My Body – The Enemy

In medieval times, when a knight went into battle, he would put on layers upon layers of armor. There were the small metal rings called a chain mail, a linen shirt, a pair of pants (as well as heavy woolen pads underneath the metal-ringed tunic), a bucket like helmet, his shield, a sword and on occasion, a battle hammer, mace or metal ax (should it be necessary). This is exactly how I feel when I get up in the morning these days… like I’m going into battle with my many layers of armor.

One of the many things that was made ABUNDANTLY clear while I was trying to get pregnant for two and a half years is that my body and I do not get along. Whether it was fertility related (follicle count, uterine lining, egg quality, etc.) or my general state of health (a bad knee, migraines, thinning hair or my inability to lose weight after a diet consisting of air and communion wafers), we never seem to be on the same page. If anything, we’re in two entirely different books. I’m in “Chick Lit” and my body appears to be in “Science Fiction”.

In addition to vertigo and gestational diabetes, in the past two weeks, I have had a slight yeast infection (yes, we’re discussing this), an even slighter case of hemorrhoids (yes, we’re discussing this as well) and my foot started to kill me. One night, I took out Monistat 7, Preparation-H and Icy Hot Heat (all doctor approved by the way) and stood in the bathroom to apply everything.

Should you EVER find yourself in this situation, let me give you a suggestion: Apply the Monistat first, then the Preparation-H and THEN the Icy Hot Heat. It’s impossible to get the Icy Hot Heat off of your hands once you use it. I’ll spare you the details but trust me when I say that I don’t care what harlequin romances say: It’s not always a good thing to have your loins on fire.

A week after this crucial error in cream application, I went to see a podiatrist to figure out what really was going on with my foot. With my OB/Gyn’s approval, he did an x-ray and it turns out that I have a stress fracture. How did I do this you ask? No one knows. The podiatrist is guessing that it was the fact that my weight is more “forward” and I dared to attempt to wear cute shoes. I stupidly thought if Beyonce could walk all over town pregnant in heels, so could I. The reality is, as the song says, if you like her, you should put a ring on it. In my case though, if you like me, then you should put a soft cast on my left foot for the next two weeks.

And this brings me to the acid reflux…

I love my husband… but you know what I love more than him lately? Tums. So much so that I’m considering writing a whole post that will consist of a full “food critic like review” on the various different flavors.

The acid reflux is worse at night so I’ve been propping up my head when I sleep. Between those extra pillows and the ones on either side of me, there is no longer room for my husband as I look like I’ve encased myself in a fortress of solitude built out of white cotton.

Every morning, I get up, literally climb out of my bed, take a Tums, drink some water, locate an outfit that is clean and looks like I gave a sh*t, check on my cast, check my blood sugar, put on a special designated sock to cover said cast, put both the cast and sock in an even sexier walking cast, wash my hands, apply creams (again, in an appropriate order), put on contacts, deodorant, make-up, clothes, hair extensions, a Poise pad (ahem) and then I usually take more Tums for good measure. By the time I get my huge pregnant ass with my broken foot down the stairs to head for work, I’m exhausted and want to turn around and go back home.

Then… this past Saturday… I started to itch all over. It was mostly my hands and feet but then it spread to my stomach, back, legs and arms. Thinking that it was my body officially deciding it was allergic to me, I applied some Benadryl lotion and went to bed. Luckily, I had an appointment with my doctor a day or so later and I mentioned it to her. She said it could be hormones, that my skin is just stretching OR it could be something called Cholestasis. Cholestasis of pregnancy is a condition in which the normal flow of bile in the gallbladder is affected by the high amounts of pregnancy hormones. Doesn’t that sound perfectly lovely? One simply doesn’t hear the word, ‘bile’ enough! They took blood to check my liver functions and the preliminary results show a slight elevation. Of course it did.

So, this is where we are at: I’m 36 weeks pregnant as of tomorrow. The baby is doing well, my cervix is closed, the baby hasn’t dropped yet and he has no real plans to leave as of yet. However, we are doing repeat blood work next week and if my liver numbers continue to climb, I will be induced at 37 weeks. Am I nervous? A bit. Am I surprised? Not at all.

I can’t help but find this funny. After going through all of my many various fertility treatments, the fact that my body is still managing to dick around with me isn’t at all shocking. Seriously – if my arm just fell off for no reason or even if I woke up to find I suddenly grew a scrotum, I wouldn’t be remotely surprised. I’d laugh and say, “Oh Jay’s body! There you go again!!! You little prankster!!!!”

What’s been REALLY funny are people’s expressions when they see me. I’m 9 months pregnant, I have a huge cast on my foot, I’m limping and although no one would say anything, I’m pretty sure I smell as if I’ve been pickled from all the f*cking Monistat, Preparation-H, Benadryl and Icy Hot I’ve been using. I’ve been trying to overcompensate for my lackluster appearance with make-up, colorful outfits and a big smile but really, that can only take me so far. Most people look at me and say, “Oh my god! Are you ok? Why are you out of the house? You should be home… baying at the moon from your bell tower! Quick everyone! Avert your eyes!!!”

Until I get the final word from the doctor on what we’re going to do, I will continue putting on my many layers of armor whether it’s my air cast, my over-the-top bedazzled maternity shirt or a metal ax (should it be necessary). I know in my heart that as overwhelming, frustrating and comedic as this has been, when they hand me my healthy baby boy, I won’t mind it a bit. I’ve worked hard to get here and I’m going to be grateful even if I break every bone in my body. I just hope that my son has better luck with his body then I have had with mine…