I'm starting to think it might just be a tumor...

I'm getting pretty disheartened, discouraged, depressed...call it what you want. I know that many pregnancies are late, especially for first-time moms, but I'm starting to lose faith in my body and my ability to have this baby. I feel like I have absolutely no control and that I'm spiraling down the path of losing the kind of birth I really want to have with every passing hour of uterine silence.

Everyday for the past two weeks I've woken up and thought, "maybe today!" with excitement. Sunday I even had contractions getting closer and closer together (for a grand total interval of 8 minutes!!) which helped me be strong in church to face the constant, painful barrage of "what are you doing here?" and "not in labor, huh?" comments. Well, I'm not even excited anymore.

Every morning now I wake up and think, "oh man, I didn't go into labor overnight" (which is the most likely time because of our natural hormone circadian rhythms). Then I spend my days trying to come up with semi-productive activities to fill the annoyingly long and arduous next 16 hours. Everything from massages, cooking, cleaning every last spotless corner of our already clean house, washing baby clothes and cloth diapers, reading, researching medical questions (mostly about pregnancy, let's be honest), rearranging the baby's room AGAIN, texting and calling back well-meaning friends and family that, NO, our baby is NOT here. Painful. My mom even tried to recruit me to strip an old bench of hers and--gasp--I'm actually considering it!

I've run (ok, more alternating power-walking and running) about 5 miles a day since 39 weeks and the midwife has told me two weeks in a row that this baby's head is still floating in deep space nine, also known as NOT MY PELVIS. I've been dilated to a pathetic 1cm for two weeks despite cervical evening primrose oil, membrane sweeping, red raspberry leaf herbal tea, and yes, sex, which if I can be perfectly frank, is just ridiculous this pregnant. Effacement? Let's just say I went backward from last week from 50% to 30%. Is that even possible??

When I started writing this, I was kind of sad, and listening to Rascal Flatt's "Easy"--you should youtube it, it's a great song. But now after this long rant I'm more mad about it all and my itunes has crawled down to Glee's mashup of "Rumor Has It/Somebody Like You" which is a more appropriate angry/sad montage. The first verse aptly starts off with, "She...she ain't real." Yep, that pretty much sums it up about how I'm feeling about this mystery baby who I don't even really know.

On a final note, I have a gorgeous new camera and this post probably deserves a picture of my 40+ weeks pregnant self, but I'm still trying to muster up the courage to let Boyd take one of those. Stay tuned and you may get lucky in the next few days with just such a pic.

I really don't want to go to TMC or be induced. I had visions of something in my life not being shrouded with medicine, so I hope something happens in the next 3 days or that's where we're headed, sadly enough. I'll even happily accept a Friday the 13th birth. And if you've read this far into my horrible rant perhaps you should win the "delivery date" prize from my previous post because it looks like everyone's guesses are going to be under.

Ok, with that off my chest, here's to some positive thinking!

The big debut

So...I was doing some reserach today to try and find what are my chances for delivering over the next few weeks. Here's what I found out (there are many studies and this is approximate):

5% of babies are born pre-term (<37 weeks)
8% are born between 37-38 weeks
12% from 38-39 weeks
20% from 39-40 weeks
35% from 40-41 weeks
15% from 41-42 weeks
5-10% post-term (>42 weeks)

So now, I'm polling for guesses as to when she will show up!--the closest to the due date will win a special surprise from me! Right now I am 37 weeks and 5 days (due date: Jan 6th) and it looks like she may stay put for awhile (at least, she's still stuck in my ribs so clearly she hasn't "dropped"). It turns out that most first-time moms deliver, on average, 5 days past their due date. Second-time moms? You may be surprised to hear that they too deliver, on average, 3 days past their due date.

I've done a lot of lit searching about the risks of a post-term delivery and have decided to be induced at 42 weeks if it goes that long, so the latest due date possible will be January 20th. It also may be helpful to know that I was about 4 days early and Morgan about 3 days late. Happy guessing!

