Guinness is in kitty ICU (yes, really)

Continuing on with the week, on Friday I received a call from my husband. He’s still in Slovakia and had come home from work to find that Guinness was sick, very sick. It appeared that he’d had another episode (history in the cat file on the right.) When he hadn’t recovered by Saturday morning, my husband took him to a recommended vet. They didn’t have the facilities to keep him overnight, so they suggested another veterinary hospital. Guinness is now in the kitty ICU, receiving IV fluids and going through more testing.

The clinic has visiting hours, so my husband was there to see him earlier today. He’s still not eating or drinking, but doesn’t appear to be as weak as he was previously. So far his leukocytes, AST, and urea have come back abnormal. They plan to keep him for more testing. My husband and Bella miss him so much. I'm so sad that I can't be there.

We’d appreciate some good kitty thoughts. I think we’ve had our share of bad news this year.

This week has to be better, right? right?

(poor quality iPad pictures of the brave boy)

10 weeks, second U.S. appointment

I saw my high risk OB on Monday, and haven’t updated the blog, because I wasn’t sure what to share, how much to share, etc, until some decisions had been made. Since several days have passed and nothing has been decided, here is an update, and if you feel so inclined to offer a suggestion, I’d love to hear/ read it.

First, a few highlights from the visit. I got a big hug and very warm welcome back. I just feel so comfortable with this clinic. They are all wonderful, from the receptionists to the nurses to the doctors to the lab techs. Just great, great people.

So, my doctor said that the chance of a c-section goes way up with a twin pregnancy, so to prepare for that. I told her that I was prepared for a c-section last year and look how that turned out, so this time I might take a Lamaze class instead ;) She did an ultrasound in the office (sorry, no pictures were printed). Both babies looked great. Baby A was sleeping. Baby B was dancing all over the place as usual, leading to a discussion about their genders. So far, the general consensus has been one girl and one boy. My doctor agreed, for the sole reason that Baby B was so active. It will be interesting to find out if everyone is correct.

Okay, onto the bad news….

My doctor doesn’t want me to travel, specifically, outside of the U.S. Not only do I have all of the high risk issues I had during my pregnancy with Kate, but now I have all of the risks and potential issues that come with a twin pregnancy. To add even more fun to the mix, they also found that I have a Factor V Leiden mutation, which is honestly not a big deal, since I’m already on the recommended treatment (heparin and baby aspirin) for one of the autoimmune issues. My doctor is most concerned about premature rupture of membranes, cervical shortening, preterm labor, and also the ethical issues of whether a 20, 22 week pregnancy would even try to be saved in certain countries (most likely not). At least here, she would do her best to get the babies to viability, so they’d have a chance at survival.

She went on to say that if this were a fourth baby and I had no history of preterm labor, she’d have no problem with me traveling and returning to the U.S. within a reasonable timeframe. While I was getting dressed after the appointment, she consulted with a colleague, who completely agreed with her, particularly since it’s an IVF pregnancy. We’ve worked too hard to take risks, seems to be the standard opinion.

As of now, I’m scheduled for the nuchal scan and to meet with a genetic counselor on Monday. They’ve also scheduled an appointment with yet another perinatologist in a few weeks. Of course the earliest he could see me was the day after I’m supposed to fly from DC to Slovakia.

Needless to say, I haven’t been getting much sleep, stress is at an all time high and I honestly don’t know what to do.

We are Stateside!

We arrived late last week, and as usual, we’ve been busy, busy, busy. Unfortunately, we’ve also been sick, sick, sick. It started with Kate, then me, and now my husband is sick. It’s just the typical gunk you sometimes catch when flying (head cold, fever, runny nose). Despite illness, we’ve been thoroughly enjoying ourselves. Hello huge grocery stores and Target. And Mexican food. And Starbucks (baristas who make my drink correctly every.single.time).

I’ll type up a full blog post soon, but our trip was about as smooth as possible, minus a piece of missing luggage, that was quickly recovered by the airline.

the picture that sums up the past week

Apologies for the lack of updates, but we were busy, packing. And lest you think we have it easy and just sit back and let the movers do the work, there’s A LOT of prep work that goes into our moves.

First there’s the issue of different types of shipments (storage, UAB, HHE). Items sent to storage are those you don’t want or need in the foreseeable next several years. UAB is the air shipment, items you hope to see ASAP, upon arriving at your next post, or at least sometime within the first month. Unfortunately, the air shipment has a strict weight limit, so you have to choose very carefully what you put in it. And finally, HHE, which is everything else. Of course there’s a weight limit to that too, but it’s much higher than the air shipment, so most items end up being sent by sea freight/ HHE. You hope to see those items within four months of arriving at post.

So yes, that’s what I’ve been busy with, packing, organizing and washing, all with my little helper, Kate, underfoot. Fortunately I started the process months ago, or it would have been so.much.worse. Even better, the embassy had a charity drive recently, so I was able to donate several SUV loads of stuff.

Final count:

UAB: we’re allowed 600 pounds, 50 of that is the weight of packing materials and the crate. 549 pounds! AWESOME!!

HHE: 4,750 pounds. YES!

