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Saturday, December 27, 2003

Friendly advice: Make sure you have a cell phone or a phone card or something if you are ever admitted to the hospital.

As you will recall, I was readmitted when a family member died in a car wreck. We were both admitted to the same hospital the same day, he to the morgue and I to the O.B. floor. His mother was and is, of course, devastated. I placed many calls to her from the hospital to make sure she was still breathing and to grieve with her. Sometimes I got her answering machine and hung up. Today I got a phone bill informing me that each of these one-minute hang-up calls cost me 10 dollars. An eight-minute phone call cost me nearly $20. And so on and so forth. And we thought the admission bills were going to be the most pressing financial issue! We called the bandits known as Sprint, and they informed me in their most compassionate, touching voice that I was straight out of luck, but happy New Year. I want their head on a platter, candied and spiral sliced for the holidays.

UGH.

Next month's bill is going to be merciless.

Elise has been inactive today. She has moved a few times but nothing like normal. Some cramping. I know I should be worried, but every time I try I just can't muster it. Isn't that odd?

Our neighbor brought over a tin of chocolate chip cookies. I have been carefully guarding the tin here in my Sealy Posturepedic lair. My husband came in and tried to get one, but the growling scared him away. There are three left. Mourn their passing.

I am swelling. Is it the cookies, the bed rest, the pregnancy or the drugs? I feel like something isn't quite right with my blood pressure. Malaise? Sort of, but not in the typical sense. I think it can wait until my next appointment. Famous last words.

I am going to try to get my doctor and my nefarious, malevolent HMO to afford me some pneumatic compression cuffs. I am a double-risk for deep vein thrombosis and pulmonary embolism: I am pregnant and on bed rest. I think I still get a little dehydrated at times, which doesn't help. These cuff thingies are thigh-high and they have air pumped into them at differing intervals. This massages and compresses blood vessels in the legs significantly reducing the risk of blood clots and embolism. I don't imagine having difficulty getting Dr. Keanu to prescribe them. The insufferable HMO is yet another story.

Elise has decided to wake up for the writing of this diary entry. She is currently kickboxing for your entertainment. "Hi-YAA!"

The hubby has gone to get Chinese. I think this may be a grave mistake. The smell will probably kill me. I haven't had Chinese since the last diary entry about Chinese food in, what, September? Smells are getting worse again. Stomach’s a little queasy. I thought I was going to throw up for the first time in ages last night, but it didn't happen. I am almost done tapering the 'roids. Four more days. I don't anticipate needing a PICC or going back to those days at this point. I think, for the most part, I will be OK. The issue for me is becoming the blood clots. I know I need not have issues, but I'd like to use my head and optimize my chances of success if I can. God does give us sense.

From the depths of her grieving Martha called the other day distraught and wanting to know what heaven was. I guess I haven't really thought about that so much. What would you have said? I said, finally, that it was home. At first I wondered if I'd muffed it, but the more I think about it, the more I am satisfied. Home. Yes. That has got to be it.

What did you get for Christmas? I got maternity/nursing clothes and Burt's Bees stuff. Money to cover hospital bills too. But not phone bills! Sprint! GRRRRR!

Last night my little boy came and snuggled in the bed with me. He fell asleep and proceeded to kick me in my back and kidneys all night long. From inside, Elise joined the kidney-kicking festivities in the wee small hours, and I was the happiest girl alive.


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