He was very nice; he listened to my story, didn’t get impatient or anything, and … he was ON-TIME. =)

I told him about my strokes, my heart surgery, my GI bleed, and my pregnancy. He read the file I’d brought from my GI doc in Longmont.

“Well, there are three things that we think of in your situation,” he told me. “The first is Crohn’s Disease. In your case, asymptomatic Crohn’s Disease. The second is an ischemic process, which I’m throwing in there because your doc in Boulder considered it; I don’t think it’s an option. The third is an aspirin intolerance.

“But in the case of the second two, you’d have healed up by the time they did your second colonoscopy. And in 99% of the cases I see of somebody who has a GI bleed at your age, it’s Crohn’s Disease. I’d say four to one that’s what you’ve got.”

“And what about patients taking Plavix and aspirin? What are odds that somebody on my medicine regimen has Crohn’s?”

“That’s harder to say.”

I asked him if it could have caused my strokes. “No, we don’t know of any link between Crohn’s and clotting disorders,” he assured me.

Ben interrupted. “So you’re saying that her bleed was just an unfortunate coincidence? Taking aspirin and Plavix at the same time was just … unlucky?”

He nodded. “That’s what I’m saying.”

Ben looked at me sympathetically. “Gosh, you must’ve really done something to get on the gods’ bad side in your last life!”

“What should we do to confirm the diagnosis?”

“Right now? Nothing. We’ll treat it if you have another episode — steroids are a very safe, effective way to manage it, and there’s a drug [that starts with an "m"] that prevents future breakouts. However, if you’re pregnant, I really don’t want to do a colonoscopy on you. The sedatives we usually use are fatal to the fetus, and I DON’T want to do it conscious — that’s miserable.” I concurred.

“If I find out that I’m not pregnant in the next two weeks or so, may I schedule a colonoscopy?”

“Sure, if you’d like to. But I stress that there’s no need at this point. We can treat it perfectly well even without knowing without a doubt what it is.”

“About the bloodthinners — Dr. Barbour in maternal-fetal medicine didn’t want to put me on too many for fear of causing another bleed, but I’m desperate not to have any more strokes. What would you recommend?”

“I don’t care if you’re on booku bloodthinners. If you have another bleed, we can always transfuse you.” Whew!

“And you think it’s OK to take aspirin while I’m pregnant?”

“Not an adult dose, but a children’s dose — yes, that’s fine.”

Ben and I walked to the car without saying much. As we drove home, I started crying. “What’s wrong?” he asked compassionately.

“I don’t want to have another mystery disease!” I choked through my tears. “It sucks! I’m so tired of being an enigma! Crappity, crappity, CRAP!!!”

“You know,” he replied quietly, “I’m really proud of you. I don’t know how you, of all people, got picked to have Crohn’s on top of three strokes, a heart problem, and a baby that didn’t make it, but … you’re really strong. I don’t know if I’d've had the strength to make it through all that.” Then, as an afterthought, he added, “And you’re going to be a fantastic mom.”

I looked up at him through the rainbows created by my tears. “Thank you,” I whispered.

And I meant it.

“Great! We’re getting one tomorrow!”

“Like, tomorrow, tomorrow?” I asked, aghast. Ben was leaving for California for a week in two days.

“Yep!”

That’s how we acquired Reo, short for Oreo. I was pretty worried about getting a third puppy; would she fight with Zamba? Would she eat? Would she poop all over the house? Would I regret taking responsibility for this life?

But I didn’t. She was, in a word, delightful. She has a dysplastic left rear hip, and compensates for it with her right, giving her a VERY funny walk — and preventing her from jumping up on the bed! She took treats very gently from our hands. Eating was a little tricky; she is a grazer, something unheard of to our two vacuums. But we figured out how to coax her to down her food; it took a carrot with peanut butter on top buried in her food.

Today, she was relocated to her forever home. We’re sad to see her go, but we know that it’s for the best. Christine, the Rocky Mountain Newfoundland Rescue chairperson, picked her up and took her to Denver. Best of luck, Reo!

