleed.

I called my husband because he always knows what to do, and after giving me an over-the-phone exam, he came and picked me up.  Off to the ER we went.  During our 3-hour stay there, I bled and bled and bled.  Chunks of blood.  I was given a foley catheter (a pinch uncomfortable getting it in, by the way) and they took me to ultrasound to take images of my uterus and ovaries.  After that, a few blood labs, and a pelvic exam, the doctor told Isaac and I that my pregnancy hormone had dropped significantly, indicating I was most likely no longer carrying.

So we were pregnant.

And now we're not.

I'm exhausted.  There's the unwritten rule that you don't share that you're pregnant until you're past the 12-week mark.  I was too excited, so I told quite a few people... probably half of the ladies I work with, some friends, and my three closest girlfriends.  After we left the hospital I sent out a mass text letting everyone know.

The rest of today has been filled with talking to my husband and my mom, naps, cramps, and getting lots of hugs and kisses from my husband.  He even took a nap with me, even though he wasn't tired--which is a HUGE thing.  I've gotten a ton of supportive texts and a couple of extremely sweet voicemails.

Thank you, to those of you who have given me encouragement.  It's still painful, but less.

We're going to keep "not preventing," but we'll see what happens.  The silver lining is that we know we CAN get pregnant.  Now to see if they'll ever stick...

Well Hello, Sir!

So.

I've just about peed myself several times this week.  I don't even have a good excuse for that kind of thing anymore since I'm not in chemo, but hey, it still happens... right?

The first time I almost wet my pants was when I got a Facebook friend request from Ken Paves.  I had kind of wanted to add him since I was working in his salon, but I didn't want to be a creeper, so I didn't.  I figured I should probably wait until I meet him someday and then I can friend him.  So now we're Facebook friends.

It came as a complete shock to me, so of course I had to capture the moment in a screen shot.

Then, Nordstrom (I've been officially notified that it's inappropriate to say Nordstrom's) called and offered me a part-time position as a rover, which means I'll be getting paid to play with makeup all day!  I really can't think of a better way to pay off student loans--except for doing hair, of course.

THEN, I got a call on Saturday morning from the manager at Ken Paves Salon asking if I could come in for a meeting later because Ken was going to be in and would like to chat with everyone.  That, my friends, was when I literally almost... you know.

Immediately, I asked if his parents were going to be in early because I had a couple of things that I wanted to talk with them about before the meeting.  They were, so I hopped through the shower, put my face on, and out the door I went.  In my head I'd been thinking that it would be ideal to talk with them about the position I'd been offered and see if they'd be willing to work with me so far as scheduling and such and I also wanted to talk with Ma Paves about doing an event we'd talked about previously to see if she was still considering it.

Ma & Pa Paves were already there, working away in the office when I stuck my head in to see if they had a minute to chat.  Usually they do.  They LOVE to chat.  Which is good, because I like chatting with them!  Anyway, I went to take a seat to talk with them when Ma asked me what Ken was doing.  I was a little confused because in my head I thought he wasn't coming in until the meeting.  Turns out he was already there.

Again, surprise!  It was cute to watch how excited she was that he was there.  It reminded me of Mom and Ike.  Apparently there is nothing that makes a woman smile more than getting to see her son and give him hugs and bathe him with her motherly love.  It's so precious!

I had the opportunity to chat with him for a while and thoroughly enjoyed the entire conversation.  He's a very insightful guy with a big heart.  I'm really excited that he'll be pushing us to do better as stylists and artists and is generous enough to allow us access to some of his resources to do so.

Those close to me already know that I love working, but it seems that it will be even more exciting this year!!

If your'e interested in checking out the work blog (I'll be keeping my personal life out of there) click here!  'Til next time!

A Shi**y Way to Start the Day

Wednesday was chemo-day and I spent the rest of the day knocked out, trying to recover.  Yesterday, I can't remember (which should probably be a sign) but I think I was knocked out all day as well.

...And then there's this morning.  Mortifying is an appropriate adjective.

I feeling pretty good so when I woke up, I decided to update my calendar.  There I was, standing in front of my dry-erase calendar that I chart my life on: updating it with upcoming events such as birthdays, people I want to pray for, and Chavel's wedding.  As I was starting to erase some past events, I must have used a little too much uumph or something, because I had an accident.

Yes, an accident.  As in, I pooped myself.

Even more unfortunately, I had a pair of my husband's boxers on, which are fantastically comfortable for sleeping in, but don't catch things quite the same as feminine undergarments.  A spot of heat hit my left inner ankle and I glanced down to see a brown-ish dot starting to sag downward toward the floor.  Realizing that what I thought happened actually HAD, I immediately ran to the bathroom to check the damage and debate whether to wash or toss.  The boxers were actually pretty well protected from the damage, but I couldn't imagine Isaac ever wanting to wear them again.  I debated a couple more seconds.  To the garbage they went.

After cleaning myself up, I armed myself with a soapy wet paper towel and made my way to the scene of the crime, intending to nonchalantly clean the spot unnoticed and uninterrupted.

Wouldn't you know, that's not how it went.

"Ash, what are you doing?" asked Mom.

"Oh, just cleaning up a little spot."

"What happened?" she probed.  I sighed.


Can't it just be between me and the carpet....?


Chin tilted at an angle downward, I squared my jaw before looking at her and answering.  "I pooped myself, okay?"  I'm sure I was shooting daggers at her.

"Oh honey..." I could hear the laughter being held back in her voice as she switched into mother mode.  "Where did you put them?"

Embarrassed, I nodded toward the bathroom.  "In the garbage."  Things were awkward enough as it was and I couldn't imagine my MOTHER digging in our garbage for my husband's now-soiled boxers, so I dove in after them myself.  I felt kind of like a dog unearthing it's buried treasure as I pulled them from the garbage.  Doesn't this normally happen after people hit 60-something?

"How bad are they?" she asked.  I unrolled and unfurled them for her to see.  She examined them with a practiced eye.  "Don't worry, I'll get a load of laundry started."

"What??  Don't we need to wash them by themselves?  Won't they get poop all over everything else?" I asked.

"No, no, no.  Just relax, don't worry about it.  I've got it.  Go take a nap or something."

I did.


And not only did she do the poopy laundry, she did ALL of our laundry.  I guess that makes it easier, because now Isaac will never know exactly which pair it was.  And really, if a person can't tell, can it even matter?