Saturday, July 29, 2006
haven't blogged for a while; although my arm improved after physio and a few unauthorised swims, the "inflation" process is proving quite painful (waking me up at night etc), so I'm in a bit of a daze and don't have much nice to say anyway.
plus uni is back - spent yesterday in a long seminar - so I should be trying to study/write. plus the seminar yesterday showed me how I could access databases of scientific papers, so of course I'm reading about bc and pregnancy and subsequent risk. came across one paper that said that expectations were a strong predictor of nausea - maybe I didn't throw up more than that one time because I believed the pills would work, and because my morning sickness didn't make me throw up either. also, I don't get carsick and only slightly seasick (planes bother me, but only landings; it's the pressure).
anyway: A is still waking at night, but it's so cute; he takes my hand and leads me back to his bed so I can tuck him in. he still wears a sleeping bag (with legs) so it's like being woken at 2am by a Teletubby. well, maybe not so cute.
he won't let me sing or dance: "not your song, Mummy." he is often a tiger or a dinosaur. he says "all right!" when I ask if he wants to do something. he likes to shop for vegetables, even when they're fluffy toys. he is turning into a little boy.
plus uni is back - spent yesterday in a long seminar - so I should be trying to study/write. plus the seminar yesterday showed me how I could access databases of scientific papers, so of course I'm reading about bc and pregnancy and subsequent risk. came across one paper that said that expectations were a strong predictor of nausea - maybe I didn't throw up more than that one time because I believed the pills would work, and because my morning sickness didn't make me throw up either. also, I don't get carsick and only slightly seasick (planes bother me, but only landings; it's the pressure).
anyway: A is still waking at night, but it's so cute; he takes my hand and leads me back to his bed so I can tuck him in. he still wears a sleeping bag (with legs) so it's like being woken at 2am by a Teletubby. well, maybe not so cute.
he won't let me sing or dance: "not your song, Mummy." he is often a tiger or a dinosaur. he says "all right!" when I ask if he wants to do something. he likes to shop for vegetables, even when they're fluffy toys. he is turning into a little boy.
Tuesday, July 18, 2006
a researcher whom I emailed a while back about post-post-pregnancy breast cancer pregnancy (read it a few times, it'll make sense eventually) sent me thislink last night. basically it's a summary of research that fails to find any indication that pregnancy would be a problem. of course there's nothing still on my very narrow niche category - post pg bc, hormonally supported pregnancy - but every now and then between the depression, fear of death and bitterness about the delay, at the very least, I get a flash of hope; maybe I won't die. maybe I'll have another baby. maybe my life has been given back to me. though I still feel it's being held hostage.
taped the Kylie interview last night; the tiny bit I saw while the ads were on on the other channel (Desperate Housewives; utter trash, of course), anyway, the bit I saw made me think she is really not ready for whatever comes next for her. I suspect the tears might be related as much to the baby thing as the cancer thing, but if the queen of persona can't put on a blackly humorous front or similar for her big TV interview, it's cut really deep. of course she may have consciously decided not to make light of it or protect herself.
yesterday my mother made some comment about not wanting to be put on all sorts of drugs if she got sick. both my Dad and I ripped into her; a) I'm doing it and b) so many things are curable, treatable. you don't just give in. not until the balance is tipped so life isn't worthwhile. and for one thing, my parents have A: don't they adore him? they're 69 and they get down on the floor and muck around with him like ten year olds. it's a good thing to see.
taped the Kylie interview last night; the tiny bit I saw while the ads were on on the other channel (Desperate Housewives; utter trash, of course), anyway, the bit I saw made me think she is really not ready for whatever comes next for her. I suspect the tears might be related as much to the baby thing as the cancer thing, but if the queen of persona can't put on a blackly humorous front or similar for her big TV interview, it's cut really deep. of course she may have consciously decided not to make light of it or protect herself.
yesterday my mother made some comment about not wanting to be put on all sorts of drugs if she got sick. both my Dad and I ripped into her; a) I'm doing it and b) so many things are curable, treatable. you don't just give in. not until the balance is tipped so life isn't worthwhile. and for one thing, my parents have A: don't they adore him? they're 69 and they get down on the floor and muck around with him like ten year olds. it's a good thing to see.
