24 Weeks (With an Ileostomy)

As every IF and RPL lady knows, reaching 24 weeks pregnant is a milestone to celebrate because at this point your baby has a real chance at survival if you were to go into premature labor. Like your baby would a micro-preemie and would spend a solid 20+ weeks in the NICU–but at least they’d have a chance.

So I’m marking this occasion with my little LS. She is still kicking away in there! I have an anterior placenta (same as with BG) so I don’t feel her in the front very much, but often on my left side or the bottom of my pelvis. As I recall, BG was more chill than LS and I didn’t feel her moving as often. I do wonder if it’s because I drink 1 cup of coffee a day during this pregnancy and I only rarely had coffee with BG. But my heart tells me that LS is going to be more hyper and intense than BG, regardless of how much coffee I drink.

BG is such an easy and pleasant child, and I’m pretty sure the laws of the universe state that you don’t get two pleasant and easy kids in a row. I try to think on the bright side, that a kid who is challenging and pushes you out of your comfort zone can be awesome–that was me, always pushing my parents to see my point of view and get excited about new things (and being frustrated when they didn’t get it). I do hope I’m able to successfully cultivate two very different kids, if that is the case. My sister and I are very different and my own parents did not do a great job of meeting our individual needs and harmonizing us as a family despite our differences. I want to do better for my own kids.

BG is quite excited to meet LS and will put her face close to my belly and say “Hi baby! It’s your big sister! I love you!” And kiss my belly. Does it get any sweeter than that?! I think not. When looking at toys for Christmas, BG has already picked out some things she thinks LS should have, so I figure I’ll throw a few gifts for LS under the tree, even though it feels kind of silly…and a little scary… With all the loss I have experienced, I am naturally afraid of losing LS and I have the f*cked up but very common fear that if I start feeling and acting overly confident, the universe will take her to teach me a lesson. Logically I know that’s not how it works, but emotions are not logical.

I feel like I need to write an update about BG, but for now let me just put on the record that I love this kid with my heart and soul and I think she is an amazing little human and a gift to the world. She is such a loveable little kid, and I tell her every day that she’s a great kid and that I’m so lucky to be her mom ❤20181116_103728_Film1 XOXO,




Guys, it’s been a roller coaster. So, bullet points:

