Wesley’s Arrival

January 15, 2012 at 10:20 pm | Posted in Uncategorized | Leave a comment

One characteristic of many bipolar people is that we can’t seem to stick with anything. This blog is a perfect example of that. Since my last post which announced my pregnancy, I now have an almost three-month-old son, Wesley Mark Daniel Drennan. He was born on Monday, October 17, 2011, via unplanned C-section. To say his birth was memorable would be an understatement.

We did the childbirth class thing which told Mark and I about natural labor and epidurals and C-sections and all that. We saw the gory videos. We sat there with other scared shitless parents and absorbed it all. I had some idea of what I wanted in the delivery room. DRUGS!!!! Well actually, my approach was going to be “wait and see.” But I wasn’t going to kid myself. An epidural was probably going to be in the picture.

I began feeling contractions on Saturday night. I dutifully kept records of each contraction to see how far apart they were. On Monday afternoon, they were coming five minutes apart. It was go time! We got to the hospital, and they sent me to sit in the waiting room! I thought, “Are you freaking kidding me? This kid could pop out right here! Do you know how much pain I’m in?” I think they soon got the message because five minutes later I was in triage.

They laid me in bed and set me up on the monitors. I couldn’t get up. At least at home, I could move around and do all those tricks they taught me in childbirth class. Here I was a sitting duck. Finally, my midwife came in and said that because of the LEEP procedure I had done about a year or so earlier, my cervix was not dilating as quickly as it should. She would need to go in and scrape some scar tissue away. She said if I wanted an epidural, I probably should go ahead and get it now. All I needed to hear was the word “scrape.” Sign me up!

I went into my labor room and hunched up in preparation for the epidural. Folks, it really wasn’t bad at all. I was in so much pain, I didn’t care if they stuck a damn sword in my back, as long as they made it all go away. A few moments later, I was good. For about five blissful hours, I watched the monitor as it told me I was having contractions. I was being a good patient and getting my rest. Any time I wanted to shift positions, I let the nurse know so I wouldn’t mess with the IV in my back. She insisted it wasn’t possible for my IV to fall out, but obliged me anyway.

Then, the unthinkable happened. Feeling. Sensation. I told the nurse that I was starting to feel pain in my legs. She said I just needed to change positions, so she contorted me this way and that, and the pain grew worse. I told her that this didn’t feel right. She said to me, “Well, it is labor, you know.” No, I had no idea. Is that what I’m doing here? No wonder I have not been able to find a decent margarita in this joint.

Finally, the nurse who did my epidural came in and took a look. Well, what do you know….it had fallen out! It was time for epidural #2. In no time I was good….until about two hours later. One side of me felt nothing….the other side felt everything. Once again, the sarcastic bitchy nurse moved me around because it was a “positioning problem.” Once again, the other nurse was called in. It was time for epidural #3. The nurse told me that in his career, he had never given three epidurals to one patient in one night before. Lucky me. A little while later, my midwife came in and gave me some news. After sixteen hours of labor, my cervix had actually started to shrink. I was going to need a C-section.

I had said all along that I really didn’t want a C-section. Honestly, I was relieved at this point to hear this news. They wheeled me into the OR. They started hacking into me. Mark looked over the sheet, fascinated. He watched them pull Wesley out of my tummy. I heard the weakest, sweetest cry I have ever heard in my life. The people in the delivery room commented how pathetic of a cry it was. I could hear a flurry of activity. Mark went to take pictures as they were cleaning Wesley off. After nine months, three epidurals, and one C-section, I was the last to see my precious baby boy!

Finally, they placed Wesley down by my head so I could see him. This was my son. This was what had been growing inside of me for nine long months. This perfect little child. Welcome to the world, Wesley!

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My Eggo is Preggo!

March 20, 2011 at 12:14 pm | Posted in Pregnancy, Ramblings | Leave a comment

It has been a long time since I have written here, so I may ramble a bit. After seven months, I can finally say that my eggo is preggo! Yes, I am ten weeks pregnant. I have known now for a month and a half, but there are times that it still does not seem real to me. I am also starting to realize that despite all of my prior knowledge on everything pregnancy, baby, hormones, etc, there is still a lot of stuff I don’t know.