But this is the funny part: while Christine was here, we got a knock on the door. “Hello! You guys have a Newfie, right? Is this yours? We found him walking down the road!”

So that’s how we acquired “Hoover”. We don’t know his real name; hopefully, we’ll find out from our vet tomorrow. He’s very sweet and quiet (meaning he doesn’t bark very much), he’s trained pretty well (well, he sits very adequately when confronted with a hot dog), and he’s very good looking. There’s a chance he’s got a little bit of Akita mixed in there somewhere; his tail sticks up like an Akita’s. Would anybody like to adopt a Newf?

“Uh … he can’t meet with you.” Duh.

“Yes. I’m wondering whether his grandma died or whether he simply decided to go on vacation.”

“You’ll have to speak to [somebody else].” Yeah, right. Somebody, anybody else. She patched me through.

“Hello there! I’ve been told that Dr. Unavailable can’t meet with me at my previously scheduled appointment. Do you know his reason for canceling with only a week’s notice?”

“Oh, that’s right. Hang on a sec, I’ll get you rescheduled right away –”

“Well, first I’d like to find out why he can’t meet me on the ninth.” And so it went. It turns out … drumroll, please … he’s on vacation! Bastard!

Do you know how difficult it is to make an appointment in Denver that I can actually keep? I no longer drive to Denver; Ben needs to be around to take me. That means no phone calls, no meetings, and no travel on that date. That’s hard to guarantee! Of course, I need to be free as well, which normally isn’t a problem except that this week is Vacation Bible School, which I’ve gotten sucked in to. I needed to find replacement craft teachers — not as hard as making sure my husband’s around, but annoying nonetheless.

After several failed attempts — meaning, several “We’ve got an 8:45am on Thursdays”, which is not going to work when it takes me an hour and a half to get to his office — I finally got my appointment rescheduled. Then, I remembered that I needed an echo, too.

“Um … OK,” the receptionist sighed. “How’s 9am on Tuesday?” I sighed, re-explained that it takes me an hour and a half to reach the office and that I DON’T DRIVE and therefore CAN’T MAKE TWO TRIPS. We eventually got my appointments rescheduled for today.

Then, at the crack of dawn on July 8, I got an automated call from the doctor’s office reminding me of my echo scheduled for tomorrow. I called back and practically screamed at the poor lady on the phone. “Hello. I just got a phone call reminding me of an appointment that no longer exists. Dr. Unavailable is going on vacation and won’t meet me tomorrow, so I moved my appointments to later in the month.”

“Let me put you on hold.” Cue ten minutes of terrible elevator music, punctuated all too often by healthy eating class announcements.

“OK, I see that you do indeed have another echo scheduled. You’re all set. See you on the 28th!”

That was, thank goodness, the last of my scheduling problems. Bashing my head against the wall may leave a few marks, but …

**********

So today, we got up at 9am to get ready, got in the car at 10:15, and drove down the canyon.

Yes, I did say it takes an hour and a half to get there; Ben just didn’t want to leave quite so early. I wasn’t terribly concerned about arriving late. The problem was that we got a poker in front of us driving 30mph down the twists and turns. He didn’t pull over.

We arrived a couple of minutes late, which worked out fine because they weren’t ready for us yet.

I was escorted back to an exam room, told to take off all my clothes above my waist and put on a gown. I did. Then, before I had a chance to say anything, the lady doing the exam — let’s call her Janelle — slapped a [sticky pad with a metal snap on it -- I don't know what they're called] on me. “Wait!” I exclaimed. She paused, the next one in her hand.

“Yes?”

“Do you have any pediatric versions of those? I can’t ever seem to manage to get those off.” For some reason, the kids’ ones are MUCH less sticky.

“No, I’m afraid you’re stuck with these.”

“Shoot. Could you at least take these off before I leave?”

“Oh, sure. They get stickier the longer you leave them on, don’t they?”

“You betcha!” I laughed. Janelle should be promoted above the doctors on the scale of “Niceness to Patients,” I thought.

