weapons of massdistraction

During this strange phase where I’m healing and not very mobile, it seems like a good time to keep myself distracted, to keep my brain busy. While I was in the hospital friends and family brought me some magazines and DVDs, which helped. But I’ve sought out a few more distractions, ones that are, hopefully, compatible with the drugs I’m still ingesting daily. For the little man and I to watch together, I’ve ordered the first season of Fraggle Rock on DVD. And I’ve sought out some books. Candy Girl by Diablo Cody, The World According to Mimi Smartypants, by Mimi Smartypants, of course, and Home Land by Sam Lipsyte. I do realize I shouldn’t have ordered them via Amazon (Powell’s probably would have been a better choice), but I needed other random stuff, like a new pair of headphones and, umm, the new Madonna release (blame the drugs). But, due to the error of my ways, the entire shipment won’t be coming until February 2nd. And I need those distractions like, you know, now.

Speaking of distractions…a friend and I have this inexplicable yet long-running joke inside about unicorns. The unicorn fetish has baffled me since my adolescence in the 80s, when all the cool kids collected those blasted Lisa Frank stickers. Anyhow, two things in the past two days have made me revise my opinion…albeit slightly. One, a fascinating New Yorker article about a museum of medieval art in Manhattan, called The Cloisters. When they needed assistance with the restoration and preservation of seven tapestries known as “The Hunt of the Unicorn” they turned to two mathematicians. It’s a good read. The other, a very funny site with a section focused on monster mythology. In it are two brief but amusing articles containing Unicorn Hunting Information and, better still, Dark Unicorn Hunting Information. The artist, Daniel Davis, has a self-published a book called Caught Creatures (via Drawn) that I’m going to have to pick up. And, in non-unicorn related book news, another illustrator I adore, Kevin Cornell of bearskinrug, has a book available now called Mojo the Sock Monkey. All that ought to keep me kinda sorta busy. But I’m open to other suggestions.
Bonus: I wasn’t aware there was going to be an upcoming live action Transformers movie, until I came across this test footage. It looks sorta neat. But if I show it to the little man he might make me play it over and over again, just like that Citroen dancing car commercial.
Plus: My dear Andrew Bird will be coming back to town February 23rd. He’s playing at the Fine Line, which doesn’t thrill me, but I’m thinking of splurging…and paying the extra $20 for one of their sweet balcony spots. Guess I’ve gone soft in my old age.
And: I was expecting this sort of announcement from James sooner or later, but I don’t like it. Not one bit. Sigh.

Sunday was the most surreal of my days in the hospital. The c-section was originally scheduled for 7:30am, but was bumped up to 9:30am. There was some waiting in the morning that felt like a lifetime. Eventually I was prepped and talked things over with the anesthesiologist. I had the option of being completely knocked out, as the baby’s health was no longer a concern. And I really didn’t want to hear what was going on in the OR (when the little man was born the surgeon had a med student with her. I overhead tasty tidbits like “and now you move her bladder over here” - with me thinking, “hey, that’s my bladder you’re talking about moving over there“) but I opted for a spinal block, plus heavy sedation. That way I was somewhat awake, but not totally lucid. The husband held my hand throughout the ordeal, and bore witness to my bizarre behavior. I vaguely recall some of it. At one point the surgeon was paged by his wife. He asked one of the nurses to call her back. The wife asked, via the nurse, whether or not he’d be making it to brunch. So I interjected “dude, you should get some hash browns.” Brilliant. After the surgery, when the spinal block was wearing off, my legs felt like giant blocks of styrofoam and I was feeling fuzzy, in general. Eventually I came out of it enough to see and hold Felix. I have no words for this. Not yet. But I am glad I was able to say goodbye to him. When I felt ready I was wheeled into a new room. Unfortunately one without wireless access, which made me feel like my lifeline, my connection to any sense of normalcy, had been severed. The weirdass morphine dreams didn’t help any either. After a few hours of the morphine, which made me feel queasy and crazy, I asked the nurse to stop the IV. I switched to some other painkillers that have done the trick, more or less. I must be pretty motivated to get back home, and to the internets, because I even forced myself to get up and about the first night…and was able to have the danged catheter removed as well. I probably took on too much too fast, though. Before I knew it I had an episode of Exorcist-style projectile vomiting. The poor husband. He isn’t very squeamish…usually. He even watched much of the surgery. But his achilles heel is anything to do with the puking. And he was standing pretty near my bed when my sudden need to eject came on. I gestured for the little bedpan thingie, which he handed to me before attempting to flatten himself against the opposite wall. What a mess that was. Oh well. Monday was a day of recuperating. My condition was upgraded - such that I was allowed to drink water with a straw. Exciting stuff. Also exciting, but not in a good way, my hemoglobin count dropped significantly after surgery, which means there is a possible need for a transfusion. I’ve had my morning blood draw today and my hemoglobin is still low, even after starting the iron supplements. Still waiting to see my doc and find out whether or not I need a transfusion. If not I might just be discharged today. I won’t be good as new, but at least I won’t be here.
Note: This post has come to you from a lovely hallway in this maze of a hospital. I talked one of the nurses into wheeling me around in a wheelchair, with my laptop fired up, looking for a wireless network I could hop on. It’s a less glamorous sort of wardriving, but hey, it worked.