One of these new pieces of knowledge I have acquired is the whole pregnancy dating scam. No, I’m not talking about knocked up women trying to meet skeezy losers on match.com. And well, perhaps scam isn’t the best word, but I digress. What I am talking about is the weird system that is used to tell how far along a woman is in her pregnancy. Here is how it works. By the time a home pregnancy test is able to detect that you are pregnant, you have already clocked in about four weeks of pregnancy. However, you have only really been pregnant (egg implanted into the uterus) for maybe a week or so. Huh? What is this time/space travel mumbo jumbo? Well, apparently doctors use the first day of your last period as the “start” of your pregnancy to better predict your due date. So it is sort of like I was “grandfathered in” once I actually found out I was pregnant. It still boggles the mind.

Another thing I never realized is how utterly stupid I would become. Now I have never been the most “together” person, but “pregnancy brain” has brought me to a whole other level. In the past few weeks alone I have lost my wallet, lost my jacket twice, and confused doctors’ appointment among other things. My friend Kara gave me some delightful news. “You will never get your brain back, ever.” Thanks, Kara.

The irony about me becoming more and more stupid is that everyone else all of a sudden seems smarter. People around me have developed supernatural psychic network telling powers. As I told people of my news I would hear comments like, I knew something was up. I was just telling so-and-so that I bet you are pregnant. I am also getting all kinds of gender predictions as if these people were the oracle. Well, they do have a 50% shot at getting it right. I am also getting all kinds of wonderful, unsolicited advice. Most people mean well, I know. Others have this urge to impose upon you what your experience will be, even those who have never had any children. For example, I am tired of hearing about hot I am going to be when I’m in my third semester in the summer. Yes, I know. I will be on freaking fire! You don’t have to remind me. The bottom line is that everyone’s an expert, and I will just have to get used to it. Maybe if I shut up and stop complaining, my shriveled up little pregnancy brain might learn something useful.

When it’s Just Too Much

October 4, 2010 at 10:14 pm | Posted in Bipolar Disorder | 1 Comment

Today was one of those days. This is a cliche spoken by almost everyone at some point, but for me, it takes on a different meaning. Let me rephrase. Today was one of those bipolar days.

I woke up physically aching, contemplating how I was going to get out of bed and make it through the day. I cuddled with my dog for moral support until the hour made it an impossibility to stay in bed any longer. I honestly can’t remember if I took a shower this morning. By the smell of myself, the answer is probably no. I managed to get myself dressed and drive myself to work without incident. After I pulled into the parking space, I took a second to breathe. God, I do not want to go in there. Please don’t make me go in there. I just can’t do it today. It’s too much.

The funny thing is that I can’t really say why I didn’t want to go in. I don’t hate my job. Nothing bad was going to happen today. I just couldn’t face…..life. I sucked it up, and I put on my big girl pants and got out of the car. I put one foot in front of the other and walked into the building, my legs feeling like they were tied down by two ton weights. I gave a half-hearted wave to Amy the receptionist as I walked in the door. I looked at the stairs. I looked at the elevator. Stairs. Elevator. Stairs. Elevator. Elevator it was.

Unfortunately, two students also wanted to join me in the elevator. I needed a few seconds of solitude before officially being “at work.” I felt suffocated. I survived the elevator ride and walked to my office. Did I mention that I share this same office with seven other people? Seven more people to suck the oxygen out of my life. Once I put my things away, it was time to go out into the Writing Lab to work with students. There is nothing more unbearable when you are having a bipolar day than communicating with people. Tutoring students takes this to the next level.

I skulked away to the corner table. Oh God. He looked at me. My colleague was walking over to say hello. Don’t say hello to me. Just let me be invisible. I want to be invisible. Somehow, I managed a few polite pleasantries, and he went away. The trend continued. People can read me and know I am not feeling well. That is what I tell them. I’m not feeling well. They want to know specifics. They always do. Trust me. They don’t.