She had me slip my left arm out of my gown and lie down to begin the exam. Echocardiograms are a very noninvasive, painless, boring exams, but I was really uncomfortable. I couldn’t figure out why I was so nervous.

Then it hit me: it was during this exact same exam six months ago that I was alerted that Annie was sick. During pregnancy, they call it a “fetal echocardiogram”, but it’s the same equipment. And during Annie’s, the tech simply looked and looked and looked for her heart valves until Ben asked her what she was doing.

“I’m looking for her heart valves. I don’t see them,” was the tech’s response.

I was suddenly worried that Janelle would find my heart simply incompatible with life. “Is it normal?” I asked halfway through the exam.

“The results should be read this afternoon,” she told me.

“But you know what they are.” It was a statement, not a question.

“Yes, I do.” I frowned and considered telling her why I was asking, but decided against it. Ben was watching from the corner and I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable.

“Why can’t you tell me? Is it the lawyers?”

“Yes, it is. I’m not a doctor; I’m not allowed tell you anything that will impact your life. My job is just to look.” She looked at me and must have registered my concern, because she continued in a soft voice, “But I wouldn’t worry.”

The whole test took probably 20 minutes. When we were done and I was dressed again, Ben and I went to Taste of Philly for some delicious cheesesteak sandwiches; it was the highlight of my day!

We were due at Dr. Unavailable’s office at 1:30, and we arrived in time! I filled out the crappy paperwork (well, OK, Ben did) and then … I waited. At 1:50, a drug rep walked in. I am constantly amazed at how uniformly BEAUTIFUL those stupid cheerleaders are. She wore a tight-fitting skirt and three inch heels. She greeted the receptionist and walked right back to the exam rooms. I glared at her.

At 2:00, we were finally escorted back to our exam room. At 2:10, Ben got up on the exam table and began a nap. At 2:30, Dr. Unavailable finally knocked on the door.

Now, at home and relaxed, I can think of several ways to greet him. “How was your vacation?” is one of them. “Could I be a drug rep? I don’t like to wait around …” is the other. Unfortunately, in the moment, all I had the guts to say was, “Come in.”

We went through all the hand-shaking and polite stuff you’re supposed to do. Then, Dr. Unavailable asked me what was new.

“Well, I got pregnant in September and we lost the baby in February.” I said it completely devoid of emotion — it was a medical fact to be shared, not something I wanted to tell him.

“I’m sorry to hear that. What happened?”

“She had mosaic trisomy 6.”

“So nothing hypercoagulable?”

I shook my head.

“How are you doing otherwise?”

“OK, I guess.”

“Are you working?”

“No.” I HATE it when people ask me if I’ve gotten a job yet. No, I haven’t. Am I looking for a job? No. Is it because employment is difficult to come by these days? That’s part of it — but no, not really.

It’s because I’m exhausted. ALL THE TIME. All day, every day. Most employers look for someone who won’t poop out on them at the end of a four-hour shift. Who won’t go home and fall asleep watching reruns of Law and Order every day. Who will always have enough energy to greet customers — or students, or geologists — politely. Someone who doesn’t have to worry about driving home after the shift because she’s worn out.

It’s not a physical tiredness. Now, I would kill to be physically tired. There was one day, before my sophomore year at Tech, on the Y-Hike, when I hiked 26 miles up the summit of the highest peak in the lower 48. I came back to camp, ate dinner, and went to bed. It was fantastic! I was a little sore the following day, but overall? I loved it.

Now, I can’t get to that point. My mind gives out before my body does. Two hours of VBS kids yelling and screaming and throwing their craft materials around? I go home and am DONE for the day.

There are more reasons, like my handwriting, but the fatigue is sufficient.

