On This Day My Child Was Born

It was February 13^th.  I was 8 ½ months pregnant and returning to work after my weekly gynecologist appointment.

My doctor said he thought I may come a little earlier than my February 28^th due date.  That was okay with me.  I had had enough of the whole pregnancy thing- the tremendous weight gain, the sharp pain in my abdomen they called “heartburn,” the inability to sit, stand or sleep comfortably.  I really did Ache All Over.   I was more than ready to have my baby.

Snow was beginning to fall as I headed back to work, but I wasn’t worried.  The roads weren’t bad yet, and my workplace was just four miles from my house.  Nonetheless, I was pretty happy when I arrived at work safely, just in time for lunch.

When I stood up after lunch, I felt an unfamiliar sensation.  I realized with a shock that my water was beginning to break.  I calmly called the doctor’s office, and they advised me to return to the hospital immediately.  I wasn’t able to reach my husband, who was making deliveries for his family’s business in a time before cell phones.  I left the message with his mother that I would go home and pack my bag and he could just meet me at the house.

I let my boss and my friend and co-worker Joan know what was going on and left.  I got in the car, turned the key and…the car wouldn’t start.  I had turned the headlights on when I was on my way back to work in the snowstorm and left them on.  My car battery was dead.

Okay, so now I was beginning to panic.
  

I found Paul, my co-worker with jumper cables.  Paul felt strongly that a woman in labor should not be driving herself anywhere, especially in the snow.  He refused to jump my car.  I explained that I just planned to drive the few miles to my house, and probably wasn’t even technically in labor.  Paul didn’t care.  He offered to drive me anywhere I needed to go.  I explained to him that this was my only car, and I could not leave it there, dead, , especially if I actually had the baby.  Paul was adamant.  We argued for several minutes.  I was getting desperate.  I begged.  I cajoled.  I cannot swear that I didn’t at one point grab Paul by the lapels and yell “Jump the damn car, Paul!”   Finally, Joan,  a very persuasive person, intervened and Paul grudgingly agreed to jump my car.

I drove home and packed my suitcase but hadn’t heard from my husband.  I called the doctor’s office.  “WHAT??!!!,”  the nurse said, “You mean you haven’t even LEFT yet?”  The last professional I saw get this excited was the whitewater rafting guide after I fell into the Youghigheny River.  I though better than to mention the dead car battery.  She asked how long it would take me to get to the hospital.  About 30 minutes when it wasn’t snowing, I told her.   “Oh honey,” she said, “You need to get here RIGHT NOW!”

I called my mother-in-law to tell her that I was leaving for the hospital and to tell my husband to meet me there.  She offered to come pick me up, but after my conversation with the nurse I didn’t think I should wait. 

My mother also offered to drive me, which was very sweet but not really feasible.  My mother was terrified of driving in the snow, and lived in Swissvale, which was just about an hour away from my home in Washington, PA.  It would have taken my Mom 2 hours or more to pick me up and take me to the hospital in the snow, and I was certain that Mom would not want to drive in the snow and deliver her grandchild herself, at least not on the same day.

It was snowing a lot harder now.  When I finally arrived at the hospital, I told the doctor that aside from my water breaking and driving 30 miles in the snow, I was feeling fine.  He examined me and informed me that I was indeed having contractions and I was “officially” in labor.  Perhaps I was in shock as I drove to the hospital in the snow, and therefore numb to the contractions, or perhaps I had unknowingly been employing those breathing exercises they taught us in Lamaze class.

Meanwhile my husband had arrived back at the shop, and was so upset at the news that his parents did not trust him to drive himself to the hospital.  His family accompanied him, and his father drove.   He burst into the birthing room about an hour after I got there, in quite a state, I might add.

I will not share all the minute details of the labor and delivery, because I hate when women do that.  However, I will tell you that I had to have a Caesarian section because the baby was large, and my birth canal was small.   I only mention this because I want everyone to know that there is actually a body part of mine that is too small, ironically located inside my body where nobody can see it.

