The Furbaby

If it weren't for Todd, I would have taken in any stray animal or person who needed a home in the last 15 years. Thankfully, he is my intervention from truly being the crazy cat lady. But Sadie is a different story...

Once upon a sunny Saturday, I was busy spring-cleaning while my husband was at work. Our typical suburban neighborhood was bustling with kids riding bikes, dads mowing their lawns and moms cleaning out their minivans. I noticed a cluster of people starting to gather on my street and didn't really think twice about it when my doorbell rang. My German Shepherd, Talon, perked up to help me answer. A little boy stood there looking up at me with his big brown eyes and asked me if I would take his dog. He said her name was Sandie because that was the color of her fur.

One look at what lie in my yard melted my heart. Sweet eyes begged at me through a sort of haze and buggars. A pink nose twitched at me through its scratches and scabs. Soft pale skin reddened under the sun where huge patches of hair no longer protected. As I walked over to this ragamuffin, it rolled over happily for a tummy rub to which I obliged. Big chest bone and nothing more held her together. The boys' mother explained that they had found her a few days prior on the side of the highway near our home and that she has small children at home and just couldn't keep her. She had asked everyone in the neighborhood but nobody would take her. This was her last block - and we were her last house.

I recognized the breed. StaffOrdSomething Terrior, Bulldog, Amercian SomethingOrOther Terrior...it didn't matter...all I saw was a Pitbull. The same kind of pitbull exploited in the news tearing off the faces of little children. The same kind of pitbull that had been splashed over the internet as being dangerous and fighting dogs. THAT kind of pitbull. Illegal in the town and at the home in which I lived.

Now this is where my husband and I disagree. I could SWEAR that I told the family that I just couldn't take her; that he came home just an hour or so later and the family was still hustling the hood when they caught him in the driveway and the pitbull suckered him into it's heart. HE says that he drove up about the same time they were there and I am the one that suckered HIM! Regardless, we became the parents of a truly PITiful dog.

She looked more like a Sadie than a Sandie to me - or maybe I just couldn't get that Little Orphan Annie dog out of my head or the Tomorrow song that came with it - and so her name was changed. She and Talon hit it off immediately. My cat soon also warmed up and they are still best buds. That first night, she slept in our bed, under the covers between us like a little human - head on my pillow and spooned up agaist me. We have slept like that every since.

I immediately took her to the vet the following Monday. Dr Denny, indeed, labeled her a pitbull and gave us antibiotics to heal her open lacerations (presumably from fighting), gave her meds for mange and worms and all other icky things and sent us home with a puppy kit - estimating her age to be about 6 months old. Once her body was healed, she seemed to be adjusting in every other way with Talon leading the pack (insert obvious foreshadowing here). We all went on walks around the neighborhood, enjoyed the freedom of my parents farm off leash and went to Todd's softball games to hang out with other dog lovers in the bleachers.

We shortly moved into an apartment in the city where pitbulls are legal. I started a new job and my husband started school. The animals spent more time at home alone and less time doing extracurricular activities. I began to notice Sadie being territorial when we had visitors and she started being aggressive towards other animals. A few years later, Talon passed away in the living room. Later even after that, Sadie became so aggressive to anybody outside her own pack that she was pretty much isolated from anything fun except for our long daily walks on a leash (fun for her, but not for the one she pulled at the sight of another living thing).

We then moved to our current construction nightmare and I began working from home. Her behavior has gradually escalated. She growls and lunges at any visitor even while in her kennel or having her muzzle on. Walks are impossible if there is a loose dog in the neighborhood that might approach us. So bad has it become, that we are unable to leave her at the doggie resort while on vacation anymore. She is too fearful and they would have to tranquilize her, causing even more mental trauma. Today, during her yearly checkup at her usual vet - she lunged at the doctor sounding vicious. When corrected, she assumed her usual position right under me and between my legs in a guarding position (or 'right up in ya' as my husband refers to it). Fear and protective. Not a good mix. I held back my tears.

We got through the visit and I was even invited back next year thanks to the great staff at Ark Animal Clinic. They assured me that I am not a horrible owner and referred me to a local animal behaviorist. Is this a glimpse of my parenting skills? Are we doomed to raise a Monster (another loving nickname from Todd when referring to Sadie).