I would LIKE to have a job. I’ve thought about being a doctor or a professor or a high school teacher. And then I remember that I’ve already been a high school teacher … and I was terrible at it. School — second period, that is — started too early. The kids were too noisy. I came home exhausted. My handwriting on the board was okay, but the kids whined about tiny my comments on their papers. Oh, and I had that nasty GI bleed, and after that? Well, the depression resulting from yet another wishy-washy diagnosis, this time of Crohn’s Disease, combined with the physical exhaustion from the blood loss, rendered me a couch potato.

So, when Dr. Unavailable asked me if I had a job, I wasn’t in the best mood to give a good answer. He followed up.

“Why not? Is it the job market? What’s stopping you?”

“It’s not the job market, though it is difficult to find a good fit for me. What’s stopping me is my fatigue. I’m exhausted.”

“But your echo showed that your heart is in excellent condition! There’s no reason I can see that you should be so tired.”

“Oh, I know. It’s mental fatigue. It’s my brain.”

“Oh.”

And the rest of the appointment was downhill from there.

“I see no reason, from a cardiac perspective, for you to be on any blood thinners anymore.”

“Uh … I feel much more comfortable with *something* besides the occluder preventing more strokes.”

“OK, but just in case anybody asks, I say you can get off of them.”

“I don’t want to get off of them.”

“I know, but there’s no reason for you to be on them from a cardiac perspective. Perhaps your neurologist wants you to be on them; I don’t know.”

“If I have another stroke, just let me die. I don’t want to go through that recovery ever again. As I see it, there are two potential reasons why I haven’t had any more strokes since 2006: the occluder has buttoned up my heart or the blood thinners have saved me. I don’t know which it is. I don’t think anybody ever can. I’m will continue to take the Plavix, thank you very much.”

Ben pointed out later that, though this is an important conversation to have with my neurologist, it’s probably kind of pointless to have with my cardiologist, because I’ll never see him in the ER if I have another stroke. I concede that.

Then, to top it all off, he started telling me that my risk of recurrence was very low. “It’s in the 1% range.”

“I don’t consider that to be low.”

“Oh, I do. Imagine you had a hundred pennies and put put an “X” on one of them. Then, imagine you poured them into a big container. You’d never pull out the penny with the “X” on it the first time.” What the heck does he think I think “1%” means?!?! 1:10? 1:20? I’m not stupid!

“My chances of having a stroke at the age of 24 were 1:10,000. My chances of recurrence — twice — were probably one in a million. So while it’s good that you consider my chances of having another stroke to be slim, I’m not holding my breath.”

**********

July 28, 2010

Dear Annie,

Today is one of those days when my grief got the better of me, I think. I was tired and grumpy all day. I had a terrible doctor’s visit.

I miss you. I’m frustrated that I can’t walk into to my echocardiogram appointment and tell the tech that YOU had one of these and it didn’t go very well and I’m freaked out about it. I’m frustrated that I can’t lift you up and tell everybody and their brother how wonderful you were. I’m especially frustrated that I never got to see with my own eyes and ears how super you were — how kind, how loving, how special.

But I know that you were. I can’t wait to meet you, one day, up in Heaven.

Love,
Mommy

Today would’ve been your birthday — June 12, 2010. It makes me sad to think of what would’ve been. Daddy driving me to the hospital, checking in (all that paperwork!), labor (fun, fun, fun …), an epidural (which I want because without it, I’d be too exhausted to enjoy the rewards!), pushing, and then the really cool part: getting to meet you. You’d cry for a minute but then calm as you were put on my chest. I’d look in your eyes and just grin uncontrollably — and probably cry some, too, because getting to meet you was so spectacular. No sad tears! Daddy and I would count your fingers and toes like we did in February when we met you. As Jim said on “The Office,” “I’m sure it hasn’t changed since the last time we counted: six on each!” =) Then, with the help of a nurse or my birth doula, I’d give you your first meal. As you latched on, I’d gaze into your eyes once again and feel SO blessed to have been given a beautiful daughter.