Luckily, I only had one student who I managed to help. Then, I had a few minutes to myself to draw while I waited for my next victim, I mean student. Gradually, I was coming out of my fog. I was starting to feel semi-human. I managed to interact with people and survive the rest of my day despite having visions of cursing out students or ending up in a mental hospital.

I survived. Sometimes the art in life is that we manage to survive. I survived today. Hopefully tomorrow will be better.

Batteries and Birthdays (It’s not what you think!)

September 25, 2010 at 3:52 pm | Posted in Fun Stuff, Parenthood | Leave a comment

Today, Mark and I went to my mom’s house for my nephew’s birthday shindig. Cameron’s birthday was actually a week and a half ago; however, birthdays never seem to end for my niece and nephews. Anyway, Cameron got a Nintendo DS for his birthday. My brother in law, Shaun, who is Superman when it comes to electronics and putting things together and stuff did his usual magic with the assembly of the electronics. My mom turned to me and asked me who was going to put together our birthday and Christmas toys for our kids. I said, “Mark, of course. But I will probably help.”

That made me think about the traditional “mom” and “dad” roles that people are expected to play. As far as we have come, there are still these stereotypes that exist; I suppose some are definitely accurate. I will not, under ANY circumstances, play with my kid in a mud pile. I do not see Mark as the typical “jock” dad who will teach his kid how to hit a ball with a bat. Maybe I’m wrong about this. But you know what? Who cares? Will the child be imbecile if we don’t know how to assemble a transformer in ten seconds flat?

Somehow, the toys will get put together. If the kid plays baseball, we will do our best to teach him/her to hit the ball – together. In fact, I think our strengths (or lack thereof in some areas) will benefit our child. Our little tater tot will have to be creative and independent and learn some things for him or herself: something I don’t think enough children get practice at. By not having everything done for them, or being taught how to do things “the right way,” our child will have the chance to explore his or her own talents and maybe, the child will be an electronic genius, and teach us how to put together the electronics in the process. Yay!

Europe, Smiley Faces, Babies and More

September 19, 2010 at 4:56 pm | Posted in Parenthood, Pregnancy | 2 Comments

It has been months since my last post, so I thought I would try to get into the swing of this blogging thing again. A lot has transpired since my last post. Mark and I finally took our dream trip to Europe in June. First, we went to Barcelona for a few days. From there, we hopped on a cruise ship and cruised around Europe. We went to Italy, Greece, France, Turkey, and Monaco. It was a whirlwind. We had talked about going to Europe since we met in 2002. It was wonderful, and truthfully, one of the big reasons I wanted to go was that we always said we would start our family “after Europe.”

Well, Europe came and went. I got off the birth control and got on the vitamins. I became consumed with all of the information on the internet about getting pregnant. I learned that there are truly only two or three days in a month that a woman can get pregnant. I guess in high school, they lied to us that we could get pregnant at the drop of that hat to keep us out of the backseats of cars. Yeah, right. Like that would stop us. Anyway, I also learned that even if you time everything perfectly, there is still, on average, a 20% chance of getting pregnant each month. Here is the question then? How does anyone get pregnant?

But still, I began optimistically. My sister popped out three kids instantly. My childhood BFF got pregnant three times without even trying. Surely my uterus was bulging with fertile fruit.

I decided to be strategic, and I bought one of the Ovulation predictor kits that tell you when you are about to ovulate. It pretty much works like a pregnancy test. You pee on a stick. If you are not about to ovulate, a blank circle appears. If you are about to ovulate within 24 to 36 hours, a smiley face appears. A freakin smiley face! So basically, your whole mood and outlook for the day depends on seeing the smiley face.