At 10:15 p.m. on February 13, 1985, my beautiful, brown-haired, brown-eyed baby boy was born, 8 pounds and 9 ounces despite coming 15 days early.  When they put him into my arms, I was smitten- crazy about the kid from the start.  Every bit of the pregnancy and that day had been worth it.

That baby turns 27 today.  One word always comes to mind when I think of him- proud.  I am so very proud of the fine young man he has grown up to be.   Here’s wishing my son a wonderful birthday, and hoping that the weather today is better than on the day he was born.

My Sister the "Doctor"

My sister isn't really a medical professional, but she plays one in our family.  Her dual degrees in Advertising and History do not qualify her to dispense medical advice.  Nonetheless, she does so with a confidence and panache rarely observed in real doctors with whom I interact.  I am proud to say that she is self-taught - a voracious reader and collector of medical books, and an audience member at local community medical seminars.

Scoff if you will, but in our family we are believers.  She’s very often our first port of call for medical questions or concerns.  We can sometimes save ourselves the time, trouble and possible expense of seeing a doctor.  This is because she is usually right, at least as accurate and sometimes more accurate than the actual medical professionals.  I can say this without fear of it going to her head because she is already convinced that she is always right.  If anything, she might be questioning my use of the modifier “usually” right now.

The really nice thing about my sister and her medical acumen is that when you are facing a medical condition or situation, you have a tireless advocate working on your case with you.  She is with you every step of the way- always available and asking for updates. She is diligent in her research, determined to get to the root of the problem and find a diagnosis and/or treatment.  Her intellectual curiosity never flags, and she never, ever gives up.

Take the case of My Mysterious Recurring Foot Infection, which lasted the better part of three months.  Even when the doctors, including a podiatrist, had thrown in the towel, basically saying that they simply had no idea what was causing it or why it kept coming back, my sister never gave up the quest.   She continued to suggest possibilities to explore that might help to diagnose or treat the problem, or at least prevent another reoccurrence.

This led to one of those infamous conversations I sometimes have with doctors.

“My sister thinks I might be allergic to the anti-inch ingredients in the topical products, because my foot gets worse whenever I use them,” I explained.

There was a pause as the doctor looked at me blankly for a minute. “I see. Is your sister a medical professional?”

“Well, no, but she knows a lot about medicine. She reads medical books and attends lectures.”

The doctor considered this for a minute, clearly skeptical but willing to entertain any viable theory at this point.  He wrote me a prescription for a “pure” topical ointment that I now keep on hand at all times, and which I use at even the slightest hint of a problem to successfully keep my foot healthy and infection-free. This is all thanks to my sister.

As you can imagine, she has been following my recent Adventures with Arthritis with great interest. I shared with her that I was pleased with my progress since I began physical therapy four weeks ago.  Now when the physical therapists work on the Knot that runs down the one side of my back it is only very painful.  It used to be excruciatingly and unbearably painful.  I am optimistic that after two more weeks in therapy, that it might be just somewhat painful. 

My sister suggested that I help the process along by getting a long handled massager so I could massage the knot myself at home.  I had never thought of that.  So I stopped at Rite-Aid on my way home, and there it was- a long-handled, heated, vibrating massager, just waiting for me to give it a home.  And what a fine new family member the massager has become –working its magic on the Knot in a matter of minutes.  It’s a miracle, really.  I think this massager and I have a long future together.

Honestly, it is too bad that more people can’t benefit from my sister’s gift.  She really should have her own show.  We could call it Symptom Tracker – kind of a cross between Mystery Diagnosis and History Detectives. People could send in their symptoms, my sister could work on finding a diagnosis and treatment backed up by a team of actual medical professionals.  I would be the producer.

Under the Gunn

This past week Tim Gunn decided to share his personal experience to enhance the panel discussion on celibacy by choice on The Revolution, the new show with lifestyle experts helping us to improve our lives.  He revealed that he had not had sex in 29 years, and that it didn’t bother him at all, that he was living a happy, fulfilled life without sex.