So this is my test. And I am up for it. No more excuses. No more anxiety. No more trying. Just doing. I want Sadie to be healthy and enjoy life again. Dogs are a man's best friend. But Sadie has been my Furbaby....filling the void of losing our beloved 'first child' and the urge to be a real mother. But I need us to develop a working relationship as human and dog so that we can expand our family to a real baby.

...to live happily ever after!

Wish me luck!

Big Baby

Talk about being a big BABY....

I returned home from some lunchtime errands today to three grown men huddled together in the middle of my unfinished family room (aka the garage) without any actual work being done towards the finishing of said room. My presence was not met with the usual kidding or showing off of a job completed for my supervisory inspection, but with deer-in-the-headlight looks.

"Steve cut his finger off", my father-in-law quickly fessed up.

"Oh, it's not cut completely off...just a little stinger", my dad tried to cover.

I must say I was impressed by the nursing efforts of them all. The finger was neatly and tightly wrapped with pads, gauze and tape from a real first aid kit (to which now I must go purchase...because I sure didn't have one on hand!). The Boy Scouts of America don't got nuttin' on these men! ;)

After pulling the gory details out of them like teeth, I talked my free labor into letting me take him to The Urgency Room. My sister-in-law works there and I assured him it was the best bet. Quickly ushered into an exam room, she began to unwrap the blood soaked appendage. Just as quickly she covered it back up and simple said "This is BAD."

Oh come on now. How bad can it be?, I thought. He didn't act like it hurt. He wasn't pale. Weren't they all just in my house swapping and comparing saw injury stories like they were hangnails? So despite the cowardly voice in my head, I stood up to take a peek.

UGH. Huge flap of skin flopped over to the side. OMG. Blood everywhere. EW. I think that was bone I just saw. I think I am getting light headed...ouch, my finger hurts...oh my, I need to sit back down.

The doctor came in and simply said, "Oh, this is BAD." Yeah, I could have told her that. He was referred to the nearest emergency room.

I drove my dad back to my house where so he could pick up his truck and go back to his own house to feed the horses and take care of the animals. HUH? Once he was safely out of sight, I quickly called my mother (whom I promised NOT to call) and tried not to panic her as only a child can do a mother. She also works for a family physician and so she directed him to her first. Thank goodness!

Her doctor took one look and said, "Wow, this is BAD." Hmmmmm....

So two other men, two nurses and two doctors and a wife later - his hand is now in the expert hands of an orthopedic surgeon. Pouting like a child, he was not too thrilled about having to be put completely under. Unfortunately, it looks like a skin graft is necessary (the original 'flap' didn't make it) and other tendons and things I prefer not to know about were severed - possibly beyond repair. I am so happy it was only a finger!!!

I think about the many scrapes, breaks, blood, puke and poop I am wishing upon myself to have a baby. I'd better watch more Operation TV if I'm going to desensitize myself. I didn't fare so well today!

Who's the BIG BABY now?!??!?

Important Health Bulletin

No deep thoughts today - only a funny to help lighten the mood with great advice from my "Tequila" friend :) CHEERS to you all!

Click on the pix at the left. Fun book from one of my favorite online stores!

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• You will notice the benefits of Margaritas almost immediately and with a regimen of regular doses you can overcome any obstacles that prevent you from living the life you want to live.

• Shyness and awkwardness will be a thing of the past and you will discover many talents you never knew you had. Stop hiding and start living, with Margaritas.

Margaritas may not be right for everyone. Women who are pregnant or nursing should not use Margaritas. However, women who wouldn't mind nursing or becoming pregnant are encouraged to try it.

Side effects may include:

• Dizziness, nausea, vomiting, incarceration
• Erotic lustfulness
• Loss of motor control
• Loss of clothing
• Loss of money
• Loss of virginity
• Loss of bladder control
• Attraction to ugly men
• Table dancing
• Headache
• Dehydration
• Dry mouth
• And a desire to sing Karaoke
  

WARNING:
The consumption of Margaritas may make you think you are whispering when you are not.

WARNING:
The consumption of Margaritas may cause you to tell your friends over and over again that you love them.

WARNING:
The consumption of Margaritas may cause you to think you can sing.

WARNING:
The consumption of Margaritas may make you think you can logically converse with members of the opposite sex without spitting.

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Just as effective and costs only a fraction.

Making It

Between making a house, making a baby and making ends meet - I guess the stress is hitting us a bit more than we had anticipated.