Waiting for the smiley face became an obsession. All of the “information” I found on the internet said that women usually ovulate around day 14. Day 14 came and went. So did day 15, and day 16, and day 17. Oh my God. Had my eggs dried up? Was I some sort of freak of nature? I was about to give up when on day 21, I saw the elusive smiley face. I was in disbelief. I immediately grabbed my husband and told him it was “on.” I told close friends (all 350 or so on facebook) that the smiley face had finally arrived. Somehow, I thought that I was really clever, and only a select few would get the reference. Well, I was wrong. Several people asked if I was pregnant or if I was trying to conceive (or as on the lovely message boards I’ve read about pregnancy on the internet, “TTC”). Now everyone knows, and there’s no turning back. But really, how could I be so stupid as to think posting on facebook would be a good idea?

Anyway, the smiley face came and went, and I eagerly marked my calendar and did all of those tracking pregnancy things women are supposed to do when trying to get pregnant. I now know way more about my cervical mucous (yes, I said cervical mucous) than any woman ever should. I read on the internet about early signs of pregnancy, and I had every single one of them! The internet can be a dangerous thing, especially for women who are “TTC.”

And there’s another thing that is baffling. “TTC.” It turns out, there is this whole lingo of acronyms that all of the women on the internet who have had babies or are trying seem to know instinctively. Reading some of these articles and message boards is sort of like trying to decode secret messages, like the ones you wrote your friends in middle school about the boy you liked. Here is what I have learned thus far of this “babynese” language. Of course TTC means “trying to conceive.” OPK means “ovulation predictor kit.” CM stands for “cervical mucous.” DPO stands for “days past ovulation.” There are dozens more, but you get the idea, right?

I also read all of the “advice” about how to better your chances of becoming pregnant. For example, after you have sex, you are supposed to prop your feet up so that the sperm don’t have to move against gravity. I also learned that you should have sex in the morning and that if you crossed your legs and hopped on one foot an hour after the deed, you would have a baby girl. Okay, the last one I made up, but it isn’t that far off from some of the other crap I read. Imagine, all of these grown, intelligent women who own companies and pay bills and run marathons are resorting to near voodoo to get pregnant. Unfortunately, I am now one of them.

Well, the first month passed, and my period came. I was devastated. I had worked so hard! I had done everything right. What if I was infertile? What if I have to spend thousands on in-vitro? What if this was never going to happen. I had to come back down to earth and remembered the “20%” statistic I had read about on one of the more reputable sites. How could I possibly compare my disappointment to all of the women who have tried for years to get pregnant, or those who cannot have children at all?

Another month of smiley faces and cervical mucous and countdowns has come and gone with the same end result. I must learn to be patient. But patience is hard when you have waited 31 years. What if I have waited too long? What is it about this whole babymaking thing that causes women to go completely insane?

Question for Parents: What kind of parent are you?

May 15, 2010 at 6:21 pm | Posted in Parenthood, Questions for Parents | 1 Comment

I took an interesting quiz on Shine the other day. I am a quiz junkie; I cannot help myself! Anyway, the quiz assessed what type of parent I would be. It turns out, I am the “Wii Mom.” Basically, it said that I am the kind of mom that encourages independent thinking, and let’s her kids do their own thing; however, my kids will always know that I am in their corner. I must say, I thought that was pretty accurate.

One of the (many) reasons I have held off on having kids myself is that I thought that I was too selfish. Being the baby of the family, I have pretty much gotten my way. I’ve done what I wanted, when I wanted to do it. I relish in my afternoon naps. I love being able to call my own shots. Seeing my sister and my other friends have kids really made me aware of the level of sacrifice being a parent takes. I have always known I wanted a child, but I never truly felt “ready.”

I could tell you that now I feel “ready,” but I would be lying. I think what I feel now is acceptance. I realize that I don’t need to be the perfect cookie baking, Donna Reed type of mom. As long as I love my kid and do what I feel is right, it’s going to be okay.

So, what about you? What kind of parent are you? Are you a “June Cleaver?” Are you “Roseanne?” The world is dying to know.

The Elephant in the Room

April 30, 2010 at 9:19 pm | Posted in Bipolar Disorder | 1 Comment

Last night at work, a few of us were talking and the subject of my being bipolar came up. One of the other guys with us is also bipolar (therefore, we have bonded). One friend who I will call “D” asked a very understandable question. I will quote as accurately as possible.