Um, okay, I was a little surprised by this admission but I guess I could understand it.  It did serve the discussion and made a point, and it was his truth to tell.  But then he decided to elaborate.  I watched on in horror.  He hesitated a moment saying that what he was about to say was very personal.  Danger, Will Robinson, danger!  “Then don’t say it,” I pleaded aloud, just wanting to crawl through the television to stop him.  He went on to explain some very  intimate details of what had happened in his previous relationship that led to the decision.

Oh, Tim, you know I think the world of you.  You are a fabulous fashion consultant, and a caring and helpful mentor to the designers on Project Runway.  I applaud your willingness to be open in an effort to advance acceptance of celibate people everywhere.   But that last part?  That was the epitome of TMI.   The nation and I did not need to know all this information that you should really only be discussing with your therapist, or maybe a few very close friends.  But not with your mother, Tim- never with your mother.  Trust me your mother does not want to know that much about your sex life.

I guess I’m not really ready for the Revolution, because I think that there ought to be a line that you just don’t cross. There used to be a line.  Where has the line gone, I ask you?  I know that in this world of reality television and full disclosure that people are revealing more than ever before, but there are some things that really should remain private.  Look I understand how it is. I write this blog every week, and I’m on Facebook every day. I share some information about myself and my life, but honestly, you do not know everything about me.
   

It’s bad enough when the gossipmongers dig up some personal information about celebrities and then reveal it to the world.  But when the celebrities do it themselves, I just have to wonder why.  Also falling into the category of information that I did not need to know this week was the fact that Pat Sajak and Vanna White were often drunk when they were recording early episodes of Wheel of Fortune.  Pat told an interviewer that Vanna and he used to go to have dinner at a local Mexican restaurant during their break, and enjoy a few margaritas before returning to the studio to record the last show or two.  Well, we all had our youthful indiscretions, and it wasn’t like they were flying an airplane or performing surgery while under the influence, but what exactly was the point of sharing that?

Then, if all that wasn’t enough, this week Fran Drescher revealed that her ex-husband and she had both been abducted by aliens, at the same time, before they met, when they were in junior high.  Of course, she was just joking.  Right?  PLEASE tell me she was just joking…

Isn't it Ironic, Don't You Think?

Don’t get me started on the song “Ironic,” by Alanis Morissette.  This song contains several supposed examples of irony that are NOT ironic. 

For the record, irony is about the unexpected.  If you say, “Beautiful day, isn’t it?” when the weather is horrid outside, you are speaking in an ironic manner.  If something happens that is the opposite of what reasonable people might expect to happen, that is ironic.

Therefore, Alanis, “rain on your wedding day” isn’t ironic unless your wedding is taking place in the middle of the Sahara desert.   In some places (like Pittsburgh) you would be foolish NOT to expect rain on your wedding day because it could literally rain any day of the year here.  And, “good advice that you just didn’t take?”  Honey, people ignore good advice all the time – you can’t really tell people anything once they have their minds made up, so that’s definitely not ironic.

To me, the most ironic thing about this song is that it received a Grammy nomination for its author for writing a song about irony when she didn’t really understand the meaning of the word.  I wouldn’t have expected that.

The world and life is absolutely rife with irony.  Real irony is all around us.  I can think of several recent examples.

1)       American Idol comes to Pittsburgh for auditions, but then doesn’t feature any Pittsburghers on the broadcast, except for one girl from Sutersville (in Westmoreland County) whose sister had to “plank” (i.e. lie in front of her like a log) in order for her to perform her best.  This is especially ironic because I personally know EIGHT exceptionally talented young Pittsburghers, all of them young rock stars who can and do bring the house down with their vocals, who auditioned for the show who didn’t even have a chance to perform in front of the judges.  I guess you gotta have a gimmick if you want to get ahead on American Idol.

2)      The very best thing for your arthritic knees is to lose weight, and the very best way to lose weight is to exercise, and yet weight bearing exercise (like walking) puts too much pressure on those same knees that require weight loss for relief.

3)      Muscle weighs more than fat.  Therefore, despite the generally accepted idea that weight loss is THE definitive indicator of improved health, if you exercise in a way that builds your muscle to improve your health you will (at least at first) gain some weight.

