33 Weeks (Don’t Get Too Close, I Have the Flu)

The good news is that I’m 33 weeks today and Mr. MLACS is feeling much better.

The bad news is that I have the flu and I feel like I got run over by a bus.

So Mr. MLACS has been taking care of me all weekend. Ironic much?

I guess that’s marriage though–when one is weak, the other must be strong. Well, ideally…sh*t doesn’t work when you’re both weak. Luckily, we’ve managed to time our illnesses appropriately. Ha! *as if we had any control over any of this*

I really, really need a shower. But I haven’t stood up for more than 5 minutes in the past 2 days, so I’m a little leary. I think I’m just gonna go for it.

Of course I worried that my illness might affect baby girl, but my fever never got over 101°F and she kept moving around and *thanks to Zofran* I kept down liquids and a bit of food. So we’re both ok.

In fact, we got a massage on Friday. It was so neat because my LMT could actually feel baby’s little tooshy (it always surfaces on my left side).

Mr. MLACS has been working on building the nursery furniture, which is heartwarming and also a relief because my nesting urge is making me *crazy*. I just NEED the house to be perfect and in fact my biggest gripe about having the flu is that it has prevented me from carrying out my tasks.

I also have fears that she’ll come early and I had planned to get my hospital bag together this weekend (did.not.happen). I mean honestly, I was afraid I was getting preeclampsia until I went to bed Saturday night & woke up with chills and night sweats–it didn’t even occur to me that it could be the flu until I ran a fever. I had a headache, my BP was 137/86, I was nauseous, etc. and those are symptoms of Pre-E. So I bawled  out of fear and frustration that I am unprepared, and told Mr. MLACS I’d call the doc if I wasn’t better in the morning…then broke a fever (and my entire body hurt) and realized it was the flu.

And that’s life at 33 weeks in the MLACS household. Not perfect, but we’re all ok.


Let It Go

I got into it with another blogger–big surprise–every so often I express my negative opinion about blog posts that I find offensive (actually this is only the 2nd time). She did not appreciate my opinion.

I re-blogged her reply post (she deleted the original) because she twisted my words and also said some mean and disrespectful things to/about me. But I have deleted it, because I want to let it go.

I have previously supported her. She’s never supported me. She’s said a lot of negative things about her fellow IF/RPL bloggers and her attitude is “poor me, my life is harder than yours”. So I “unfollowed” her awhile ago, but when she experienced her recent loss I came running back to lift her up. My mistake.

A lot of people dismiss her behavior because she’s grieving a loss & they think deserves amnesty, regardless of how she treats other people. 

I think people should always be accountable for their words/actions.

I hope peace will eventually replace her bitterness and rage. For my part, I’m letting go of my discontentment so I can focus my energy where it belongs–on MY family.



When Life Hands You Lemons…

You should be grateful that it didn’t hand you kale–I hate kale *the most*.

And then you should go online and look up low-sodium heart-healthy lemon recipes…

Ok this is not making sense because I’m so doggone tired. Mr. MLACS is being discharged from the hospital tomorrow so I just went grocery shopping for low-sodium stuff and lots of fruits and veggies. Because *from now on* we will be eating 95% of our meals at home and they have to be nutritious–no short cuts.

It’s been crazy. I’ve been getting up and going to the hospital so I can be there for rounds (when the docs visit Mr. MLACS and give updates/orders). I’ve been shuttling the puppy to/from “puppy daycare”. At some point I eat something. At some point I take care of other things and of myself. After I feed the puppy dinner I go back to the hospital until 9 or 10pm, then go home and go to bed, rinse and repeat.

I’ve learned SO MUCH in such a short amount of time, about Heart Failure (a.k.a. “Cardiomyopathy”)–it’s symptoms, causes, diagnosis and treatments. Crash course.