I want you to know, Annie, that the fact that you were born before your time does not diminish the magnitude of the love that I feel for you at *all*. Some people may feel differently, but *I* say that the time I spent with you inside me was a gift. (You can have back the extra five pounds, though; I don’t need them anymore. =)) You could’ve been born green and with three heads and I would still love you with all of my heart. (You weren’t, though. Rest assured, you weren’t green and you only had one head, and it was gorgeous.) It’s a funny thing, a mother’s love: it sees all the good and forgets all the bad. And YOU — little you, with the ten perfect fingers and ten perfect toes — you introduced me to that. I owe you one, darling. Thank you.

I don’t want you to be sad on your birthday. I want you to eat the cake and ice cream that Grandma has prepared! I want you to be excited for your presents! And please know that Mommy and Daddy would certainly celebrate with you if we could.

I love you, Annie Laurie. From the Earth to the moon and back. Daddy and I will “catch you on the flipside.”

Love, forever,
Mommy

We celebrated their (averaged) birthdays last month and got some video. Please excuse the gum chewing; I didn’t realize it would look so stupid.

First of all, Zamboni got some very special mail from Alaska! (She loves Alaska. And Washington, and Oregon, and especially Kansas.) Thanks to Mandy, we now have a picture of Zamba that describes her to a T:

The dogs have been going to the San Mateo dog park about twice a week. Oddly enough, Zamba is more gung-ho than Chaco once we get there! Chaco is, unfortunately, more excited during the ‘getting-there’ phase; he whines and whines when we get close.

They’ve met a lot of interesting dogs at the park. Zamba’s partial to the little dogs; I think, deep down, she considers herself a chihuahua. We’ve met two Newfs — same litter, different owners — who come, our fair share of Berners, and a Mastiff. All the big dog owners stick together; we talk about how they’re growing, what health problems they’ve got, you know … all that fun stuff. Also, we’re not scared of each other’s pups.

This mastiff, for example, is an absolute sweetie! She’s weighing in at 130 pounds at 10 months; her mom was 175 and her dad 275, so her owner considers her a ‘runt’. Zamba’s got a friend!

A couple days ago, I used up the last of my wrapping paper (keep your eyes peeled, Kathie and Bruce!), so the pups got a treat:

Ben and I have been doing some hiking! A couple weekends ago, we took a walk in Mill’s Canyon, Burligame’s very own park. I wasn’t impressed; the trail is very difficult to follow, you have to cross streams which involve five foot drops and climbs, and then there’s this:

Geez louise. We walked right into this monstrosity!

We had fun, though …

Last weekend we took the pups up to Sweeney Ridge to meet my high school friend, James, and his girlfriend Yun. Here are the pups in the car en route:

The views from the top of this ridge were AMAZING! Here’s the view of the bay:

And here’s the ocean:

James and Yun and the Pacific:

We also took a day to devote to a trip to the city! It was fun, fun, …

The Yerba Buena gardens, which is more of a mall than a garden:

We visited Britex Fabrics in downtown San Francisco:

Despite their impressive selection, they only had ONE monkey fabric. That sucks. =(

We enjoyed a little after dinner treat …

Last Saturday we attended the MakerFaire, which I credit with the most crowds and noise I have EVER heard in one place. It was kind of a sucky place to be post-stroke. However, there was one sign that I LOVED:

It’s down at the bottom: “Fun first, safety third.” I love that!

And I also liked this:

Last night Ben took me to Palo Alto for dinner. If you get the chance, you’ve GOT to eat at The Counter. OMG was that good! The chocolate brownie milkshake, onion strings, and a build-your-own burger that was absolutely to die for. However, you might want to be careful, as you also get caught in the nut house:

Last but not least, I’ve finished my first quilt for “Quilt for Kids”! It’s an organization sponsored by Downey that supports making quilts for kids in the hospital.

I dedicated mine to the memory of Annie Laurie. I’ve decided that every time I make a quilt, I’ll put a monkey on the back — she’s all about primates — to remind me of her.

