Monthly Archives: March 2009

A-peeing I will go!

Ok, so that title is kind of gross, but I’ve never been one to shrink from bodily function jokes.  Hell, I fell in love with Jim “Talks Out of His Ass” Carrey after the first Ace Ventura movie.  So yeah, a-peeing I will go, and continue to go…every other hour…

And it turns out it’s not just pregnancy that’s causing my frequent trips to the potty.  It’s the dreaded UTI.  Apparently, they’re common in the first trimester and so now I’m doubly forbidden from drinking anything caffeinated or carbonated.  Ok, I can handle the non-caffeine, but no carbonation?  ARRRRRRRGGGHH.  I love the feel of carbonation in drinks, and so I’m going to have to bite the bullet on this for at least a week until my medication is completed.  

Before the CNM (certified nurse midwife) finally got through to us, I was imagining all sorts of horrific scenarios after James told me about her messages.  What’s wrong with me?  Is it cancer?  Is it something that could harm the baby?  Oh my god!  I’m going to die!!!!!!!!  I don’t normally panic outwardly.  Usually, I relegate my panic attacks to the darkened bedroom while huddled beneath the covers, crying silently for my (now) limited time on earth, because surely, the CNM wouldn’t have called only two days after my lab tests unless it was absolutely life-threatening, right?  Of course not!  

But no, she had to go and ruin my sense of doom and inform us that it’s just a UTI and I need to drink lots of cranberry juice and lay off the caffeine and carbonation.  What a crappy denoument.  All that worry, and for what?  A urinary tract infection.  And James was hedging his bets on Bubonic Plague! Oh well, at least I’ll still be alive after treatment’s completed, so there’s that bright spot!

I just hate having to take medications on a time-table because I inevitably forget or sleep through the hour at which I’m supposed to pop a pill.  Why, just this morning, I slept through my 8:30am dose and didn’t wake up until 11:15.  Since I’d awakened a few times to pee (stumbling half asleep into the bathroom, and then tripping through doorways back into bed, only to find the cat had usurped my pillow, so my head landed on his midsection),  I couldn’t tell if I’d sleepily dosed myself and forgotten, so I had to count how many pills were left before I concluded that I was three hours late taking one.  

And just as a side note: Smith, the cat, is so damned lazy, that once he’s in a spot he likes, even my head on his belly isn’t enough motivation to get him to move.  He stayed there, under my head, for several minutes, purring.



Yes, that is my pillow he's on.

Yes, that is my pillow he's on.

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