Today I have reached week 28 of this pregnancy. And since it’s ending early, that makes for only nine more weeks to go. Yikes. Time to kick it into high gear, I guess. Unfortunately I don’t have a very strong nesting instinct. I do have a strong resting instinct instead. Still, I’ve made some preparations. First off, let me announce the baby name poll. Feel free to vote for your favorites, or to suggest something altogether new. This baby could end up being named by ballot. But mom might try to rig the election (Felix Felix Felix).

When the little man was born I started out with a crappy backpack diaper bag that bit into my shoulders, causing me extreme agony. Early on I ditched that for a Chrome DJ bag that did, indeed, serve me well. But the buckle has since broken and the velcro is shot. So for this new kid on the block, I have turned to The Diaper Dude, and ordered this bag. It looks promising.

I’ve also broken down and put up a Babies R Us registry. Partially to remind myself of things we’ll be needing, but also for family and friends to check out. I know, technically I shouldn’t be having a baby shower for my second child, but I do believe one is in the works anyhow.

Bonus: We’ve been ordering so much *stuff* online lately. It seems like, more often than not, I come home to find a new package has arrived. Yesterday it was Dragon Quest VIII. I have to say I’m hooked, even though all I did was back seat drive while the husband played. For hours. It is so much better than Final Fantasy. The graphics, the scenery, the story, the absolutely adorable foes (like the bunicorn - bunny/unicorn), the lack of scantily-clad women…two thumbs up from me.

Turns out we don’t have quite as much time to come up with a baby name as we’d thought. At my prenatal checkup the other morning my doc informed me that VBAC is no longer going to be an option. An ultrasound indicated that I have complete placenta previa, so not only must this baby be delivered by c-section, he’s got to come out a little early to boot…to avoid further complications (like, oh, having me bleed to death). We’re looking at early March now, rather than end of March, and I’ve been placed on “pelvic rest” until then. Bed rest is also a distinct possibility, but one I hope to avoid. After seeing what the husband just went through with his surgery I’d been determined to avoid another c-section too (it brought back unpleasant memories of a slow recovery), but it looks like I don’t have much choice. And since I won’t be having any more children after this I’ll never be experiencing the joys and pains of labor. Oh well. At least a scheduled c-section is much safer and less stressful than an emergency one. And the important part is getting this little one out of me, safely. Now the hard part will still be coming up with a name, one the husband and I can agree on. I am not keen on naming this kid Zeno.
Bonus: It’d been ages since I’d thought about the freaky Dr. Ferber and his cruel and unusual child-rearing recommendations, not since the little man was a wee one. But I guess his devotees, the frightening Ferberites, are still out there (and I mean out there), and making news. The husband gave me the heads up on this recent NY Times article. It will come as a surprise to no one that I’ve long subscribed to my own brand of attachment parenting, and I’ve never been embarassed by it.
Plus: I can now use my PowerBook to access the husband’s Linux box (hello treasure trove of movies and music files) at home. Sadly copying mp3s over the wireless network is painfully slow, but I managed to score some Mirah the other night, and her mellow musical stylings have been making my days much much better.
And: At the doctor’s office the other day I had to choke down the nasty glucola drink, then sit around and wait for an hour before my blood draw. Sadly I neglected to bring a book with me, or my laptop, so instead I called the husband repeatedly. At one point he joked about the magazine selection at our clinic, saying “well, enjoy that copy of Field & Stream from 1993.” But later, while waiting for our takeout to be made ready at Evergreen, I encountered an aging, yellowed copy of Omni Magazine…from 1983. No lie.