It is ironic that during this time in our lives, my husband and I are doing more TOGETHER than we ever have in our long (almost) 17 year past - yet the distance between us sometimes seems oceanic. I know that all couples go through this at one time or another. Building the nest, emptying the nest, flying the entire darn coop! They are all stages in life that require some adjustment and changes. Hopefully, both man and wife will have evolved together more wise, more fun, and more in love than ever.

Also ironic is all the advice about stress - that adds to the stress - of why we aren't getting pregnant. Words of wisdom like: "You are just trying to hard." or "When the time is right it will just happen - relax!" or my favorite, "Give it time, nature will eventually take its course" to which the responses I keep privately in my head are always gracious ;) Stress is a HUGE factor in getting pregnant, both naturally and assisted, accounting for up to 30% of infertility-related problems. I found a great article on the subject on WebMD.

When thinking about stress and how it relates to me personally, I am reminded (and encouraged!) that I have always been one to work best under stress - and usually at things to which I do not excel nor put forth 100%. I am not a planner or at strategist. A bit of a procrastinator at heart, I typically fly by the seat of my pants and very much live in the moment.

For example, in high school track I ran hurdles. At 5'2" my coaches used to laugh that I was so short my legs barely even touched the ground anyway, so why not! I never had perfect form; being too short to 3-step and too awkward to 4-step. I had my own style and did it my way. I would get insanely nervous and nauseous before each meet to the point I had to convince everyone I was not about to die and to just let me wipe off my face...and let me run. Though I never felt prepared and my muscles never felt completely stretched out - I knew I just had to go for it. I would get down on my mark; feeling the hot asphalt on my hands and place them within millimeters of the starting line. Get set; looking up at the perfect line of obstacles ahead of me. GO!

I would roll out of the blocks, not with a rocket burst like my competitors, but staying low and gradually lifting towards the first hurdle, reaching my left hand to touch my right lead foot that glided my horizontal body over it with an undetectable brush of my trailing thigh. I did not look at the finish line. I barely looked a the next hurdle. I was only partially aware of the others in my peripherals as I closed the space between us until they all but disappeared (I like to think behind me!). I did feel the rhythm beneath my own feet; however random that might have been to those watching, and instinctively knew when to lift - and when to dig...deep to the end. And when it was over? I was always rewarded with a medal. Not always first! But never last.

This is a template for all other things in my life. Late night drafting projects in college that produced designs still used in local office spaces today. Countless journalism deadlines I thought I would never make as I sat down to a blank piece of paper with no ideas that produced published works. Sales goals that I thought impossible to meet that came down to the wire when a business connection was made at the last minute and unexpected to help pull a team through. Why should making a baby be any different than making it through anything else in my life.

I know why. Because this is a team effort and not an individual sport. And this stress is not my own.

So between making the baby...and making the house...and making ends meet - I am reminded that this IS, actually, a terrific time to be in love and take the opportunity to grow closer together and not let an ugly thing like STRESS pull us apart. It is the first time that we are actually making things happen - making goals, making progress, and making life meaningful!

....just run. Dig deep 'till the end.


In the words of vintage America's Sweetheart, Mary Richards, "We're gonna make it after all!"

The Male Biological Clock..TICKING!

I have no clever words or funny perspectives on Todd's initial exam results from the Urologist. Ok...maybe just a few sarcastic innuendos to keep it real. But if anybody knows him at all, this sure does explain a lot!

Todd has been diagnosed as having Varicoles. While not fatal or even rare, it makes total sense. He described it to me as a 'vein sack' much like your everyday varicose veins prevalent in the legs of many women. He reported, rather unscientifically, that this condition if coupled with low motility means that he is infertile.

Typical of most, I am not one to take my husband's word for the gospel. So I did what any educated wife would to and consulted Google search...the bible of all factual, current and worldly knowledge. While his generalities were correct according to MedTerms - there is certainly more to the story.

Varicoceles can develop after puberty but is not usually detected until undergoing said evaluation for the reason of suspect fertility problems. They are common and found in nearly 15% of all men. Out of those, it accounts for up to 40% of all male subfertility cases. Get this...a whopping 81% of men are diagnosed even after fathering their first child. This is because, over time, the little buggers lead to the deterioration of fertility.

This is what happens: the blood flow gets stuck in this veiny mass positioned right inside the cord that produces sperm. So the blood fails to effectively pump back up towards the heart. This raises the temperature in the testes causing either malformations of the sperm ...or just really lazy ones. Who can blame them! It must be 1000000 degrees down there!