“So, what exactly is bipolar? Is it ups and downs? I have a lot of family members that are happy and then they get sad. Doesn’t everybody?”

Again, remember, I am remembering her words to the best of my ability despite the quotation marks.

The other bipolar (I’ll call him V) started to turn beet red. At that instant, we were reading each other’s thoughts.

People just don’t get it.

My explanation to her was that it wasn’t the normal ups and downs, and that it is really hard to describe unless you’ve been there. V had a very accurate description. He described it as being stuck in a deep well, and you’re trying to get out, but you are covered in Vaseline. Yeah, that’s pretty close.

After that conversation, it dawned on me like the elephant in the room. Despite this being a bipolar blog, I haven’t really truly discussed what bipolar disorder is like. For the ten of you who read this blog, I will attempt to explain to the best of my ability.

I have good days and I have bad days, like everyone else. I am lucky that I am on good medication and have a great counselor; therefore, my illness is pretty much under control. Most of the time.

The textbook definition of being bipolar is having extreme highs and lows. But what does that actually mean? Well, during my highs, I am the wittiest, smartest, most powerful person in the world. I am extremely productive. I am oozing with creativity. I want to do crazy and outrageous things, because I’m just that damn amazing. Sometimes, I don’t sleep.

And then, I come down to Earth.

My body gets flu-like symptoms. What many don’t understand is that bipolar disorder also has physical symptoms. I get horrible aches and pains. I have absolutely no energy. I sleep all day. Getting dressed is a Herculean effort. But that’s just the physical stuff. Mentally, I’m a wreck. I go from being incredibly awesome to the biggest loser. I don’t deserve to live. How could anyone love a person like me? I have had days where I had to call in sick to work because I just couldn’t handle things or get out of bed. And sometimes the thoughts come. Deep, dark thoughts. I imagine my own funeral. I see all of the people looming over my casket at my funeral. I’ll think of all the medications in my medicine cabinet and wonder how many pills I would have to take for all of it to be over.

Luckily, because I do what needs to be done to take care of myself, those days are few and far between. I have a wonderful supportive husband and family. I have good friends. I have a job that I like and I’m good at. I am stable. I am lucky.
Many, who are not so lucky, don’t make it. They either live completely miserable lives or commit suicide.

So you can understand why have some anxiety about becoming a mom – a bipolar mom. For many years, many psychiatrists would advise their bipolar patients not to have children because it would be “too much” for them, or because their children might be bipolar. Luckily, most psychiatrists have wised up. Only I know what is truly best for me. If I didn’t think I could handle it, I wouldn’t even try. That doesn’t mean I’m not scared.

I am not really sure if I gave the best description of what it is like, but it’s the best I can do for now.

Questions for Parents: What are your expectations of your children?

April 29, 2010 at 1:36 am | Posted in Questions for Parents | Leave a comment

So this past Tuesday was my 31st birthday. I must say, it was a pretty good one. Although I joke about “getting old” and “finding gray hair,” I believe that my thirties will probably be the best years of my life. For one, I am old enough to know a few things, but not too old to know everything. Also, my priorities and expectations have changed.

Ahhh yes, expectations. When we are younger we have these plans and expectations of what is “supposed to happen.” We should be rich, thin, and powerful. We should have achieved a certain status by a certain date. I remember, especially in my early twenties, being in a hurry to get somewhere. However, I do believe one old saying is true. “When you make plans, God laughs.”

I never planned on being 31 and not having any kids. But that is the way it has worked out. I never planned on being bipolar, but here I am. I especially never planned on sharing my problem with the world, but so it goes. Not to be too philosophical, but I truly believe that one of the keys to happiness in this life is having realistic and rational expectations. I’m not saying settle for less than you deserve. I’m saying to expect that your expectations may not be your reality, and move on.

I am hoping that I will be able to adopt this philosophy to my own child when he/she comes along. Then again, the more I talk to friends and associates of mine that have children, the more I realize that your desires and the desires of your children, will rarely match. Will I be able to accept this?