  • Mr. MLACS saw the Cardiologist after his “episode” and Cardiologist surprised him by saying he is now a good candidate for the ablasion surgery!
  • Mr. MLACS has lost over 100lbs this year, but still needs to lose 57lbs to get under 40% BMI for his height, so we thought he was disqualified from any procedures until he lost more weight. *side note: the BMI chart is stupid*
  • Mr. MLACS accepted a job up North, so we are moving. He HATES his job here and his old company made him a good offer, and we decided to go for it.
  • After Cardiologist said ablasion surgery was a “go” pending his discussion with his colleague, Mr. MLACS decided he wanted to do it before we move up North. He was SO excited at the prospect!
  • Mr. MLACS became panicked from stress at his current job and the stress of waiting for the *official* job offer. He was having heart palpitations and said it was similar to what was happening prior to his last “episode” (defibrillation). So I packed up my kid in her jammies and my pregnant self and took him to the ER at 8pm on a Wednesday in monsoon rains. They said he’s fine. I asked him to work from home for the next 2 days so he could calm down.
  • Friday we saw Cardiologist again, anticipating scheduling the ablasion…
  • Cardiologist says his colleague reviewed his case and said he’s not a candidate for ablasion surgery. Ever. Due to what happened during his initial cardiac arrest.
  • So the Cardiologist has been pushing Mr. MLACS to lose weight for this ablasion for *a year*, never bothered to consult about it, and then CRUSHES Mr. MLACS by telling him it’s not even an option.
  • Oh and instead, Cardiologist puts him on a new med (Amitriptyline)  with serious potential side effects to help his arrythmias.
  • And *then* Cardiologist says “You really must lose that 57lbs because the way you are going you are going to need something (like an LVAT) before you’re 50. Even though none of your tests show no abnormalities, the fact that you’re being defibrillated every 6 months indicates there is something wrong.”
  • Mr. MLACS starts crying while I sit there numb, in disbelief. And Cardiologist backpedals trying to make it seem not so bad.
  • I try to comfort Mr. MLACS after we leave. But it’s hard because it does not feel like things are going to be ok. Ever.
  • I bottle it up and morbid anxiety-induced visions of the future plague me for the next several days. Visions of my little girls grieving because he dies, because they find him dead or he dies right in front of them, or of him becoming disabled/incapacitated.
  • I throw myself into trying to figure out this move. It’s overwhelming.
  • After I found a house I like, it is revealed that we cannot buy a house because Mr. MLACS’s federal student loans are in default–he didn’t even know and I found out from a mortage broker. I’m livid because I’ve been checking with him periodically and emphasizing that he MUST keep them in good standing or they can and will garnish his wages and it will ruin his credit. He blew me off and also never bothered to check his credit report. I hate being right sometimes.
  • So then he tells me his choices are to pay $1100/mo for 9 months to get the loans out of default/collections (and I assume keep paying $1100/mo) *or* pay $50k in a lump sum.
  • I don’t want to bring my baby home to a rental house in March. I don’t want to move again. I’m f*cking exhausted at the thought of it. I don’t want to “waste” money on rent.
  • I have the money from my inheritance, but my own federal student loans are in default. Why should I pledge my/our nest egg for his mistake? True, he gave me $333/mo for 5 years to pay off $21k private student loans while I was a SAHM…and he was a total dick about it. He yelled at me “Well I paid your loans!” But what he’s asking is not fair or equal. And the fact that he is demanding it when he made me grovel is the definition of irony.
  • I am really sick of him. Sick of worrying about his heart because he ignored my pleas for him to quit smoking and lose weight and now the damage is done. Sick of him acting like I should use my finite inheritance money as income. Sick that he thinks he’s entitled to it for his student loan f*ck up–this hypocrite lectures me any time I spend too much at Target. Sick that I have to move out of my dream house and drive my 7 months pregnant ass and my kids north for 3-4 days *through the snow in January* to live in a rental home, so Mr. MLACS can have a job he likes–but there’s only a 2-3 year contract so if he stays with the company we have to move again. And again. And again. Or settle somewhere without him. I’m sick that even though he’ll be making $2k more per month he tried to tell me I had to pay $1100/mo for his student loans. And this is in addition to A LOT of other stuff I’ve been paying for, like preschool and dance classes and clothes and lawncare and date nights and all my bills–this is from my inheritance money, I don’t work outside the home. I’ve vowed not to use any of the rental income as personal income for awhile (it stays in the business account) because it’s not consistent and I need to invest in repairs b/c some of the houses are in shambles. But all of a sudden he treats me like a bank. My Dad died. My Grandma died. And even though he’s been supporting us for years he is acting broke.
  • I wish I didn’t have this money (well actually I *do* appreciate being financially secure) because Mr. MLACS is greedy about money–it has always been a thing with him. And me getting this inheritance makes him act like Ebineezer Scrooge, whereas we were in a good place before that.. after years of him being a dick about it, berating and degrading me when finances got tight even though it was NEVER because *I* was financially irresponsible.
  • And now he has f*cked up financially BIG time several times this year alone, and he expects me to dismiss it, without him taking full accountabilty, offering sincere apologies, or giving an explanation of how he intends to do better. Nope, he just wants to sweep it under the rug.
  • Oh and then use my inheritance to fix it because I’m over here “freeloading” as a wife and mother.
  • I found a house to rent up North, since we can’t buy, and I had us fill out credit and background checks last night. This morning I get a call from prospective landlord asking to explain *the 2016 eviction*. I’m like “You must be mistaken”. But no, apparently Mr. MLACS cosigned a lease for his mother before he met me…we have been estranged from her since BG was born nearly 4 years ago. She’s a horrible person and Mr. MLACS was the family scapegoat. Well, now we have to get a lawyer to fight *her* eviction on his record. I explained everything to potential landlord and gave proof that we were not living in that state and in fact have an excellent reference ftom the property management company we were *actually* renting from. But it’s a mess.
  • I own several rental properties and I have money, but I can’t buy a f*cking house. Now I can’t even rent one. This is ridiculous.
  • Did I mention BG has been sick for the last several days and I haven’t gotten any sleep and she is needy and whiney and wants to be on me like velcro 24/7? I have no space to think or breathe. I am low on energy. And then today I’m having back spasms and my uterus felt tight.
  • I called Mr. MLACS crying and I found it insulting when he asked what’s wrong…EVERYTHING is wrong and he KNOWS it. He told me to take it easy.
  • I asked Mr. MLACS to help me get the house ready because the listing agent is coming over tomorrow.  He yelled and berated me for every little thing, like that I hadn’t unloaded the dishwasher. He was insufferable. I finally turned around and said “FINE! I’m not selling this house, I’m staying! I don’t even want to move at this point! So do the dishes, don’t do the dishes, I don’t f*cking CARE! YOU go work up north. I’ve dealt with a metric ton of your bullsh*t this week and I’m DONE!” He says “Well you’ll have to explain that to her (BG)”…and I’m thinking…you probably won’t live to see her graduate highschool so she may as well get used to not having you around…but I didn’t say that.
  • Mr. MLACS is a great dad. And he loves me. But he needs so much f*cking therapy. When he gets stressed or feels threatened (or when there’s money involved) he turns into a monumental dickhead. He’s *my* dickhead. But I f*cking hate him when he’s like that. And I hate it when I have to sink to his level to deal with him–there is no progress with taking “the high road”.
  • After declaring that I was done trying to tidy the house because IDGAF if goes on the market, I went and laid down on a heating pad and left him to do (or not do) the chores.
  • He did them.
  • Why’s it always gotta be like this? With all the drama. We are a magnet for drama.