This is why it now all makes sense. If you have ever been on any kind of a roadtrip or spent even just an evening with Todd, you will bear witness to his sudden and hilarious outbursts of "Is it HOT in here?!?! It's HOT in here!!!!" whereas he proceeds (if in the company of very close friends and family) to open up his sweat pants, shorts, or jeans thereof to get some air. We lovingly call him "Sweaty Balls". I'm sure he will be thrilled that I am now telling the world!

So what does this mean? Well, there are treatments that offer varying hope for success, but now appear to be unavoidable. Outpatient surgery is required with about a week of downtime before returning to work on light duty. Repair has been reported to significantly improve fertility function in 60%-80% of men. This is great news! The more unfortunately statistic I found was that only about 44% of those successes result in unassisted pregnancy after a year and 77% after two years. At our age...we are fighting against the clock already!

Back to Normal

My blood test results are in. I should be thrilled! But I have more questions than answers now.

I received a little postcard in the mail with a box checked "normal" on it - mixed in with my NY&CO discount postcard and a reminder card from the donation curb pickup. I needed a bit more pomp and circumstance for my blood results. Like confetti and balloons popping out of my mailbox like it does when you get a birthday invitation from Disney on TV! I feel so cheated. ;)

How can I be normal?!?! (insert lame jokes here) I've got my own boxes to check:

• Hairiest woman on the planet. CHECK!
• Uterine fibroids in my retroverted uterus (not so magnificent AFTER ALL, HUH!) CHECK!
• Raging PMS. Think Mommy Dearest on a good day. CHECK!
• Painful Periods. I cannot even describe. CHECK!
  
• The sex drive of a sloth. CHECK!
• Bladder infections like most people get a head cold. CHECK!
• Horrible skin. CHECK!
• A permanent front butt due to constant bloating and water retention. COOL! CHECK!
• General lack of energy and constant anxiety. Man I rock! CHECK!

I even tried to pee on a stick for three months straight, taking my temperature and trying to track my ovulation. Nothing every changed colors and my temp never changed to any degree or pattern. The only way I knew I was laying an egg was the pain I always feel while my body tries to squeeze one through my tubes. Technically called mittelschmerz.

These are things most of us live with at one time or another and are very good signs of a hormone imbalance when combined and with extreme symptoms. I just thought this was the way things were supposed to be until my doctor corrected me - giving me hope that my whole world could change with the simple popping of some designer pills.

And so continues the saga as my reasons for not conceiving are dwindling. Back to being normal! I think I'll go spend that NY&CO coupon and gather some clothes to donate now.

Inspired by Robins

Spring defines the birth of new beginnings.

One comforting memory is my mother's yearly excitement as she would point out to me the first robin of the season. Her eyes would sparkle and we would anxiously and vigilantly wait for the first glance of those amazing blue eggs. Perfect with each one uniquely speckled. As I grew older, she still sometimes calls, "Spring is here! I just saw my first robin!"

Today, as I watch fat little robins waddle through my yard, busy in loving preparation for mommyhood - I am reminded of my own natural urge to nest. While the instinct of nesting is common in women who are pregnant to full term, some of us are hard-wired to bustle about looking for the next home project at any given point in our lives. I am one of those people.

Like a bird without a tree during the renovation of our house that has taken over a year to complete, I find my creative juices stifled and my sense of security often on the edge. As a self proclaimed homebody, decorating it is how I express myself - currently a hunger that goes unfed! My storage space (and my neighbors garage) is a collection full of art and furniture I hope to soon reveal; things for my new kitchen, dining and living room with no idea how any of it will match. An eclectic little collage of things I love....for every room except a nursery.

Our modest house is basically now a bedroom and a half since restructuring the old floor plan. When guests stop by to see our building progress, I present the smallest room as my office.....or nursery my voice will trail. I try to avoid letting my brain go there. I do not want to set myself up for heartbreak - creating the baby room of my dreams with no signs of baby-to-be. But the nester inside me does not always keep those wanderings at bay.

..and so I am inspired by the robin and her eggs. I love the metaphor as I also prepare a home with love in shades of blues, greens, browns and taupe. As I flip through magazine clippings in my worn "Inspiration Folder" I see reference of this color and hints of 'bird style' with a modern twist. My own teal dishes and accents begging to come out of the closet to help me hearken the warm weather to brighten my day.

So as I decorate my "office" I will keep these things in mind and cautiously create a space that can easily convert into a nursery. ;)



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