Clearly I did not get pregnant last August; else I'd have been posting long before now. We did have something of a (re)birth last summer though. Pooka informed us that she would like us to refer to her in the masculine. Therefore "Pooka" is now "Lil Man," and I shall henceforth refer to my child using the pronouns: he, him and his.
Back in February we nearly lost Catbutt to hepatic lipidosis, or fatty liver disease. We had taken on a foster kitten for a friend who needed a temporary home for this cat, and a several-evenings-a-week babysitter for her giant, snuggly, adorable American bulldog. How could we say no? Anyway, Catbutt (aka. Catbutt Fatbutt, aka Fatty - yes, his name really is Catbutt. He chose it.) really liked Pickles the cat. Pickles, however, did not like Fatty. Her human found another human who we all agreed would be a fantastic match for Pickles (and we were right), so in Pickles' best interest, we re-homed her.
Unfortunately this led Fatty into a legitimate depression. He stopped eating. Neither Husbeast nor Lil Man nor I noticed, as we all assumed that one of the other two were feeding him each morning. Finally his weight loss became visible, and we rushed him to the vet. He was prescribed anti-nausea pills and special treats to encourage him to eat. No dice. He wasn't having it. We were referred to a specialty clinic for ultrasound, where we were told that yes, he had hepatic lipidosis. Another doctor came to meet with me and offered several treatment plans; all with ASTRONOMICAL price tags. Tearfully, I had to refuse the doctor.
Now here's the really disgusting part: When I refused both treatment plans, the doctor asked in a tone I can only describe as callous, "Do you want me to just take him out back and euthanize him for you, then?" Lil Man was out of town, and Husbeast was at work. Appalled, I told her no, that we needed to prepare Lil Man for this, and have time to say goodbye.
Several days later and with heavy hearts, Husbeast and I packed Fatty into his carrier for one last car ride. Our regular vet's staff were supportive and sympathetic as they led us into the exam room. When the vet came in with Fatty's chart in hand, he asked, "I'm sorry if this comes out the wrong way, but why are you putting Catbutt down?" We explained that the specialist had told us that Fatty was dying and that the only hope for him was a feeding tube in the side of his neck, which was going to cost multiple thousands of dollars, and only had a 20-30% chance of actually saving him. The vet balked and said he could do the same procedure for a literal fraction of that cost, and that his chances of survival were actually quite good.
Relieved beyond words, we agreed and I brought him in the next day for surgery. Over the next (I don't actually know how long, but it seemed like months), Husbeast and I took turns feeding him every 4-5 hours, cleaning up the vomit when he couldn't handle the liquefied food, taking him to the emergency vet when the tube insertion site got infected, and fretting over whether or not he would actually recover.
The vet suggested, as we neared the end of his recovery period, that Fatty might do well to be given a new companion; to encourage him to eat, to stay active and to keep him from being lonely. An old friend who works at the emergency vet's office mentioned that she knew of a one-eyed kitten that needed a home. Being HUGE fans of Terry Pratchett and envisioning Nanny Ogg's cat Greebo, we eagerly agreed to meet the kitten and see if she was a good match for us. She was, but she's definitely no Greebo. This little miss is most DEFINITELY a prissy princess with her floofy tail and her prim and proper way of doing everything. Husbeast and I call her Small Cat (to which she responds), and Lil Man calls her Hime (hee-may, which is Japanese for Princess; to which she also responds.) She has been hugely therapeutic for Fatty, who is now really living up to his nickname.
In other news...
Lil Man has just finished up his sophomore year in high school (how the hell did that happen?), and will be starting a graphic arts and design program at the local Tech Center. He's very excited, as apparently it's not easy to be accepted into this particular school. Husbeast and I are so proud of him, and can't wait to see what kind of amazing artwork he comes up with next year!
I left my job at the State, for a position with a private sector company nearer to home. Wow, what a mistake. They're really a fabulous company, but I am just not wired to get excited about corporate profit. I'm built for public service, so I start a new job tomorrow with an adult education program - counting beans as usual, but I'm breathing a huge sigh of relief to be back in a service-oriented position again.
Oh... And I'm pregnant. Finally.
Last Saturday (the 18th), I got up around 6:30 to use the loo and had noted a decided lack of menses for a couple weeks. Having had more disheartening negative tests than I'd care to discuss over the last year-plus, I was loathe to get my hopes up. I was just about to toss the home pregnancy test in the trash and give it up as another "no," when I noticed a second pink line in the window. Shrieking, I ran to the bedroom and jumped on the bed, startling the hell out of Husbeast. We snuggled for a bit before we had to get up and go to our respective jobs (Right! I forgot to mention: I left my previous second job as well, took a couple months off and then wound up picking up a weekend gig at a similar place - we have way too much fun there). Something else went wrong around 11:00 that morning and I had to rush out in a hurry.
Saturday night I started having some significant pelvic pain on my right side. I had been told to lay low and take it easy for the rest of the weekend, but I made an appointment to see the OB's at the Big Hospital on Monday morning anyway.
Monday morning, Husbeast and I got up early and headed in for an ultrasound. The tech found a massive Corpus Luteum Cyst on my right ovary. (I learned something new already! The Corpus Luteum Cyst grows from the ovary that produced the now-fertilized egg, and secretes progesterone to maintain the uterine lining until the placenta develops to support the embryo in the uterus.)
What the ultrasound tech DIDN'T find, was an embryo.
The doctor sent me downstairs for blood work to test for beta hCG (pregnancy hormone) levels. Now, for reference: my initial levels around this time[ish] for Wiggle Worm were 563. For Tempest they were 89. For Nugget they were 176. Last Monday, my beta hCG levels were 1,700. Needless to say, there was no doubt that I was pregnant.
The question was: Was the pregnancy too small to see just yet, or was it ectopic (in the fallopian tube, and therefore not one that could continue, else it could kill me)?
Husbeast assured me that it was just too small to see and that all would be well. But what did he know? To him, the entire female reproductive system is "magic and pixie ducks." So of course I spent all day Monday and much of Tuesday in a panic, thinking that the pain just inside my right hip bone was an ectopic pregnancy.
Wednesday morning arrived, and I went in for blood work at 7:00. My hCG levels came back 3,615 - more than double the value of the previous 48 hours. This was a good sign, but the doctor still wanted me to come back in for another ultrasound.
This time, not only did we see the embryo, but I got to see the "fetal pole:" what amounts to the beginnings of the brain and spinal column. This put me at about 5 weeks gestation, according to the doc. By that calculation, I should be due the day after Valentine's Day.
Husbeast and I met with a potential home birth midwife yesterday, and she puts me due around February 22, because my normal cycles are around 33 days, not the expected 28 that most women have. We have a confirmation of heartbeat ultrasound scheduled for July 6, and that may help us nail down a date a bit more solidly. I'll keep you all posted.
In the meantime, check out the beginnings of Baby!
P.S. Lil Man was not excited in the slightest by the prospect of gaining a sibling when we were in the "trying" stage, but now that this is a thing he's been extremely attentive and very sweet to me. I love my boy, and I'm so lucky to have him.
