Most of my days can be divided into three groupings:

1) Sleeping

2) Throwing Up

3) Trying Not to Throw Up

The last part can further be subdivided into three groupings:

a) Wondering if just throwing up will make me feel better

b) Complaining about all the throwing up

c) Attempting to get actual work done

Do you want to read about this?  I don’t think anyone does.

It snowed here and they have not plowed our street yet.  Come 3:30 (when I have an ultasound scheduled) they had better have plowed my fucking street or I am going to kill somebody if I can’t get to that appointment.

I am also scheduled to go out of town tomorrow and fly halfway across the country to give a talk on Wednesday that I haven’t written yet.  The fun never ends.

Instead of working on the presentation, I think I am going to lay down and rest from the puke-fest this morning.  This kid had better still be alive this afternoon.   

In order of importance:

1) Wee-beastie is still alive and growing right on schedule — 8w6d today (2 days head of LMP calculations). The heart-rate is high — 182 bpm — but the physician’s assistant said that this is fine (she even used the word “perfect” again).

2) The Colace/fiber/increased fluid intake regimen worked. Finally.

3) My mother has decided not to leave my father. For now, at least. She still does not know I am pregnant, and I intend to keep it that way as long as possible.

WARNING: This is a TMI post. You will not be able to un-read it, so if TMI-y things tend to bother you, do not keep reading.

I knew about the sore breasts, the fatigue, and the nausea. I did not know about the constipation. It is in all my books as a “symptom” but I thought with my history of ulcerative colitis that I would cancel out the constipation and end up somewhere around normal. I was wrong.

It turns out that the progesterone capsules I shove up my bajingo twice a day can cause constipation. Even more dramatically, Zofran — the drug that allows me to only dry-heave my way through the work day instead of barfing myself silly at home — also causes constipation. The two of them teamed up and it is not pretty.

The only other time I have had this happen was post-miscarriages when I was pleasantly doped up on pain medicine every four hours. I took Colace (a stool-softener) then, too, and while I was uncomfortable, I was not physically miserable. This time, I fear I started the Colace too late.

I blew out my boh-poh.* I can barely walk and can only lay down in certain positions. I am bleeding and I am seriously considering putting an ice-pack on my ass. Why was I not warned that this could happen? With colitis, I thought not going to the bathroom for a day (or two?) was good news; this was not good news. This is horrible. Awful. Painful.

I am now taking fiber, Colace, and drinking lots and lots of fluids. Prune juice will make me ralph, but milk-of-magnesia is looking better and better. Hopefully, something will work and my boh-poh can heal.

My third ultrasound is tomorrow morning. Did you know that when you are very nervous you tend to clench your boh-poh? Why, neither did I until today. I have been practicing “conscious muscle relaxation” that I learned years ago in yoga. I am sure this is exactly the situation my teacher intended it for.

*My four-year-old friend Maya taught me this word. Some of you may know the same anatomy by the terms “butt-hole” or “anus” but I prefer “boh-poh” — it has a nice ring, eh?