Parents, what are your expectations for your children? Do you automatically assume they will be smart and go to college? Are you tempted to mold them into your image?

Mothers’ Bitchiness

April 13, 2010 at 10:21 pm | Posted in Bipolar Disorder, Parenthood | 3 Comments

During my lunch break today, I was reading “Shine,” which is one of my favorite blogs from Yahoo. I usually peruse the parenting section. I noticed today that about half of these articles had something to do with mothers and their bitchiness towards each other. The stay at home moms are criticizing the working moms for neglecting their children for their careers. The working moms are putting down the stay at home moms for neglecting their hopes and dreams for the sake of their children. The breastfeeding moms are attacking the formula moms telling them that because they choose not to breastfeed, their children will become child molesters, or lactose intolerant. And God forbid should someone choose to only bring one child into the world. If a woman does that, the child will be a lonely, spoiled shell of a human being who is incapable of human interaction.

This last one touches a nerve with me because I am seriously considering becoming a “one child mom.” My biggest reason for this is because of Bipolar Disorder. Stress is a major trigger for me. As I have learned by watching and listening to parents, nothing is more stressful than being a parent. I have always known in my heart that I was meant to be a mother, but I also know my limitations as far as how much I can handle. When I watch my sister with her three children, all close in age, I want to run and hide, and they aren’t even my children! Don’t get me wrong. They are not bad kids. I adore them. I just find it very difficult to pay attention to all three at once. It is too much stimulation for me. Now, for a typical person, this probably sounds lame. However, for those reading this who have Bipolar Disorder, you probably understand. It is not just an annoyance. It feels like I am being swallowed whole.

For me, it is a matter of quality verses quantity. Would I rather be able to reserve some shred of my sanity and devote quality time to one child, or have multiple children who stress me out causing me to hide in the closet with a bucket over my head? I’m not saying I have decided. Mark and I basically share the approach of “wait and see.” We’ll have one, and if we feel like it, we’ll have another one.

The point (yes there is one!) I’m getting to is this. Being a parent is a hard enough job as it is. Why are grown women telling each other how to raise their own children? Shouldn’t we be trying to work together and help each other? Why are mothers (and fathers) pitting themselves against each other? When did parenting become some sort of bullshit beauty pageant where there are winners and losers? I am not a mother yet, but in my perspective, it is all a defense mechanism. It is the typical schoolyard bully mentality. I’m insecure about myself, so I will pick on some other guy, and tell him how worthless he is and steal his lunch money. Now, it’s grown women who feel insecure about their abilities as parents and use others as a yardstick for their own competence.

The truth is this. Unless you beat and abuse your children, or tell them they are worthless pieces of shit, they are probably going to be okay. They are not going to become completely dysfunctional because mommy chose to have an epidural over doing it the old fashioned way. We need to stop comparing ourselves to others and just live our own lives and raise our own children. Stay at home moms – the next time a working mom asks you how changing diapers and cooking and cleaning all day can possibly be fulfilling, throw some of your homemade muffins at them. Formula moms – the next time your next door neighbor, who is still nursing her kindergartener by the way, tells you you’re a bad mother for not breastfeeding, tell her that the reason you decided not to was that you were afraid of your boobs looking as saggy as hers. Okay, maybe these aren’t the most mature ways to respond to these situations. But they weren’t trying to win any maturity contests when they stuck their noses (or boobs) in your business.

Questions for Parents: What is the deal with kids putting things up their nose?

April 10, 2010 at 12:27 pm | Posted in Questions for Parents | 1 Comment

I recently saw an episode of “House” where a teenage boy brings in his little brother who is maybe two or three. The boy is crying uncontrollably. The cause? Ultimately, the small boy had shoved an action figure up his nose. What made this even funnier was that the boy visits the clinic again for the same reason.

This leads me to today’s question for parents. Why do kids like to place ungodly things in their nose? Have you ever had this happen, and did you have to see a doctor for it? I remember hearing this urban myth about a kid who shoved a mushroom up his nose. More mushrooms grew up into his brain. I’m guessing this isn’t really possible, is it?

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