CSA...The Plunge

So Boyd and I joined a CSA. Which, for those of you have escaped the debates over the last decade or so on agri-business, stands for community supported agriculture. Basically we bought a share of local produce which we pick up each week and must figure out how to cook, even if it includes Komatsuna or Kohlrabi. We have debated for probably 3 years whether or not we should take the dive, because I wasn't sure I was ready to try and figure out the mystery ingredients, but (after two years of watching Food Network's "Chopped") we finally gave in. I think our recent reading of the Omnivore's Dilemma probably clenched it for us. The Tucson CSA also includes optional shares of locally-raised grass-fed beef and lamb, free-range chickens and turkeys, pork, goat's cheese, artisan bread, honey, and eggs.

So I know you are all dying to hear what our loot included this week:

1. A bag of purple beans
2. A bag of basil
3. 2 lemon cucumbers
4. 2 green bell peppers
5. 4 red potatoes
6. A bag of fresh roasted red bell peppers
7, 4 heirloom tomatoes
8. 1 loaf artisan wheat bread
9. 1/2 lb. italian sausage
10. 1 dozen eggs
11. and 1 Jack ‘o Lantern Pumpkin

Not bad, eh? I'm really excited to be eating some delicious tucson-grown delights this week. I hear that purple beans turn green when you cook them, though...so maybe we'll just be having green beans. Either way, I'm nervous for the week where I have to cook dandelion greens, but so far, I think this is a pretty safe introduction to deliciousness.

Happy Day

Picture A: Lindsay then. Just a little peak of what I'll be cleaning up in approximately two years time. Sorry for the random butt in the picture. My cropping skills are nill. Thank you to my mother who graciously brought this little gem over for me the other day.



Picture B: Residency photo. Now, doesn't she look like someone who would be a good family doc? I think my parents did a fine job transforming my body art self into someone respectable.

And the real post, ready go: Pregnancy has been hard. I don't think I need to dwell on this twice, as many of you have already heard a mouthful and half about it. So I'm not going to talk about that today (i.e. on the horror of discovering my first stretch marks the other day). Things like that. So let's move on.

Today has been a really good day and I thought my blog deserved a little happy TLC. I submitted my residency application to 10 programs. It's DONE! I'm really happy with how it turned out. The picture was even pretty decent considering I weigh 15 pounds more now than I did just a few months ago when I could have gotten it taken (a small oversight). I applied to 6 programs in the Seattle area, 2 in the Portland area, and 2 in Tucson. Now the waiting game begins. My personal statement actually sounded grown up and familiar without being cliche. So, you know, a good success I'd say. Also, now that my September away rotation in Safford is practically here I'm resigned to the fact that it probably won't be the worst month of my life after all. I even looked up the local institute schedule to give me something productive to do in the evenings. Progress.

So we turn to the next big thing in my life: baby miss. She's moving around and I have to say it's pretty cute now that I don't mistake her for gas anymore (I'm a novice, what can I say?). I'm trying to plan a nursery and I'm thinking a green, white, and espresso clean, slightly modern, slightly shabby-chic nature theme. You know, with birds on a wire and one light green wall and a crib with crisp, cream, quilted bedding. Ok, so I may or may not have stolen this from Pottery Barn kids. Can you blame me?

But I have a few questions ladies...what are baby room essentials? Baby clothes essentials? Do any of you have positive opinions on cloth diapers or any suggestions for that realm, because I'm open and interested (please no haters...I know you're out there and frankly, I don't care what you think). How about thoughts on breast pumps? Also, while you're at it, vote on your favorite baby name in our poll. And if you hate them all, I understand, I probably hate your baby names too. All's fair.

A big apology.

I made a big mistake. I really hurt and offended a friend of mine with my last post.
I inappropriately mentioned someone that I work with and used her name without permission on a public blog. I want to apologize to my friends, family, and readers and know that I did not mean to hurt any of my readers with my candid thoughts.