4)    When Sperling’s Best Places decided to do a study to determine American’s Most Stressful Cities, one of the factors they used was the divorce rate in that city (along with things like violent crime, suicides, and unemployment rates) even though there’s nothing that will relieve your stress like getting out of a bad marriage. (http://realestate.yahoo.com/promo/americas-most-stressful-cities-2012.html). 

So now I have the refrain of this insipid song running through my head. Now THAT’S ironic, don’t you think?

The Joints Are Jumpin'

Good news, everyone! I have been diagnosed as having osteoarthritis in my neck and my knees, and some condition I can’t spell in my hands!


Why is this good news, you ask? When I named this column “Rip Aches All Over” it was supposed to be a joke. And it IS a joke, but it is also happens to be true. I have been literally aching all over (mostly in various joints) for a very long time now. Some of my aches date back 20 years, with no real relief, treatment or diagnosis. I once had a foot infection that lasted almost three months that stumped a number of doctors. A barrage of tests was inconclusive. I suddenly found myself a devotee of Mystery Diagnosis, that show where people suffer a wide variety of awful ailments for years, and no one can tell them why.

Basically, whenever I would bring my joint pain to the attention to my general practitioners they would say that I probably had a “little arthritis” and that there was nothing to do about it unless it got so bad that it would require surgery.

I’m no doctor but I just thought that there must be SOME course of action between “nothing” and “surgery,” especially if there actually was arthritis involved. I am not a big fan of surgery. So, I decided, on my own, to go to a rheumatologist. After 20 years, within an hour, after a couple of x-rays, I had an official diagnosis. The really good news is that it is moderate arthritis, I still have full motion in all my joints and there is LOTS I can do to relieve the pain and improve my conditions. One of the “new” things the doctor prescribed was physical therapy.

When I went for my evaluation, Dennis (the therapist) reiterated that I indeed had a myriad of problems with my joints. “You have a LOT going on here,” he said. Yes, yes, I KNOW that I do! But then he set out to DO something about it, with heating pads and electrical stimulus in the problem areas, and deep heating treatments, and some sort of procedure where he massaged my neck and pulled my head away from my shoulders (don’t try this at home, kids). “Boy, your neck is REALLY tight,” he said, several times.

When I went to leave, his assistant asked if I needed to return. “Oh, yes,” he responded, “she’s a mess.” Yes, yes, I AM a mess! That’s what I’ve been trying to tell the doctors all these years. With the sudden validation of my complaints, and with my neck feeling better than it had in years, I couldn’t even bring myself to feel insulted by this. Dennis suggested that I return twice a week for four to six weeks. I happily agreed.

On my second visit, I saw Mike. After more of the heat treatment, and hot wax treatment for my hands, and more massage, he set about giving me some exercises for my knees, neck and hands. “You need to build up your quadriceps to stabilize your knees,” he proclaimed. Yes, yes, I DO…wait a minute. Quadriceps? Those are my thighs, right? Good heavens, would we be working on making my thighs even BIGGER? Oh, this was no time for vanity. It would be a small price to pay if it meant that my knees wouldn’t give out on a regular basis.

So it’s been four days since my second physical therapy session, and I have been doing my exercises religiously. I can’t even explain to you how much better I feel already. Where oh where has physical therapy been all my life? I swear my neck is looser and a little bit longer than it had been. Even if physical therapy doesn’t change my life, it may just change my neck.

Here's to Your Health

Excuse me for just a moment while I brush off my soapbox, in light of the national Childhood Anti-Obesity Campaign that seems to be in full swing.

There is a popular saying, “You can never be too rich or too thin.” I honestly don’t know if you can be too rich, having no real personal experience with having lots of money. I would just like to see what it would be like to have money left over after paying the bills and buying groceries each payday. However, I am certain that you can most definitely be too thin. Ask anyone who has struggled with anorexia, or lost someone to anorexia, if being too thin can be unhealthy.

