Dreamers talk it out

I had somehow forgotten how seriously Sam takes all of our talks.  It's not that he says so much in the moment.  It's that he ruminates on what we discuss.  He truly takes it to heart.

Then it all comes out.

Over the years, I have done more to change him by recounting stories than I could ever hope to from nagging.  And he still likes me.  I've learned to be very cautious in my disclosures, what I say and how I say it.

Guess that's why it took me so long to tell him what the test results meant yesterday.  I didn't want to make him worry.  At the same time, he needed to know.

So, I broke down and told him when he looked relaxed and ready to cope with the bomb I was dropping.  I stood back and slowly explained everything, answered all his questions.  And waited for him to wrap his mind around it, understand everything.

It's hard for Sam to accept that there is nothing that can be done, really.  It's hard for him to accept that there is no medication for this, no treatment, no prevention.

me: The only cure is for me not to be pregnant anymore.

And I thought we were good.  I thought he understood...until we talked in the morning.

Sam: So I had this dream last night...

Here we go.

Apparently, in his dream I swelled up like the girl who turned into a blueberry in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.  He had to wheel me around until I gave birth.

Sam: I'm thinking about you, baby.

I know he is.  And I love that.  I love him.

Somehow we'll work through all his fears.  We'll make it through the rest of the pregnancy.  It will all turn out just fine.  He's mentally preparing in his own crazy way.

Dreamers try to keep a chin up

 The phone call that I was waiting for from the doctor's office about my latest test results have come back.  And pardon this meandering post.  I'm trying to work through a few things right now.

See, on the one hand, this is the best pregnancy I've had to date.  And part of that I credit with Sam taking such good care of me.  Part of it I credit with how well I take care of myself.  The rest I credit with being able to work from home, which is far less stress than I was under for the other pregnancies.

That's enough parts.

When we found out we were having a girl, I was pleased and amazed.  I mean, it seemed like I was doing too well compared to any other girl pregnancies I had ever had.  I wasn't sick at all.  I was used to having all day sickness and being completely miserable.  Not this time.  Other than the occasional headache and the periodic discovery that some foods simply did not agree with me, I was doing great.  No nausea.  No vomiting.  No debilitating epigastric pain.  Practically perfect.

About the test results.  They showed elevated fetal protein levels.  At first I worried about Down's syndrome, but they assured me that my risk for that was still 1 in 7000 and there had been no physical indications of problems on the ultrasounds.  The elevated levels sometimes mean a problem with spina bifida, but again, there were no indications on the ultrasound, so that left one thing.

I am working on pre-eclampsia again.

Sam: What does that mean?

I did my best to explain it to him.  It wasn't easy.  I never like worrying him.

me: Well, the shots are to keep the baby in, so I don't go into premature labor.  With pre-eclampsia, we have to find a balance.  When I get this, the only cure is for me to have the baby so that the disease doesn't progress to the final stage.

Sam: What's the final stage?

me: Oh, that would be seizures, coma, death.

Sam: You've had the seizures before. 

me: I know.  See this disease is complicated by the fact that when it gets severe, the blood stops clotting.  I couldn't have an emergency c-section because I would have bled out.  I had to be induced. 

Sam: If it comes down to a choice between you and the baby, it's you.  It's always you.  You know?  And I'll watch you really closely.  What can we do?

The problem is that there is nothing that can be done.  This will progress.  It won't matter what I do.  I can watch my salt.  I can try to relax.  I can lay around as much as possible whenever necessary.  That can help some, but really...it's out of our hands.  The best we can do is be vigilant and aware.

I've been saying it the entire pregnancy...I don't want to end up hospitalized or on bedrest.  I don't want to give birth dangerously early.

So what's the plan?

Now I have to keep going to the high risk pregnancy doctor the rest of the pregnancy along with my regular OB/GYN.  I will continue to have shots.  My cervix will be measured repeatedly.  We will prepare for a circlage, if necessary.  My blood pressure will be taken very seriously.  We'll watch for all the signs, every headache, every bit of fluid, any indications of swelling.  And I will be having a premature baby.  How premature is still up in the air.  I had been guessing March all along.  The doctor had said 37 weeks, which meant the first week of April.  We'll see.

There are some good parts.  And you know me, I have to focus on that.  For one, I am getting better care in every way than I ever have before.  Between Sam and the two OB/GYNs. I should be great.  And girl preemies do better.  Studies have shown.  Research has proven.  Kenna should be just fine.

Dreamers aren't afraid

There's something I really love about Sam.  He is never afraid to ask for a deal.  I never knew that we could ask for a discount places, but he does all the time.

