As you know I’m spending some time with my family in (the) Detroit (area). As you may also know it’s been a long time since I’ve been here — a year. The last time I was able to make it down here, I was playing in a hockey tournament with the Tech Women’s team. We lost every game we played in, but my most glorious hockey moment came when I scored a goal in the final game of the series, a goal that my entire family was able to witness. I knew I could stop playing hockey right then and there, because there might never be another moment as awesome as that, because I had shared it with my family.
Sorry, it was nice to reminisce about something nice for a change.
The day before I left for Detroit, I started to feel a tickle in my throat. And by tickle I mean the feeling like someone is using a cotton swab coated with medium grit sandpaper to sweep the back of your throat. I had not had the easiest time the previous day and was basically an emotional wreck, complete with multiple crying jags, so I attributed the throat thing to the crying and figured it would go away.
Wednesday was filled with the typical annoyances but I didn’t feel like I was dying.
Thursday I felt a little off, but adrenaline (and sugary glucose drink for my blood test) must have gotten me through the tedious ten-hour drive to Detroit, five and a half of that being through shit weather across the U.P.
Friday my throat felt like hell, and it hurt to talk for long periods of time. It even felt like I was losing my voice, which NEVER happens to me. As a kid, I thought it would be neat to lose your voice. To open your mouth and not be able to vocalize? How strange and mysterious. Obviously I didn’t get out much as a child.
But it was a decent day nonetheless: I had lunch with my mom, hung out at the house and watched the Red Wings game with her and my brother and sisters while we ate takeout Mexican food.
Saturday I felt worse, like someone had injected every opening in my head with a giant mucus plugs. My throat felt worse, and the coughing was becoming more persistent. We cleaned the house to get ready for the baby shower. We ate pizza and salad from Buddy’s, one of my favorite pizza joints in the Detroit area. I watched the Red Wings get beat by the Wild, which was not the highlight of the evening, but still a decent evening, despite the fact that I felt like shit.
Sunday was the shower. I woke up fairly early due to the fact that I could barely breathe and didn’t sleep well. The cough had worsened and my head was still completely plugged. My voice sounded worse. I remembered the doctor told me I could take a Sudafed so I tried one of those. It seemed to help a little, but I still felt awful. After helping my mom prep some of the food, I went to take a shower. I stepped into the bathroom and started panicking about the 25 people who were about to show up at the house. I started to worry about stupid things. For one, would I be bombarded with questions? How many people were going to ask me if Scott and I were getting married? How many would be THAT PERSON and want to touch my stomach without my permission? Did everyone coming to the party even know that I wasn’t still married (to my ex) and know that um, it wasn’t his baby? (This was a completely idiotic thought, since all of my family and friends who were coming are totally aware that I have been divorced for quite some time.) A montage of the past five months started to play in my mind, made up all of the stress that I’ve dealt with during that time, and I just lost it. An hour before the guests would be arriving.
It did not help that I do not desire to be the center of attention, so these types of gatherings where they are, well, all about me, really make me nervous. I was also going to see some friends I haven’t seen in years, which also made me ill at ease for some reason.
I’m not sure how I did it, but I managed to pull it together enough to take a shower and get dressed. The guests began to arrive and I still maintained composure. Maybe it was a slight buzz from the Sudafed, I don’t know. Most everyone arrived who had RSVPed and the event went off without a hitch. It was nice to spend the afternoon with my relatives, who have done so much for me throughout this tumultuous pregnancy, through their support and generosity in other ways. It was also awesome to spend some time, though limited, with my friends, whom I don’t get to see as often as I should or would like. I only had to survive the obnoxiousness of one relative who shall remain nameless. Food was consumed, gifts opened, and I only cried once at the end. All in all, it was a success.
After the last guest had left, I grabbed some ice cream with my good friend Michele, no small feat as all of the Coldstone Creameries we tried to go to were closed (are they going out of business?). After she left, it was as if the adrenaline wore off and on a scale of 1-10, with 10 being “I feel super!”, I was at about a -20. I swallowed another Sudafed and crashed. My head was completely clogged, my throat felt like it was on fire and also swollen, making breathing, well, difficult to say the very least.
This morning was not any better, and my throat and cough was worse. If you’re wondering, my poor little in-utero baby does not particularly like all of the coughing. I’m pretty sure she’s getting back at me by punching my bladder with every spasm. I postponed my morning meeting with a friend and limited myself to a few hours of some shopping errands with my mom (returns and picking up some items I didn’t get on my registry). After two hours of Target, Babies ‘R Us and Hell, AKA Kohl’s, I felt as if I’d run a marathon, not leisurely strolled through the aisles looking at strollers and baby bath tubs. I came back to the house and crashed for two hours. This being my last planned night with the family, I somehow willed myself out of bed for a quick bite to eat with my mom and sister at a local eatery. My car is loaded with baby loot and I’m essentially ready to go in the morning. There’s just one thing: I still feel. Like. Shit.
I’ve been advised that perhaps I should just put off the drive for one more day. I’ll either be sick here and drive the next day or drive the next day and be sick at home. Either way, work is probably not happening on Wednesday.
In addition, I’ve been informed I need to take the three-hour long glucose test because I fucking failed the one-hour test I took on Thursday. Evidently, high scores are not a good thing when you take that test. Even though there is a chance I could score normally on the three-hour, let’s be honest — the chances are slim. So I’ve been reading plenty on the whole gestational diabetes thing and preparing myself mentally and emotionally for the crap that will probably come along with it for the last three months of this pregnancy. Lucky me and my Asian “there’s a higher chance you’ll develop GD” genes.
I’m trying not to get too ahead of myself, and also tell myself that it could be worse. That if anything is going to happen, I’d rather have it happen to me — when I can do something to control it — than have it happen to the baby [insert genetic defect of your choice here]. My diet is probably shit anyway, so changing it for the better is a good choice. That’s not to say I’m thrilled that this is probably going to happen, but there’s not much I can do about it at this point. I’m just trying to make it through the last trimester.
I’ll see how I feel in the morning and decide whether or not to make the drive or wait another day. I’m not entirely convinced I’ll feel better if I wait, but I suppose it’s possible. It’s been nice to get away from “normal” life for a few days, but eventually I’ve got to get back to it. There is also the whole “working for a paycheck” thing.
Wow, the Sudafed box should warn that it could cause you to ramble on endlessly on your blog.