Tuesday, July 11, 2006
idly thinking about taking up a proper job again, partly because staying home, especially partly disabled like I am (wow but the physio HURT yesterday), I am sinking into depression again - lots of tears and feelings of helplessness, nothing out of the ordinary - anyway, I saw an ad for a book editor and thought yes, I could do that. and I could make dh leave his job, which he says he hates, and look after A. I'd earn a third of his income, but there is money in the bank. and it occurred to me that this would be the perfect way to convince him I really need to have another child at the end of next year; become a career girl again and make him pull his weight with the parenting. he'd be begging me to get pg and stay home after three months amusing a small child, doing kinder pickups, mashing potatoes, etc. only flaw in the plan is that he wouldn't do as much housework as I do, thus reducing the blunt impact of the sheer drudgery of being a sahd.
Friday, July 07, 2006
while I'm blogging, some thoughts about Kylie. bizarrely, we share a birthday. we were born in the same town, a year apart. and if I'd been diagnosed six months earlier, at which point the cancer was definitely there, I would probably have been at about the same stage she was diagnosed at. so we were born a year apart, and each developed cancer 37 years later.
of course my hair is not a "pixie bob". my hair is just short. and no one is asking me to go on TV and talk about how I Feel. I just have this blog.
of course my hair is not a "pixie bob". my hair is just short. and no one is asking me to go on TV and talk about how I Feel. I just have this blog.
on the upside, a hair milestone: it goes up in a ponytail now. a stubby one, but a ponytail. so I can give up washing it when it's dirty and just "put it up".
ungracious bitterness dept: while trying to sort out details of a frickin' roller door this morning - not the door company's fault, but that of our stupid local council - while wasting nearly an hour of my precious Friday morning on that, I noticed two things: that one of the two Ugly Sister neighbours, whom I can't stand, has a new baby. I thought she was just really fat - well, she is really fat, but I remember seeing her a month or two back and thinking wow, she's super-fat now.
(posting interrupted by call from council employee to book inspection of said roller door installation, which sounded like she was filing her nails or painting her toenails while speaking to me)
so she has a baby and my cow of a neighbour, her mother, has a grandchild.
then, while seeing the roller door man out the front, I saw the neighbour across the road, whose wife is merely anodyne, self-obsessed and insensitive ("oh, it (her first child) was a bit of an accident really"), seeing some parent types out the door - clearly her second child has finally arrived.
I should just settle in my mind that A is it for me and that life has done this thing and I should get used to it. I should embrace the getting-back of my life (councils and roller doors excepted) that his growing up will represent. but I want a baby. and everywhere I turn, I see people I don't much like, so I suppose I subconsciously feel don't deserve them, with babies. no, it's not nice of me. but it's how I feel.
(posting interrupted by call from council employee to book inspection of said roller door installation, which sounded like she was filing her nails or painting her toenails while speaking to me)
so she has a baby and my cow of a neighbour, her mother, has a grandchild.
then, while seeing the roller door man out the front, I saw the neighbour across the road, whose wife is merely anodyne, self-obsessed and insensitive ("oh, it (her first child) was a bit of an accident really"), seeing some parent types out the door - clearly her second child has finally arrived.
I should just settle in my mind that A is it for me and that life has done this thing and I should get used to it. I should embrace the getting-back of my life (councils and roller doors excepted) that his growing up will represent. but I want a baby. and everywhere I turn, I see people I don't much like, so I suppose I subconsciously feel don't deserve them, with babies. no, it's not nice of me. but it's how I feel.
Saturday, July 01, 2006
as long as these inflammed lymph nodes in my neck/armpit turn out to be nothing - and I won't be sure about that until after my August appointment - I am, as of today, one year in remission. yay. sort of.
A. has entered the 'why" stage - I don't think he fully understands what it means, just that it keeps me telling him stuff, and he likes that.
A. has entered the 'why" stage - I don't think he fully understands what it means, just that it keeps me telling him stuff, and he likes that.
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