Monday, May 9, 2011

Addendum to yesterday's post

Want to hear me laugh hysterically?  hohoho uhhhh hahahah 1800 cals my a*s.  Just half an hour after I finished my post yesterday hunger struck, along with gastritis and the need to eat and eat and eat lest I get a bad case of stomach misery.  So I ate.  I started off with half a cup of salted nuts, then two pieces of Rogers' chocolate (thanks Geanina!) then one corn on the cob, then I made tapioca pudding and had a bit with a tablespoon of icecream, then I plucked clean a whole Sockeye salmon head that I had boiled for broth and ate its brains (yes, I am a bad bad person).  Total for the day...wait a second, my calculator broke in desperation...had to grab the heavy duty industrial one for this advanced arithmetic...yep:  2850 calories. That is why I am gaining weight, mistery solved.  This morning I woke up with a swollen face and vowed to never ever eat salt again.

Today I did a bit better: tapioca pudding, one half bran muffin, a 16 oz latte (bad habit, I know), smoothie made with 1 cup milk, one banana and one cup frozen berries+mango, a flat bread cooked in the pan with 1 tbsp butter, another cup of berries, 3 oz steamed sole with veggies, some raw cabbage, some raw cucumber, some dried coconut peels, and one grapefruit, one slice of homemade pizza.  Let's see:  1850.  And I am still full from yesterday.  I think pregnant women's stomachs don't ever empty, they just stay full forever.  

Yesterday I went for a brief walk around the house (one block) and got some Braxton Hicks.  Lots of them.  I panicked and called my dad to pick me up with the car (one block!) then lied down trying to suppress thoughts of Emma dead.  I cannot believe how fragile I am.  I even called MrH crying, even though the BH stopped a long time prior and all was well, then I dreamt of bad things happening to Emma, and I must admit I am scared shitless of preterm labour.  My OB here said not to worry, and same with my previous OB, but hey, what do they know, they said all will be well with my previous pregnancy as well and guess what, it was not. The bad thing about being in Vancouver is that I had to put up with my mom's anxiety, who under the pretext of checking on me, comes into my room every five minutes to ask me how I am feeling, and her anxiety is so thick I could cut it with a knife.  Back home MrH would have given me a hug and I would have felt that all would be well as long as we are together, that we have been through so much that we can endure anything.  Here, I am alone, anxious, and have to hide all my feelings from my mom who has so much anxiety that I must appease, that it is extra work for me instead of extra help.  

I know that my family loves me very much, but luckily for them they have never had to deal with a dead baby, and hence they have no idea what exactly it is, how to help, what to say, what the risks are of it happening again, and generally do not inspire me with the strength that my own husband or my obstetricians inspire me with.  

It is definitely hard for me to be here.  It is work, it must be done.  For Emma.  (The sweet girl, she rewards me with kicks whenever I feel down, and I love her so much for this!).  I cannot bear the though of her dying or suffering as well.  

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