A Mixed Bag

So I should probably start with an update from my last post–I celebrated my one-year stomaversary on October 17th. I did not get a cake, but we were on “vacation” in my midwestern  hometown so we could enjoy fall weather (since it’s still hot in the south) and so I could handle some business with my parents’ estate/my inheritance. We enjoyed ourselves–I caught up with my old friends, and BG played with their kids and had a ball. We took our labrador and he enjoyed going to “puppy camp” (doggy daycare) a couple times and every morning we’d bring him scrambled eggs from breakfast (we stayed at a Staybridge Suites hotel as it allows pets and it provided breakfast, which was delicious). I enjoyed going to my old favorite restaurants to get yummy gluten-free specialties. And really, we’d love to move back there at some point because it’s a lovely town.

But there was some bad stuff too.

At the 9th hour of our 13 hour drive, I received word that my dear girlfriend had passed away of complications with her cancer. I knew she was terminal, but she had been just fine the day before and no one expected this. I was heartbroken that I didn’t get to see her one last time. I did join her husband and some friends to celebrate her life, but they were all drunk and disorderly (which is why I love them) and I had Mr. MLACS and BG with me so we didn’t stay long, as they were heading towards a collective breakdown. I didn’t make it to her official memorial and I know some of the crew found that offensive. But funerals are for the living. Jen knew I loved her. And I reached out to her husband to support him. I cried for her–she was a beautiful person.

Then, my sister was (as per usual) a giant passive-aggressive, manipulative pain-in-the-ass. She never misses an opportunity to make my life difficult and piss me off, then play the victim when I call her on her sh*t. She likes feeling like she has some power over me. It’s pathetic. And I’m sure our estate lawyer needed a drink after dealing with our quarrels last week–he will be so glad to be rid of us. I don’t envy him. We have one item left in the trust and then it will be dissolved and we won’t have to “work together” anymore as co-trustees.

And then, we took a 2hr trip to a nearby city to do fun stuff with BG in the afternoon and have dinner with a dear friend in the evening. But while we were riding the train at the zoo…

Mr. MLACS was shocked by his defibrillator.

He was sitting in the seat in front of me so I didn’t see his face, but I heard a loud crack and saw him fly back in his seat–I knew instantly that he’d been shocked…but I thought it was static electricity or a loose wire on the train…it didn’t even occur to me it was his ICD (pacemaker/defibrillator device implanted on his heart). He was in shock but he didn’t lose consciousness. I figured out what had happened and a wave of panic started in the pit of my stomach but BG was right next to me so I couldn’t react. I stayed eerily calm (which is how I am in these situations–I become automated). No one else knew anything was wrong and since Mr. MLACS was conscious I didn’t feel the need to call for help–I mean what could anyone do? I didn’t know what to do–the cardiologist never gave me any instructions.