We save a bunch of money all the time on our remodeling projects and purchases just because he isn't afraid to ask.  He'll site that we're taking the floor model because that's all that's left...and we get a discount.  He'll point out that there's no box...discount.  He'll point out the flaws in the product...the wood is warped some, there's a scratch on the door, there are nicks in the trim...discount.

I often wish I was braver like that.  I wish I was unafraid.  Sam can be really fearless.  I love that about him.

He's my big protector.

And I have to tell you, it's a huge change for me.  I went from feeling like I had to take care of everything and be everything to having someone help me out and share life's burdens.  What a lovely change.  And it was a bit of an adjustment for both of us.

It's just like the other day when I was talking to my mother on the phone about how I was uncomfortable and having trouble sleeping.  She suggested we change sides of the bed.  Silly, mommy.

We can't.  Seriously.  We can't.

Sam has this thing, always has.  Our placement in bed is determined by where the door is to the room.  He has to be closer to the door to protect me.  If things go bump in the night, he has to be the one there to face them and fight them if necessary.

I never understood the world to be such a scary place.  I was so sheltered growing up.  And I thought most of the violent stuff only happened on television.  I've seen otherwise...especially the last few years.  And all I know is that despite knowing I have more to be afraid of, that the dangers are very real, I feel safe.  I'm not afraid.

Guess I've always been like that.  It scares Sam a little.  He doesn't like my reaction to some situations.  He wishes I had a healthier fear.  Somehow I just can't muster the fear when I know that I'm safe and loved and protected.  I don't put myself into bad spots, but I don't run either.

In fact, the only thing I've been afraid of in a long time is the possibility of losing this baby.  And I have to tell you, the longer this pregnancy continues, the less afraid I am of that.  Part of it, I'm sure, has to do with feeling out of control.  This is one of the areas of my life that no matter what I do, I can't control the outcome.  I can take all my vitamins, which I never used to do.  I can drink milk.  I can exercise.  I can lay on my left side.  I can be practically perfect.  It's of little consequence.  The survival of this little one is out of my hands.  I'm doing the best I can.  Luckily, Sam helps me be strong and brave and confident.

We just have to survive the winter.  Big bright changes are on the way.

Dreamers work through their fears

I think that's what I marvel about most of the time.

I've been married.  I was married for 16 years before Sam.  Ah, but that marriage was less about teamwork and more about deception and lies, struggling to hold it all together.

So to have someone that I can talk to, share everything with, do things with, is positively magical.  And I mean that in every way. 

I remember when we first became engaged and I rushed to plan a wedding.  Sam had reasons that every idea wouldn't work.  Soon I realized I was planning for a wedding that wouldn't be.  I stopped pushing.  I stopped asking.  I started thinking that maybe this would be good enough.

It was.  And it wasn't.

I have teenagers.  I didn't want them thinking that this pseudocommitment was right.  I wanted to raise a son that would man up and marry the woman he claimed he wanted to spend his life with.  I wanted to raise a daughter who wouldn't be satisfied being a milked cow.  I wanted more children with Sam that wouldn't grow up like Gene Simmon's kids...part of an unmarried family.

This wouldn't work for me.  Not long term.  Oh, but I wanted Sam forever so bad.

Then things changed.  I couldn't accept aspects of our life as it was.  I knew what I wanted.  I knew what I deserved.  I knew what I was worth.  And I refused to settle. 

He fought it.  We fought.  He moved out.  I stayed.  He came back.  We talked.  We went away.  We worked through things.  Promises were made.  Promises he kept.  And I made my share of promises, too. 

That's why we're here.  Over the last few months, he decided we should get wedding rings.  We discussed again the date...09/10/11.  We started wearing our rings.  He referred to me as his wife.  And then he asked me...

Sam: Does it really matter if we marry or not?

I took a deep breath. 

me: It matters.  I know you're afraid, but this is me.  What do you have to fear?

We talked about it.  He learned from his father's marriages.  He learned from watching those around him.  He knew that he could trust me.  He knew that we wanted the same things.  He knew that we were happy together and had a great life. 

Sam has to ease his way into these things.  Ah, but when he comes around, the results are astonishing.  He's warmer and more loving than ever.  He's kind and generous.  He's my best friend, my partner, my support, my cheering section, my biggest fan.

It hasn't always been easy, but I wouldn't trade a moment of our life together.  He's promised me thirty years.  He's convinced that's as long as he'll live.  I'm selfish.  I want more.  Still, with our age difference, I shouldn't be without him for too long.