Healthy people come in a variety of shapes and sizes, and that’s why I would like to see a national Healthy Child Campaign take the place of one that puts the emphasis strictly on weight. I am concerned that the message of an anti-obesity campaign will make children who are naturally larger than their peers struggle with body image issues, and will make them the target of ridicule by other children and even some ignorant adults. If it leads even one child to starve themselves in the quest of some unreasonable weight, then it is a tragedy.

The truth is that there is no magic number that is a healthy weight for all people. The truth is that if you eat healthy food in reasonable portions and exercise, you are likely to be healthier than you would be if you eat whatever you want and don’t exercise, and you will eventually weigh what is a good weight for you. Maybe that’s what we should be urging parents to teach their kids, so that they can grow up to be healthy, confident and strong.

A case in point – I have been on Weight Watchers for the past six months. By its very name, it is clearly a weight-loss program, albeit one that encourages a good mix of very healthy foods, and exercise. I have lost 25 pounds, but I am just one-third of the way to my self-established goal, which is NOT as thin as I am supposed to be according to all the height-and-weight charts. Already, I am healthier, I look better and I feel much better than I did six months ago.

True story – when we first started dating, my absolutely adorable husband felt compelled to assure me that he would love me even if I was skinny, because he didn’t want me to think he just wanted me for my body. That thought had never crossed my mind. In about a year, hopefully, he’s going to have the chance to prove it.

Home After the Holidays, or, A View for the Cat

Anytime I have enough time to take off work between Christmas and New Year’s Day, I do it. It’s always great to have a few days to just relax after the holiday rush. This gives me time to finish little projects around the house, to put things away from the holidays, to catch up on some reading, and (after all that is done), to actually have the rare opportunity to sit for mindless hours watching daytime television.


Of course, the burning question of the daytime television scene right now is “Who will replace Regis?” That’s right, Live with Regis and Kelly is now just Live with Kelly. I tuned in, of course, to see how Kelly Ripa was holding up. She seems fine. Well, I always want to feed her, but I am sure that’s just the Italian mother in me. The biggest change is that she has moved into Regis’ seat behind the table, which I found strangely disconcerting.

Not that anyone asked me, and I don’t know if every guest host is actually auditioning for the gig, but my hands-down favorite guest host this week was Josh Groban. This surprised me as much as it does you. He had an easy rapport with Kelly, a nice sense of humor, and was quick on his feet. He kept the show moving along, was a decent interviewer, and seemed like he would grow into the role. He would be a nice Yin to Kelly’s Yang. And in a pitch, like if a guest cancelled last minute or something, he could always sing.

I got to catch up with my old pals on The View, my absolute favorite daytime TV show. I swear Whoopi Goldberg and I could be BFFs. However, I even like Elizabeth Hasselbeck. You know, I’ve always been what one of those live-and-let-live kinds of liberals who think that everyone is entitled to their own opinion, even conservatives who disagree with me. Besides, what fun would it be if all the women on the panel agreed with one another?

Speaking of “views,” I have to tell you about this episode of For Rent that I watched. This is HGTV’s variation on House Hunters, only about renters. The would-be renters in this episode listed a good view for their cat as one of their must-haves in a new rental property. Mind you, not just any view would do for this cat (who also had his own Cat Condo in the couple’s bedroom). In reviewing their one possible choice, the woman said, with a straight face, “Sure there’s a window, and a view, but there isn’t really anything interesting for the cat to look at there.”

Sadly, the landscape of daytime television in the afternoon has been altered forever, and not for the better, because Pine Valley is no longer a part of it. All My Children, MY soap opera, had its last episode last September. What a town that was – filled with characters like Tad Martin (Michael E. Knight), Adam and Stuart Chandler (the incomparable and brilliant David Canary), and the one-and-only Erica Kane played by the one-and-only Susan Lucci.

In an effort to fill the void, I went to the library and checked out All My Life, Susan Lucci’s autobiography. Aside from a certain hard-working determination and eternal optimism, Ms. Lucci has precious little in common with Erica. I am convinced that it took her so long to win her Emmy simply because she made it look so easy.

I don’t know what I am going to do to get my All My Children fix next year when I’m home the week after Christmas. With any luck, David Canary is working on his autobiography now.