very grumpy...

It is the middle of the night and, as is becoming my custom, I cannot sleep. So I write. Or attempt to with 17 pounds of Lynx-point, raccoon-stripped Siamese in my lap trying desperately to put her none-too-clean rump on the keyboard of my sparkly work-owned laptop. I love the stripey cat and don’t want to dissuade, but if these words don’t pour out of my head and hands, I may go crazy.

I have been in limbo for weeks and weeks. The most recent episode, a five-day stay in the hospital when my gall bladder freaked out. Nausea. Violent vomiting. Inability to stay upright without feeling like I was going to hurl. My big victory, consumption of a few bites of jello to be followed by ingestion of broth. I lost 10-15 pounds. I tried to avoid most of the experience by sleeping. I’ve never been quite that ill and never hospitalized. The doctors would like to maintain my gall bladder until Sprout makes his entrance to the world, then rip out the gall bladder.

I had just gotten back to work after a couple weeks bedrest for high blood pressure—more accurately pregnancy-induced hypertension. I’ve always had excellent blood pressure. Admirable. Enviable. Then, true to form for something like twenty percent of all women, my blood pressure went wonky. Nothing like going from doing prenatal yoga a few days a week, teaching and taking water aerobics, walking and behaving like a strong, vibrant woman to laying on the couch cramming protein and water down my throat. I tried to handle it graciously, but I really relished the notion of returning to my grey cubicle.

The return lasted two days. On day three, I picked up breakfast on the way to work, nibbled it over the course of hours and began throwing up. Mid-day I went home. The following day I landed in the hospital, after a torturous day of puking, waiting to go to the doctor, getting to the doctor’s early because I was so sick, going to the ER, waiting, waiting…

I am frustrated. And I feel stifled. Oooky. Weird. Discombobulated. I float. Time and schedules mean nothing. I can’t sleep normally. I have disconcerting dreams. I can’t walk very far without feeling exhausted. The simple act of cutting flowers for less than an hour today sent my blood pressure soaring and made me light-headed.

I’m supposed to watch everything into my mouth carefully. Now I’m not only shooting for 80-100 g of protein daily, I’m trying to keep the fat content incredibly low—preferably in the no more than 30 g/ day range, but, more realistically no more than 45 g range. It wouldn’t be so hard if I didn’t have to try to choke down protein every two hours and at an alarming quantity.