Where the wild things shouldn't be

I love nature. Tamed. All nice and neat and in its place.

I like nature less when it intrudes. No, I don't mind the deer that stand in our yard here and there. They are lovely to behold. And I don't mind the array of lizards that cross our driveway and sun themselves on the the cedar siding of the house. And I especially don't mind the rabbits that hop through the yard.

I do, however, take issue with spiders and snakes. And last week we were ripe with both. I very nearly had a car accident caused by a rogue spider that made an appearance and climbed up the windshield while I was driving. Then, if that wasn't enough, there was a snake on Thursday night.

I hate snakes. The garter ones aren't so bad. The problem is that it can take a moment or two to distinguish what I'm dealing with and by then, the thing is dead. I'm more of a shoot first, ask questions later kind of girl when it comes to snakes.

So, we were sitting on the screen porch. You may recall that the screen porch is our little private sanctuary. We rid ourselves of the hot tub last summer in favor of a more functional room that we could entertain more people in. The result has been that we have a lovely room to share with friends. There are a few places that the screens aren't secured anymore. These are places that Rachel's rotten cat, Ninja, has discovered so that she can make a break for it and hide under the shed. And these are places that birds have discovered when it came time to nest for the season.

We have a lovely bird's nest behind the television and we would gain pleasure each day from seeing the mom and dad bird come in and feed the young, clean up after them, and even watched as the babies learned to fly around the safety and security of our screened in porch.

At least it felt safe and secure.

And I love the door way of the screened porch, right next to the television. It is the spot that Sam and I had our very first kiss. We still stand there and re-enact that moment from time to time. Because I can stand indoors a step up and he's so much taller than I am, it makes kissing perfect and easy.

Ah, but we won't be standing there so much anymore.

As we were talking Thursday about how tired we were and how we were ready to go to sleep, as we innocently planned our next day, a snake dropped down from the nest...with a baby bird in its mouth. Oh, and it wasn't just any kind of snake...it was a cottonmouth. They are pretty much highly poisonous.

Sam: What the heck is that?

me: Snake.

It was less than two feet from me and I automatically curled up in my chair. Sam vaulted over the snake into the kitchen and grabbed a chef's knife from the butcher block. He came in and started slicing away at the snake. Seriously, this is the only time I've wished for a ginsu knife. Soon the snake was dead and the baby bird had been put out of its misery, and we were researching snakes.

We weren't so sleepy anymore.

And my lovely screened porch, a place to relax and unwind, not so relaxing anymore. And it doesn't seem quite so safe. And my kissing spot has become the spot where the snake dropped.

I torture myself some with what ifs. What if we had been standing there? What if Bishop had happened upon the snake while going to the bathroom? What if we had been outside making a bonfire when we had crossed paths with the snake?

I'll recover from this. I'll get past my fear. My life won't feel so tainted eventually. It would just happen a lot faster if I knew that the wildlife would stay in the wilds.

So, Sunday

That's when it looks like we'll be having our first sailing lesson. The weather today...while really windy...not great for sailing. And so, we'll be leaving tomorrow morning and heading for Charleston.

We won't be staying over. We'll make a day trip of it. I'm sure we'll be back late. No problem. I'm great at surviving on little sleep. Hey, I didn't say I was pleasant and fun to be around, I just said that I could survive and mostly function.

I'm thinking Sam should drive. I'm thinking that since Sam won't be working on Monday and I will. See where I'm going with this?

So, I guess I should study before I make a total fool of myself on water. I tend to be a pretty fast study. I just need to find time to study. Hmmmm. And I guess that means that I need to get off the computer to accomplish that.

Would anyone have words of advice? What do I really need to know to not make a fool of myself? I only ask this because I don't have a great history of boat related firsts.

The first time I tried to water ski, it went badly. I was fourteen, out with my Jennie and her family. The boat was a speedboat we took out on Lake Champlain. It kept stalling out at the most inopportune moments. I'd be just about up and suddenly find myself doing a face plant in the water when the motor would kick in once more, dragging me behind, sucking in water while everyone screamed for me to let go.

Then there was my first time canoeing. I was trying to get into the canoe, being cautious, stepping in the middle. Only, the kid in the back of the canoe pushed off while I was only halfway in. Suddenly, I found myself doing a split as I tried to decide whether to jump for the boat or the dock. The choice was made for me and I landed in the water.

My concern? I'm thinking sailing is going to be somewhere in the middle. *sigh* Insert words of comfort...here. I'll be eager to tell you all about it one way or another on Monday.

If I make it.