Mr. MLACS has an *excellent* medical team. Everyone from the RN’s to the CNA’s to the Cardiologists, Pulmonologists, and Dieticians, have been wonderful–he lucked out. The nurse we spent the most time with, Jill, feels like family to us. She said to him “YOU are why I do what I do–most of the people on this floor (cardio) are too old and sick to recover, but YOU are young and smart–I expect YOU to turn this around”. Everyone has been so encouraging toward Mr. MLACS, like, “Man, you *got this*, you’re gonna do great!” They are happy to explain anything and everything to us both, so we feel empowered and not intimidated.

And so Mr. MLACS has responded in-kind and is feeling motivated and confident in his ability to recover and be even better than before…

When we walked in the hospital, we weren’t sure…we were didn’t know if they could “fix” him, or if he was doomed to deteriorate. We didn’t know what his quality of life might be–we had no perspective…no “prognosis”. When they called with the results of his echocardiogram, they said his EF (ejection fraction) was only 20%, and on a scale of mild/moderate/severe heart failure, *an EF under 30% is severe*. I was afraid he might collapse before I could get him to the hospital. How was he even still standing?

His BP (blood pressure) was in the 150’s/90’s. His RHR (resting heart rate) was 106. His legs were the size of tree trunks, swollen from edema. He was coughing and his breathing was labored…we had thought it was pneumonia, and he was on his second round of antibiotics…we had already been to urgent care 3x and to the ER once in the last 4 weeks. But we never thought he was THAT sick…we never considered that he was toeing the line between life and death…

There’s a silver lining here: Mr. MLACS has been overworked, overstressed, overweight, sleep-deprived, and generally has not paid attention to how he feels physically/mentally/emotionally. That’s no way to live. That’s not the kind of Father he wants to be. But how was he supposed to “put on the breaks” when this is what everybody, including himself, had come to expect from him??? So he just kept chugging along, until…

THIS happened.

And now he’s taking 2 weeks off of work–this man has taken 2 sick days in 7 years of working 80+ hour weeks with this company–that is a BIG deal. But he’s ok with it (well, mostly).

He’s already downloaded apps on his phone to look up sodium content in various foods. He’s already looked for low-sodium options at his favorite restaurants. He’s committed to take his meds and PAY ATTENTION to how he feels and address it, instead of dismissing everything. He has agreed to wear a cpap mask for sleep apnea. And when he can, he is looking forward to getting back to the gym. He’s putting himself and his family first–THAT is the kind of man he wants to be. And I’m SO proud of him.

I’m stoked that I get to spend so much time with him while he’s healing–I have missed him like crazy and he has not been himself these past few weeks. I was feeling disconnected from him and that made me feel desperate and panicked as the birth of our daughter is approaching. But after these past few days, I feel closer than ever to him.

And ironically, I’m grateful things happened the way they did. God had His hand in this, and we have learned, our love and trust has grown, and our family is stronger than before.

So yeah, when life hands you lemons, take the damn lemons.



Heart Failure

My husband was admitted to the hospital and diagnosed with “heart failure” yesterday.

I’m talking about my soul mate. My unborn baby’s father.

We were both shocked and terrified when they called with the results of his echocardiogram. Everything changed in the blink of an eye.

This is after I fought his stubborn ass all week to go to the doctor. I screamed and cried and told him off. I THREW A PLATE AT HIS HEAD. It put a hole in my wall–and that hole will stay there, I won’t patch it.

Because I would break every dish in my m*therf*cking kitchen. Even the pottery barn ones. If that’s what it takes.

Because I’m a fighter. And because I love him SO much and I can’t imagine life without him–I don’t want to.

He’s lucky–WE are lucky–that they caught it before he just dropped dead.

I’ll write more later, about how I feel and how things have changed. I’m still kind of numb–I had to suck it up and handle sh*t…

My blog is called “My Life As A Case Study” for a reason–because I’ve been where he is. Scared. Angry. Upside down. Lying in a hospital bed wondering how the hell… So I’m the perfect person to help him through this. And I’m determined. And I have a lot of plates, but I’m hoping it won’t come to that. I’m hoping he realizes that he just got a second chance–it was a gift–and God doesn’t owe him a third.