So I sat there in shock, rubbing his back until we got off the train. Mr. MLACS was not feeling well but he could walk. We had promised BG to get her something at the gift shop and it was about to close so we ran in there and suddenly I knew I had to call his cardiologist and figure out what to do next. So I did that, and they said take him to an emergency room to be looked at. And I had to make a choice–go directly to an ER in the city *or* drive the 2hrs back to my hometown where the hospital has his previous records from his initial heart failure and drop him at the ER and take BG back to the hotel (because ER’s are no place for children or pregnant women). So I chose option 2 and just tried to stay calm. Mr. MLACS was floored. And blaming himself–asking “What did I do wrong?” It was heartbreaking.

So luckily BG fell asleep on the ride and I didnt have to explain why we were dropping Mr. MLACS at the hospital. While he got checked out, I started googling…and now I am PISSED at his cardiologist. Because *this guy* acted like the goal was for Mr. MLACS not yo have any more episodes. But from what I read, even the youngest and healthiest individuals with an ICD are shocked *1-2 times per year on average*. Mr. MLACS has been shocked twice this year, and both times we thought it was a crisis situation and that it wasn’t supposed to happen and I blamed myself–maybe he is too stressed and he needs less expectations and responsibilities, while Mr. MLACS agonizes over what he did wrong.

But the truth is, that his heart randomly malfunctions. The ER found nothing in his bloodwork. Nothing in his EKG. Nothing in his x-ray. His heartrate was perfectly normal (he was sitting peacefully on the train) and for no apparent reason he went into V-fib (a dangerous arrythmia). His heartrate went from 60bpm to 324bpm in an instant, his ICD device shocked him once on the lowest setting, and his heartrate returned to 60bpm as if nothing had even happened.

There was nothing we could do to prevent it. There is nothing we can do to stop it from happening again at this point. Mr. MLACS is dilligently losing weight so he can qualify for a surgery that will try to pinpoint the part of his heart that malfunctions to cause the arrythmia and have it ablazed (burnt so it quits wreaking havoc). But there are no guarantees.

I take solace in statistics–he is statistically likely to survive 10 more years. He could live decades–he’s young and most of the people with ICD’s are 60+ years old, so they skew the statistics. But I hate that we have to live in fear of the next “episode”. I hate how much pain/frustration/anxiety/guilt it causes Mr. MLACS. I hate that I need to teach BG how to dial 911 as soon as possible. I hate that I worry when he is alone with her or when he puts her on his shoulders–that she could be traumatized by witnessing an event or hurt because he fell while carrying her. I hate that I worry about Mr. MLACS driving and that I really don’t want him driving our girls–could I ever forgive myself if I allowed it and something happened to my babies while he was driving?

This is a heavy burden. All this fear.

But we have to keep living. We can’t let fear dictate our lives. Yes, we have to be dilligent and cautious, but we don’t have to be consumed by fear.

So I exhale and keep going.






The Anniversary

October 4th (yesterday) was the 1 year anniversary of Mr. MLACS’s sudden cardiac arrest (SCA).

In the weeks leading up to this anniversary, I have been suffering from PTSD. A feeling something bad is about to happen would creep up on me–anxiety–around the time he was due to be home from work (which is when the SCA happened–as he was leaving work). Things trigger me…like when I hear the creepy twilight zone-esque “hold” music that I had to listen to while on the line when Mr. MLACS was in the hospital–my PCP doc and BG’s Pediatrician are part of that network and I have to listen to it when I call to make appointments. Seeing an ambulance with their lights/sirens on. Seeing a fire truck. Driving the route I took to the hospital he was transferred to, thinking he wasn’t going to make it because he looked and smelled like a corpse.

I remember how heartbroken BG and our labrador were, when he wasn’t coming home and they knew something was wrong–it tore me apart.

I was already debilitated and awaiting my total colectomy surgery. I was *desperately* ill. And I had no choice but to suck it up, pop more prednisone to stay alive, and guzzle gallons of pedialyte because I couldn’t eat and I just had to stay hydrated enough to avoid being admitted. There’s so much more but I just can’t so I’ll leave it at this…

It was surreal. It was terrifying. I remember EVERY MINUTE of it, seared into my soul.

Mr. MLACS remembers NOTHING!

He is blissfully ignorant.

While he was the one in the hospital bed, I was the one living this nightmare.

I am the one living with PTSD.

I am the one living in fear of it happening again.

I’ve done EFT tapping. And yesterday morning I established care with a new therapist. I’m trying to take care of myself and work through it. It’s HARD work. It’s time consuming. It’s draining.

But lucky Mr. MLACS doesn’t have any of this baggage.