Speaking of her, I should update y’all on how I’m doing with her loss. It’s going better now; I cry about once every two weeks, which is about half the time I want to cry. And I’m back on Wellbutrin. It’s not because I’m depressed; it’s because I was a couch potato without it. I would lie in front of the TV ALL DAY and do … nothing. I felt *exhausted* from the moment I woke up. Now, I feel good during the day, am able to sleep (pretty well) at night, and I’m up and at ‘em again. I’ve even been running daily! It’s good!

But I do miss her a lot. =(

You could give me something for Mother’s Day along with your mom! Even a card would be nice. I’m sure Hallmark has a way to say, “Let’s not spoil the next one.”

To: Kathy Brantley
Subject: A thought …

Uh, I’m sure Hallmark does not. :)

To: Ben Brantley
Subject: A thought …

I’m sorry. I just thought … I don’t know what i thought, except that this Mothers Day is going to be the saddest one Ive ever lived through. You could help me by showing me that you appreciate me for taking car of Annie for five and a half months. [Note: this was sent from my iPad, hence the weird punctuation and spelling errors.]

To: Kathy Brantley
Subject: A thought …

[Unfortunately, Gmail accidentally deleted this email and is unwilling to give it back, so I'm going to have to paraphrase here. =( ]

Oh, don’t worry. I will never forget the sacrifice you made for Annie, and I love you for it.

I started crying after I read Ben’s final reply. Eventually, I went out to the living room to find him and buried my head in his shoulder. “Am I a mother?” I blubbered. “Does it count? I’ve never changed any diapers or sucked snot of her nose with a miniature turkey baster, but I loved her. I loved her so much!”

Ben considered it for a moment, then softly told me, “Yes, it does count.”

Happy Mothers’ Day.

Chaco and Zamboni waiting for me outside Starbucks. Zamba doesn’t care that I’m gone; Chaco thinks he’s going to die because I’ve stepped out of site and the monsters are coming.

I spend most of my days inside our apartment working on sewing. I know so many people getting married that I haven’t even THOUGHT about making blankets for all the people who are having babies. (Sorry, guys. Guess you’ll just have to wait!) Any chance I could place a moratorium on these cheerful events? Give me a month or so to catch up? It’s getting a little bit ridiculous!

I guess it’s a little to simple to say that I hang out alone in our apartment all day. I’ve got the good fortune of having two puppies to keep me company!

Zamba’s bloody diarrhea, which she left for me where I’d be sure to find it:

Last Monday, I went into the bedroom to clean up the dog vomit from our non-cleanable carpet, and I was greeted by THAT outside our bedroom door. Really, Zamba? I took her to the vet immediately, where they told me it was nothing to worry about, charged me $85, and told me to feed her rice and chicken for a week. =/

Then, last Friday, Chaco puked all night. He started around two in the morning and vomited his entire, undigested dinner; I pretended to be asleep and let my husband take care of that one. He proceeded to retch until morning, though there obviously wasn’t anything left to come up. I decided to take him to the vet as well, so I fed his sister (who has a voracious appetite) and let him have some water out of the toilet. He threw it all up just before we left.

The vet was vacillating between giving him an xray and just being cautious, but since it was a Friday and they’d be closed most of the weekend, we went ahead and did the xray. They found an obstruction on the film! “Wow, I’m glad you took the pictures!” I told the doctor. She said she’d keep him until two o’clock that afternoon, repeat the x-rays, and send us to a veterinary surgeon if the object hadn’t moved to his intestines.

Fast forward to two-thirty, when the doctor called me on my cell phone. “We’ve repeated the x-rays, and I don’t see anything. It must’ve been an artifact.”

“An artifact of WHAT?” I asked.

“Probably something on his fur.”

“Wouldn’t that have shown up on the second x-ray?”

“They fall off pretty easily.” I don’t know what the doctor thinks was hanging off of Chaco’s fur, but I guarantee you it wasn’t anything that would show up on an x-ray. We don’t normally leave soda cans lying around where they can get into Chaco’s fur, for instance.

“Feed him rice with a little bit of chicken bullion, OK? And I’m going to give you two medications to give him before his meals. They’re similar to Pepcid and should calm his stomach down a little bit.” So now I’ve got two puppies on a strict rice and chicken diet, with medication mixed in. Oh, it’s fun to be a dog-mommy!

