Oprah, Oprah, Oprah! I just watched yesterday's start to "Best Life Week" on DVR. Seriously, all you have to offer me is "love yourself?!?" Haven't we heard this time and time again? Make yourself a priority? Dammit Oprah! I was hoping you found a magic potion of formula that at last, would be the answer to all our weight problems.
I don't know if I can take weight loss advice from Oprah anymore. She didn't make herself a priority last year, and therefore didn't have time to work out, plan meals, etc., and got fat again. Seriously?
I'm not working out right now because I'm cleaning my house, nursing my baby, taking down Christmas decorations (finally). If I had your money, I could hire people to do the majority of all this, and my fat ass could be at the gym!
While I recognize that there are ways I could delegate more, and therefore have more time for myself, I don't think I would want to take that extra time and workout. Not because I don't love myself, but because I hate working out! I'd much rather be shopping, getting my nails done, catching up on my TiVo playlists or browsing Facebook.
Please Oprah, find a magical bark in the rain forest that could be made into a supplement, and would magically shed the pounds! Don't tell me to love myself!
End rant.
Showing posts with label rant and rave. Show all posts
Showing posts with label rant and rave. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Thursday, January 1, 2009
I'll think of Emilie
I've been a tad over emotional today. And I admit, perhaps a tad irrational.
I go back to work tomorrow. I've sat around all day today in my pajamas, holding and kissing my baby. I can't believe I have to be gone from him tomorrow for over 12 hours. Then, wake up and do it all over again on Saturday and Sunday. Over 36 long hours. My husband can't understand my crying over the situation. After all, both boys will be at home with my husband. They'll be well cared for and loved. But I want to be here with them. I want to steal kisses when ever I feel like it. Scoop up a boy of my choosing and give them a squeeze. I love the smell of my boys (yes, even the almost 6 year old!). And I am going to miss them.
I think part of my issue is the very intensity of my job. As a hospice nurse, I have to be on my "A" game all the time. I won't be able to be of much help to a grieving family who is caring for their loved one, if my brain and my heart are at home, in my PJs, snuggling my baby. I have to be there for them in that moment. 100% of myself has to be in my job.
In my self wallowing today, I've given much thought about how lucky I am to be here. In the most basic way, I am thankful that I live in Michigan, and I have a job to be going back to.
I've also given much thought about fellow blogger Emilie Lemmons, and her recent passing. Emilie even commented on how "helpful" and "compassionate" hospice care was to her, in regards to them caring for her in her home. I thought about her hospice team, and how intense of a situation it would be to walk into the home of a beautiful family, with two baby boys losing their mother. I've been in similar situations, and it is draining, surreal, and rewarding in some strange way. So tomorrow, when I feel drained and stressed, I will try to think of Emilie and get through it.
When I finally get home, I will not freak out if my husband forgot to put a onsie on the baby, or if Matthew ate PB&J for breakfast and lunch.
I know that they will have been loved, and smooched, and cuddled, all while mommy was at work, hopefully making even the smallest difference in someone's life.
So, if you see me in my car, in some parking lot, pumping my boobs, crying to Owen's lullaby CD, and kissing my PDA with these pics...
please ignore me and cut me some slack... it's been a long, hard day!
I go back to work tomorrow. I've sat around all day today in my pajamas, holding and kissing my baby. I can't believe I have to be gone from him tomorrow for over 12 hours. Then, wake up and do it all over again on Saturday and Sunday. Over 36 long hours. My husband can't understand my crying over the situation. After all, both boys will be at home with my husband. They'll be well cared for and loved. But I want to be here with them. I want to steal kisses when ever I feel like it. Scoop up a boy of my choosing and give them a squeeze. I love the smell of my boys (yes, even the almost 6 year old!). And I am going to miss them.
I think part of my issue is the very intensity of my job. As a hospice nurse, I have to be on my "A" game all the time. I won't be able to be of much help to a grieving family who is caring for their loved one, if my brain and my heart are at home, in my PJs, snuggling my baby. I have to be there for them in that moment. 100% of myself has to be in my job.
In my self wallowing today, I've given much thought about how lucky I am to be here. In the most basic way, I am thankful that I live in Michigan, and I have a job to be going back to.