In an effort to mark the occassion, I called up the local fire department that is largely credited with saving his life through impassioned CPR to arrange to bring them dinner and celebrate on the anniversary (Mr. MLACS is 6’6″ and at the time weighed every bit of 500lbs so CPR on him was no small feat). I cooked 3 big pots of chili and 2 large pans of cornbread, and brought store-bought cookies (I intended to bake cookies but I’m not super woman so something had to give).

And apparently, Mr. MLACS’s work bought him a cake and celebrated with him there, too.

And I’m resentful…

Because Mr. MLACS didn’t suffer the way I did.

He has a scar on his chest from the pacemaker and has been tasked with losing weight–which I likewise have been very invested and supportive of his weightloss. I go to every Cardiologist appointment. I hooked him up with a coach. I check on him to make sure he’s using his C-pap mask.


Every morning lately I wake up before him and wonder if he’s still alive.

And he DOESN’T worry about me. And even when I was REALLY sick he never worried about me the way I worry about him.

I have BATTLED chronic illness for FOURTEEN f*cking years. I have always FOUGHT to stay healthy and worked really hard and sacrificed to be as well as I could be.

Mr. MLACS was glutton–he was morbidly obese and wouldn’t DO ANYTHING about it. He was belligerent and fought me tooth-and-nail when I tried to help him. And just before his cardiac arrest he was LYING to me and smoking cigarrettes at work behind my back and guzzling energy drinks–as a HEART PATIENT who also has VEINOUS INSUFFICIENCY. He Goddamn well knew better and he didn’t CARE enough about our family to DO BETTER at that time.

But I forgave him. I supported him. His ass couldn’t drive for A YEAR so I picked him up from work every day and even now I always drive our family places–which is fine…



My 1 year “stomaversary” is coming up (Oct. 17th I had my colectomy) and I 100% guarantee Mr. MLACS hasn’t done SH*T about it.

And I really wasn’t trippin’ until last night when I was at the fire station and all these guys were celebrating him with the dinner I planned and made and I felt sort of…invisible.

And it hurt.

Because I’m the one who was crying over him and fighting to keep sh*t together while lay peacefully in that hospital bed.

I’m the one who’s been fighting chronic illness and trying my best for 14 years, and through no fault of my own I ended up with an ostomy.

He did everything wrong, had a cardiac arrest, and by the grace of God he survived. For the past year–ONE year–he has been taking his meds and eating better. Getting “atta boys” for every pound he’s lost.

I’ve been doing that for FOURTEEN YEARS. With nobody cheering me on.

So where is MY cake???????

I have a feeling that if I want a cake, I’m gonna have to bake my own cake. Just like every-f*cking-thing else.

And mostly, I don’t mind. I do what I want. I want something, I do it.

But it’s been a hard f*cking year.

I dealt with Mr. MLACS collapsingo pplppl/rehabbing.

I dealt with my colectomy and struggled to regain my health.

My dad died.

I have been fighting with my sister over the estate.

My Grandma died.

And now I’m pregnant, and it has been difficult.

And I’m lonely.

And…I’d like someone to recognize what I’ve been through. How hard I’ve fought–for Mr. MLACS and for the sake of our family. And how little I’ve asked of anyone.

He hasn’t brought me flowers (except for anniversary). Taken me shopping. Ordered me anything off amazon. Planned a date (he could hire a sitter). I would love some kind of chivalrous surprise. He used to do that stuff every once in a while. Now I buy my own presents. When I mentioned I want an iRobot vacum for all the stupid pet hair, he actually asked if I wanted it as an anniversary gift. I thought he knew better than to give a woman a vacum for a gift.

I know he loves me but I’m feeling neglected. I’m feeling tapped-out. I need more attention and TLC. And he is not listening when I try to tell him (not that I say much because you’re not SUPPOSED to have to ask).

He doesn’t read my blog anymore either. He used to.




Wow…second trimester already!

Hey guys, today makes 15 weeks! I had an OB visit today and her heartbeat was spot-on at 160-170 bpm. My belly has been expanding, but not like it did with BG–even though I weigh less now than I did with BG, my tummy is soft/squishy instead of hard. I presume this is because I have loose skin and, moreover, because I don’t have my colon (which was impacted due to taking Zofran with BG).