The gourmet spread the puppies are now consuming to aid in their digestion:

A couple weeks ago, Ben and I drove up to San Francisco to meet my high school friends! Kathie and Susie’s parents moved out here shortly after we graduated, and James is out here doing software development. Nobody’s changed at all — Kathie and Susie are still the nicest people you’ll ever meet, and James is still … well, James-like. =)

My high school gang, reunited! That’s Susie Huang, Kathie Huang, James Oey, and me. And Chaco and Zamba. =)

Chaco and Zamboni doing a “leave it” with pieces of pepperoni shortly before Zamba tossed her cookies all over Susie’s rug. She’s got real good timing, that one. So does Ben, who grabbed her, trying to get her into the kitchen, but instead just spread the vomit all across the carpet. I’m so sorry, Susie! Have you been able to get the stains out yet?

We made pizza for dinner!

“Excuse me … excuse me … may I help? Please?”

Perhaps the best part of the visit was the “extra” company. James’ girlfriend, whose name has slipped my mind, works at Apple on the MacBooks. Ben heard that and immediately perked up. “When will you support 8 gigs of RAM?” he asked. “That’s my main concern.” She said she didn’t know. “When you do, I’ll buy one, but until then …” Susie’s future brother-in-law works for Tesla. “Sweet …” Ben said, and then launched into a hundred and one questions about why Tesla doesn’t make stuff that works in cold weather like we’ve got in Colorado.

We’ve also had the good fortune of attending two weddings! The first was my sister-in-law’s in South Carolina. Ben and I did the photography at that wedding, so while it was fun, we didn’t get a whole lot of time to goof off.

Sarah, the maid of honor, and Jessica:

The happy couple:

Jessica’s son, Caden, smiled for a great picture:

At the end of the reception, Mom sighed and said, “If you ever have a wedding, don’t schedule it at naptime.” Caden was good, but not perfect.

Two weekends later, we went to Ben’s coworker’s wedding in Austin, Texas. I got just a couple pictures of the fun we had there.

Ben tearin’ up the dance floor at Jen and Corbett’s wedding in Austin, TX. We arrived in time to enjoy a night on the town! We walked to a BBQ joint (mighty good, by the way!) and then sat on a pier on the river watching the sunset. Now, there is a new attraction in Austin since Ben lived there nine years ago: bats! At sundown, they are supposed to emerge, en masse, from wherever they live, and it’s supposed to be really neat. So we sat around and waited. We watched the Bat Boat come out onto the river. We got bitten by mosquitos. But no bats! We stayed until it was dark and the bats never came. We were disappointed. It didn’t completely ruin our evening, however:

Me and Ben enjoying a peaceful night by the river in Austin.

Ben is so weird! He’s actually not a bad dancer, but given the opportunity, he’d prefer to be a goofball than to actually dance nicely. At our wedding, for example, all of my cousins stood up to do the electric slide; Ben joined them, but performed the macarena. On his own, I don’t care WHAT he does on the dance floor, but when you’re with me, my toes and I would like to request that you calm down a little bit, dear.

Corbett’s got two weiner dogs, and he had a groom’s cake made to reflect that. Can you say AWESOME???

So that’s our April! What did YOU do this month?

I didn’t cry as much today! Sadly, though, that’s just because the organ didn’t play as much. During the one song in which it soloed, the tears streamed down my cheeks.

Then, during the sermon, the pastor talked about a baby’s love for its mother. “Have you ever watched a baby watch it’s mother leave the room? Oh my goodness, that doesn’t sound pretty. But then, aa they get older, they begin to realize that the world doesn’t implode when mom leaves. She comes back! Often times, she comes back with milk!”

I didn’t cry, but boy did I want to. I guess it comes down to one simple fact: I’m not over losing my daughter yet, not by a long shot, and I don’t know that I ever will be. Most of the time, I manage okay, but sometimes, it hits me like a tidal wave of grief.