I've also given much thought about fellow blogger Emilie Lemmons, and her recent passing. Emilie even commented on how "helpful" and "compassionate" hospice care was to her, in regards to them caring for her in her home. I thought about her hospice team, and how intense of a situation it would be to walk into the home of a beautiful family, with two baby boys losing their mother. I've been in similar situations, and it is draining, surreal, and rewarding in some strange way. So tomorrow, when I feel drained and stressed, I will try to think of Emilie and get through it.
When I finally get home, I will not freak out if my husband forgot to put a onsie on the baby, or if Matthew ate PB&J for breakfast and lunch.
I know that they will have been loved, and smooched, and cuddled, all while mommy was at work, hopefully making even the smallest difference in someone's life.
So, if you see me in my car, in some parking lot, pumping my boobs, crying to Owen's lullaby CD, and kissing my PDA with these pics...
please ignore me and cut me some slack... it's been a long, hard day!
Monday, March 17, 2008
Not Risky Enough
So, I just made my first OB appointment with my RE for Wednesday, March 26th.
I then hung up and called a major University healthcare system here in Michigan. I simply wanted a second opinion on managing our pregnancy, given the fact no one has any idea why I keep miscarrying.
So I called. Got a receptionist lady. I asked to make an appointment with the specific doctor a friend-of-a-friend referred me to. The receptionist asked why I need to see a "high-risk" physician. I state because I've had 3 recurrent pregnancy losses, and prefer not to have a 4th. I also told her I had unexplained secondary infertility. She asks when the losses occurred, and I tell her "9 1/2, 8, and 12 weeks." She states that would not qualify me as "high risk," and that at least one of the losses would have had to occurred after 22 weeks. Until then, I would start off as "low risk" and move to "high risk" if they deemed it appropriate.
I don't know, but call me crazy. I've never made it far enough to fit their label of "high risk." What would one consider me? Seriously, low risk? I know, I know, scientists consider miscarriage is a "normal" part of pregnancy. I guess I thought that three in a row, plus infertility, would bump me up do a different category.
I know I could fight it. Rant and rave and demand an appointment. I'm sure it could work. I just don't feel like fighting. And I know that there is no standard of care for people like me... people who lose babies for now apparent reason. I just wanted someone to tell me that they agree with my doctor's treatment plan. That there is nothing they would or would not do differently.
As it stands now, my RE will probably see me until 8 weeks or so. Then he said he'd refer me to our friendly local maternal-fetal specialists.
I guess I shouldn't get too upset. Perhaps I should wait and see what the results of our first ultrasound bring. To see if there is, indeed, something worth fighting for.
Anyway, that whole conversation just pissed me off. Thanks for listening.
I then hung up and called a major University healthcare system here in Michigan. I simply wanted a second opinion on managing our pregnancy, given the fact no one has any idea why I keep miscarrying.
So I called. Got a receptionist lady. I asked to make an appointment with the specific doctor a friend-of-a-friend referred me to. The receptionist asked why I need to see a "high-risk" physician. I state because I've had 3 recurrent pregnancy losses, and prefer not to have a 4th. I also told her I had unexplained secondary infertility. She asks when the losses occurred, and I tell her "9 1/2, 8, and 12 weeks." She states that would not qualify me as "high risk," and that at least one of the losses would have had to occurred after 22 weeks. Until then, I would start off as "low risk" and move to "high risk" if they deemed it appropriate.
I don't know, but call me crazy. I've never made it far enough to fit their label of "high risk." What would one consider me? Seriously, low risk? I know, I know, scientists consider miscarriage is a "normal" part of pregnancy. I guess I thought that three in a row, plus infertility, would bump me up do a different category.
I know I could fight it. Rant and rave and demand an appointment. I'm sure it could work. I just don't feel like fighting. And I know that there is no standard of care for people like me... people who lose babies for now apparent reason. I just wanted someone to tell me that they agree with my doctor's treatment plan. That there is nothing they would or would not do differently.
As it stands now, my RE will probably see me until 8 weeks or so. Then he said he'd refer me to our friendly local maternal-fetal specialists.
I guess I shouldn't get too upset. Perhaps I should wait and see what the results of our first ultrasound bring. To see if there is, indeed, something worth fighting for.
Anyway, that whole conversation just pissed me off. Thanks for listening.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