I loved my body/my belly with BG, but between my squishiness, scars from surgery, and my ostomy bag, I don’t feel very cute. I think part of my lack of enthusiasm for my “bump” is also that it’s my 2nd pregnancy and I have A LOT more on my plate–with BG, Mr. MLACS was gone 50% of the time, we lived in an apartment (now we are homeowners) and I didn’t have a toddler, plus it was a hard-won pregnancy, so I reveled in my ‘pregnant-ness’ and had lots of time and money to buy cute maternity clothes and take bump photos. I can’t be the only one–has anyone else found that their first pregnancy was all pinterest-y, but subsequent pregnancies were less so? I don’t want baby sister to feel less important or celebrated, because she is my little miracle and just because I’m not into *myself* right now is no reflection on how much I’m into her. I hope little sister understands and doesn’t take it personally. Because once she’s here, I’ll give her everything I’ve got just like I did for BG. Oh, and henceforth little sister will be referred to as LS.

So maybe you are wondering…how is pregnancy different with an ostomy? Well, first off, my ostomy bag covers the right half of my belly. As my belly grows and changes, I’ve had more challenges…

1. I eat more–a lot more–so my stoma and ostomy bags are getting a “workout” from all the food I consume.

2. My stoma is changing size. It has increased 2-3mm in diameter (so currently 28-29mm) and is protruding more.

3. Because my belly isn’t flat anymore, my stoma is changing size, and I am eating more, I’m having more leaks. In fact, I’ve gone from changing my appliance once every 4 days to changing it almost every day. And when I have leaks it irritates my peristomal skin.

4. I’m going to try different bases/bags to see if I can prevent leaks, and also because my preferred base only goes up to 35mm and may become too small.

5. My bag is much harder to hide under clothes. I had an easy time concealing it, even under skin tight clothing, prior to pregnancy/my belly growing. But now I can see my bag through almost anything I wear, tight or not. I’m frustrated about that. And between wanting to prevent leaks and also wanting to be comfortable, wearing compression garments is basically out of the question at this point.

6. I need to buy some new maternity clothes that suit my new body, but because I’m not into myself right now and I’m busy, I just haven’t made the effort. I really need to. I really wish I had a good friend here who I felt comfortable asking to go shopping with me.

So to be honest, having an ostomy has made pregnancy less enjoyable for me in some ways, as much as I hate to admit that. But I’m grateful to be healthy and moreover I’m grateful that LS is healthy, and that’s what really matters. The rest is trivial.




MaterniT21 Results

When I went to my 11 week OBGYN appointment, I had blood drawn for the MaterniT21 test. Many of you know that this test checks to see if baby has chromosomal abnormalities. It checks for the three most common trisomies, Trisomy 13, Trisomy 18, and Trisomy 21. The test also looks for anomalies in the X and Y chromosomes, and thusly will tell you the sex of your baby.

I’m always uneasy when I have ultrasounds and tests, and this was no exception.

On Monday my OB nurse called and said she had my test results. The results were:

1. Baby tested negative for chromosomal abnormalities. This does not mean that baby doesn’t have chromosomal abnormalities, but it does mean that baby does not have the ones mentioned above.

2. Baby is a… GIRL! So BG will have a little sister!

I’m very pleased that baby is healthy and I’m pleased that BG will have a sister–my own sister drives me nuts but I’m glad I have her, especially since our parents are now deceased…all we have is each other. I hope BG and her sister have a much more harmonious relationship than my sister and I. Being 4 years apart might help their relationship. My sister and I were only 1 year and 9 months apart, and statistics show that age gaps of this length breed sibling rivalry, but shorter or longer age gaps have less issues. Here’s hoping.

In other news, I’m feeling better and suuuuper excited about Fall! I have already started cooking and baking up a storm, even though it’s still hot here in the South. I made chili, cornbread, and a homemade from scratch peach crisp (peeled the peaches myself) on Friday. Had guests for dinner last night and made a cobb salad bar with fresh corn, cherry tomatoes, avocado, hard boiled eggs, crumbled bacon, bleu cheese, freshly grated cheddar cheese, romaine lettuce, mixed baby lettuces, ranch dressing and bleu cheese dressing. And meat choices of grilled steak or chicken. So everyone could build their own salad. It was so.freaking.good! Salad tends to clog up my ostomy bag, which is annoying, but this salad was 110% worth the inconvenience. And there are leftovers today, yay!