When I was younger, Pam, one of my many wonderful moms, once corrected me when I used a sterotype about a friend of mine. It was a positive sterotype, so I didn't think it was wrong. But I was saying it out of jealousy that I did not have that trait. She reminded me that talking about others without their consent in a sterotypical way that can invite mean-spirited comments is always wrong, even if what we are saying seems like flattery.

Please know that I never meant to hurt anyone with my writing, nor do I wish any malintent upon anyone--especially those women who are brave and selfless enough to carry a perfect, unborn child. I can be a very passionate person and often over-step my bounds when it comes to speaking my mind. The words tumble out and I don't always mean them the way they are taken. I hope those I have offended will understand and accept my sincere apology.

Please no comments.

You know you're an adult when...

1. You actually change the Brita filter on time
2. You have a credit card that you pay off every month
3. You have a fridge full of ingredients
4. Your Pandora switches from Ne-Yo to Colbie Callait
5. You have a pet...or at least a plant...that you've successfully kept alive
6. Your furniture matches
7. You start calling school "work."
8. You have to stop and think how many years you've been married
9. You read non-fiction books
10. You start going to the dentist again
11. You start getting "long-term" callings in your ward
12. You have friends with kids
13. You start shopping at stores like The Loft and Banana Republic
14. You own your own copy of "What to Expect When You're Expecting."

Surgical beauty

What can I say? Surgery has left me a little bit speechless. There is something about having your arms elbow-deep in some guys' warm, peristalsing guts during a laparotomy that just changes you for life. This is what I've learned:

I may never feel beautiful again. The other day, I wore these awesome, new, light gray, linen pants that I had paid a slightly discounted price for at Banana Republic, but probably not discounted enough if you know what I mean. Up until this day during the rotation I was feeling a distinct lack of beauty in my life. I mean, how are you supposed to feel beautiful when you are required to don the ridiculous hair net and hideous teal scrubs with distinct yellow lining broadcasting to the entire world that you're a size small? Heaven forbid I ever have to move up to the depressing brown ribbon of "medium."

So it was a rare day neither on-call nor post-call and I made the executive decision to dress up. I wore what I thought were sensible heels. Ecco brand, 2 1/2 inches; because my clogs had seriously started to smell like the Bovie (i.e. the surgical cautery). I had even put on some powder, although I skipped the mascara because the face shield in surgery feels like a sweat lodge. Needless to say, we were just doing a hernia repair and when my resident commented on my poor choice of shoes while we were scrubbing with the nasty yellow iodine and I was somehow getting yellow soap foam in my hair, I remarked that they were more comfortable then they looked. Right? 8 1/2 hours later in those stupid heels, gray pants long wrinkled in the locker room, and without water, food, a chance to pee, plus the distinct knowledge that I was NOT allowed to itch lest I risk being labeled as "that" medical student who has to waste another pair of sterile gloves because she can't keep her darn hands out of trouble...and I was hurting...bad.

6 hours into this hernia repair which actually turned out to be a laparotomy with lysis of adhesions, bowel resection, and THEN a ventral hernia repair (nobody told ME this when they needed a medical student--STAT--to hold retractors) a giant neon blue poster of the pain scale was staring back at me in the OR--the little faces getting more and more sad from 1-10. I recalled my education in these pain matters. I knew full well that "10" was necissarily reserved for femur fractures and childbirth but I was seriously at a 5. I kept rehearshing in my head how I would frame my plee to scrub out as the surgeon was cursing at the giant mesh he was trying to sew into this guy's non-existent abdominal fascia. Oh the agony!!! What was I even doing here at 8:30pm? My biceps were shaking with every passing second of holding those stupid retractors and I thought, "this is hell. It has to be." And without the guts to bring up that I was well past my legal duty hours, I started to silently cry under my sterile garb without anyone noticing.

I came home that night and crumpled on the bed without brushing my teeth trusting my iphone was preset for 4:30am without bothering to check. Said morning came with my feet still throbbing and the worst breakout my skin has seen since high school--compliments of the powder I didn't wash off the night before I'm sure.

And so today, three days later, I can officially cross general surgery off of my list of future careers. And that is your medical school update.