Tonight, I ate at the Indian restaurant near our house. There was a table of four women eating in front of me, and one of them had a six month old baby at home. She showed around a picture of her little one. I put my headphones in and turned up the music.

Someday, I’ll look back at my experience with Annie and smile. “Oh,” I’ll say, “she was beautiful”. Right now, though, it’s suffocating.

Dear Annie,

How are you doing? It’s been a while since I wrote, and I’d like to apologize. Daddy and I moved to San Fransisco! (SanFran is a big city In California. It’s prone to earthquakes, has a lot of hippies living in it, and tons of traffic.). I think you’d like it; we’ve got lots of delicious restaurants right down the street, and we’ve taken Chaco and Zamba to lots of dog parks, which they thoroughly enjoy. The only thing that has soured my experience, besides the noise of the traffic when I walk them in the morning, is the fact that you’re not here. I miss you.

I love you very very much, Annie Laurie. Take care.

Love,
Mommy

About a month ago, Ben got home from California and we sat in the hot tub. As we did so, he casually brought up some news he’d found out about from his boss Eileen. “So, Eileen called me on my way home tonight,” he recalled, “and she said she had some news for me.” He paused, and I began to worry he’d been fired. “I got promoted.”

“Oh? Congratulations! That’s great!”

“The thing is, we might need to move.” I thought about it overnight, but my morning, I hadn’t changed my mind: I wanted to go. I told Ben so at dinner the following night.

“I’ve thought about it, and I wouldn’t mind moving. I’d follow you anywhere.”

“You would?”

“Yes.”

“Even to eastern Alabama?”

“Almost anywhere.” I rolled my eyes. (His company is in San Francisco.)

So here we are in our nice but cozy apartment in Burlingame, California. It’s furnished, complete with kitchen equipment, but it’s 800 square feet, and when you’ve got 155 pounds of dog travelling with you, it can start to feel a little bit small. We’re at the end of the main drag — equivalent to Pasadena’s “Old Town”, for all you folks from SoCal reading — and we can walk wherever we need to. Seriously, *wherever* we need to. There are two grocery stores across the street. There are seven Zagat-rated restaurants within a half mile. It’s like being in Paradise!

This weekend, we did two things worth noting: first, on Saturday, we washed the dogs. Sounds simple enough, right? Go wash ‘em and come home. Except that: (1) Zamba takes about two hours to wash and dry, and (2) we forgot that the groomer’s would be noisy. It ended up being the *perfect* place to test my tiredness theory: that being in noisy environments wears me out.

I lasted about twenty minutes. I brushed and washed Chaco. That was all I could stand; the blowers (which are like turbo-charged hair dryers) were going full speed, there were dogs barking, and people were trying to talk over the ruckus. Except you (I) couldn’t hear anything but the blowers, so we switched to SHOUTING LIKE THIS. It drove me nuts.

Then, this morning, we went to church. There are a lot of churches here, and they’re all enormous! So we just went to the Presbyterian church here in Burlingame. We found a parking spot three blocks from the doors, went in, and sat down.

Now, a brief time-out to explain to you my medication regimen: I’m currently taking Folgard, a prescription-strength vitamin cocktail designed to reduce the risk posed by my clotting genetic defect, and Plavix, my anticoagulant. That’s it. No more Lovenox, and I’ve stopped the antidepressants and am doing pretty well! So back to church …

Then the organist began playing. I started crying. He continued playing, and tears streamed down my cheeks. I wasn’t sad, but I couldn’t stop them from falling. Especially frustrating when the “Annie tears” won’t come! And MORTIFYING when you’re sitting amidst a bunch of strangers!

So, folks, I think we have an answer: it’s not pregnancy that makes me sensitive to noise, it’s something else. (I’d hoped otherwise.) =( I suspect that something else is emotional lability brought on by the strokes. Cross your fingers that it goes away after a week or so, because I just stopped the Wellbutrin and I have two weddings to attend in April.