I also contacted Mr. MLACS’s trainer, who is actually a friend of mine, and told her we need to get him back on track. So she’s going to get with him and have a “state of the union” talk. We need to get exercise equipment for home. We are leaning towards a stationary bike. I’m curious about the Peloton bike. Anyone have any suggestions about what to buy or where to purchase? I don’t want to spend too much money because I have a lot of business expenses related to my inheritance and Mr. MLACS made a pretty huge mistake on our taxes so we owe the IRS everything in our mutual savings. I should have money coming in but not for a month or two. So, looking for a good deal on a stationary bike.





Well, I’ve made it to 11 weeks! The nausea has slowly been subsiding and I am just an eating machine now–some of it is bad–nutella on gluten-free graham crackers and ice cream. And some of it is good–I’m so happy I can eat salads again!

I had my 11 week appointment on Wednesday, and obviously it went well or this post would have a different tone.

First, I got to hear baby’s heartbeat on the doppler. It took my OB a minute to find it and I was nervous, but when I finally heard it my heart melted and I turned to look at Mr. MLACS with a huge smile on my face.

Then we talked about doing an NT scan and the Harmony test. Apparently new protocol is to do one or the other, whereas in 2014 when I had testing on BG the protocol was to do both. I was perplexed because I wanted the Harmony test, but I also desperately wanted to see my baby on the ultrasound. Honestly I needed that ultrasound, to make it feel real and to believe that everything is ok. So I told my OB how I was feeling and he said he’d make up a reason for me to go have the ultrasound, but without the NT scan. So Mr. MLACS and I went to the ultrasound techs and told them the deal, which they were totally cool with. And one of them was practicing to be NT certified, but unfortunately the baby didn’t cooperate for measurements, which was fine. But baby looked great! Like a real little human with head/body/arms/legs! It appears that I am carrying a healthy baby and I pray that in a few months my BG will be a big sister ❤

After my appointment (which took forever) Mr. MLACS and I went to lunch at a Vietnamese restaurant–my choice. I was happy that skeptical Mr. MLACS really enjoyed his lunch, because I loooove Vietnamese food and I want it to be an option for date nights.

After lunch, we had to go see Mr. MLACS’s Cardiologist. This is always nerve-wracking for us because we never know what he/they are going to say. The news was not bad, but not good. He still is not cleared to drive for another month. Which is not a huge deal, but it would make life easier.

Moreover, he still needs to lose a good 50-60lbs before he is elligible for any type of life-saving surgery. This is scary, because if his heart started to fail tomorrow, they wouldn’t operate on him due to his weight/BMI. And he would certainly be too weak to do anything about it at that point. So he HAS to lose more weight. He has plateaued lately, due to not paying attention to eating (skipping meals/snacks and eating too much later in the say) because he has been working non-stop and has not been making it to the gym since we got back from Hawaii. I feel bad, because I have needed his help since I’ve been pregnant/sick and BG and our dog desperately want his time and attention, so he is spread very thin. I cannot help him–he has to tell work to f*ck off but he won’t. I told him to walk–I have money (although health insurance is a thing) but he persists. We are looking at a job opportunity, but they are not offering a competetive salary (in fact the offer was insulting) so I don’t know if it will be viable.

Plus BG just started preschool here and loves it. I have mom friends and a great babysitter. We love our house. We have great doctors. And I’m about to have the chaos of an infant and a toddler. So staying put for now would be so much easier. And there’s no promise that this next job would suck less than the current job.

So I’m happy, but still stressed. I am having PTSD because we are approaching the 1yr anniversary of Mr. MLACS’s cardiac arrest–the worst day of my life. And we still don’t have resolution or reassurance that the worst is behind us–maybe it’s not. His arrest happened at THE worst possible time (when I was deathly ill and awaiting surgery). His first heart failure hospitalization/diagnosis/near death experience happened at the other most vulnerable time of my life, when I was 32 weeks pregnant with BG. So if history repeats, he’ll probably drop dead since I’m pregnant and have a small child. I know I’ll be ok if the worst occurs, because I definitely considered all the “what if’s” before TTC (I have anxiety so I’m a pro at conjuring worst-case scenarios).

Lately I’m trying to pray for and imagine what I DO want, instead of all the scary/awful things I don’t want. Basically I’m trying to harness the power of positive thinking, which is actually really hard for me because of my anxiety and PTSD. But I’m trying.