The coming week is all about packing luggage, last minute appointments, saying goodbye to friends, dropping the cats off (they’re summering here for the next five weeks, lucky cats), and dropping the car off.

July 4th and 5th, a little late

A belated Happy July 4^th. We went to the official party at the Ambassador’s Residence. I believe the turnout this year was just over 2500 people. Big party, food, football (hey, when your ambassador owns the Steelers, there’s bound to be football). They even had a Starbuck’s booth set up. Unfortunately there was no decaf (I’m only drinking decaf right now, just in case). Though I did realize that I must go to Starbucks entirely too often since a few of the baristas from our local store recognized me and Kate. Oops. The weather was absolutely perfect and I think everyone had a great time!

Yesterday I had an intralipid infusion, again. I noticed that there was a new television in the immunotherapy room, but didn’t pay much attention until the program came back after the commercial. The television was set to MTV and “Teen Mom” was on. It was so wildly inappropriate that it was actually funny. The nurse caught it and changed the channel. Yep, just what adult women going through IVF want to watch, dumb teenage girls who get pregnant easily, and by accident. From the few minutes of the show that I did see, TRAIN WRECK! Those poor children :(

I was able to see some of my favorite nurses, and it was hard, because for all I know, that may have been the last time I’ll ever be at the clinic. Dr. Fabulous was busy when I left, but I’ll at least call her to say goodbye before we leave Dublin. My absolute favorite woman in the front office did my paperwork and billing yesterday. I will miss her so much, and I did drop off a request for my records. As I was leaving, she asked if I needed to make another appointment. ::sigh:: Not yet, but I hope so.

A few announcements…

I triggered last night! Sorry, no pictures like last time. I’m not a night person, at all, but this was obviously worth staying up for. Of course then when I finally did wander upstairs to bed, I couldn’t sleep. After I gave the cats their bedtime treats (yes, I keep a container of cat treats in the drawer of my nightstand, and yes, they expect, okay demand, treats every night), I grabbed my iPad and started googling bad things like “ovulation before egg retrieval”, and other non sleep-inducing phrases. Must learn to stay away from Google at midnight.

In other news, this September, catswithpassports is moving to…..

BRATISLAVA, SLOVAKIA!!!!!!

We are thrilled! Bratislava was our number one choice, and after going through the bidding process, plus a promotion, plus the wait, it seems that we are indeed going to Slovakia. As everyone in the Foreign Service knows, nothing is certain until you are on the ground, but it looks promising. So yes, three glorious years of Christmas markets, easy travel, four seasons, and the arts. Oh, and did I mention that Vienna is less than an hour away?

And one last bit, from this morning…

First of all, I loathe “food” smells in my house. Weird, I know. My husband on the other hand, thinks he’s died and gone to heaven if I occasionally make a “big breakfast” (omelet, bacon, etc). Since I’ve been full of hormones for the better part of two years (IVF #2, pregnancy, breastfeeding, FET #2, and now IVF #3), I try to indulge him from time to time, and this morning I made breakfast.

After we ate, Kate and I were alone in the kitchen, so I opened up one of the windows to air out the room. Several minutes later I walked to the front of the house to speak to my husband, and happened to glance down and see Bella. As I walked back toward the kitchen, noticing the open window, I nervously shouted, “Is Guinness with you?” As I asked, I looked out toward the back garden and sure enough, Guinness had escaped through the window and was standing on the patio. I ran outside and of course he ran away from me, and under the patio table, fortunately within reach. I brought him inside and all is well. Though it might be a while before I make breakfast again.

planes, trains and car seats

My long vent of the day.

First, my sincere apologies for posting something so baby-centered during ICLW week. I really try to avoid Kate-heavy posts during this time, but ugh, I need to vent.

Here’s the deal. We’re moving in August. We’ll be Stateside for a month, then we need to fly back to Europe, where we’ll live for three more years. Before Kate, I really didn’t care, nor pay much attention to, which airline we flew. Well, now that I have an infant, who I insist ride in a car seat while flying, I’m paying much more attention to our choice of airline.

Kate is my daughter and whether she’s in a car or a plane, she’s strapped into her car seat. Our upcoming travel is not leisure, it’s work related, and therefore, we don’t have a choice about flying. To keep the nasty, anonymous comments at bay, can we just leave it at that? Please? Yes I know that a lot of people are comfortable flying with their infants in their laps, I’m not. Yes I know that if the plane falls from the sky, it’s likely, though not certain, that we will all die anyway. I worry more about take-off, landing, turbulence, aborted take-offs, and my personal desire of not having a squirmy, one-year old in my lap for 8+ hours.

So, here’s the problem. The European carriers are notorious for being anti-car seat on board, and there are no U.S. carriers that fly into our destination city. I have spent hours upon hours researching online, and yesterday, hours upon hours on the phone with several of the European airlines, trying to get a straight answer about their car seat policies.

Today, I’m more frustrated than ever.

Airline A: Website policy looks phenomenal, even listing specific makes and models of car seats. I wasthisclose to telling my husband to book with them, without even talking to a customer service rep. Fortunately the little voice in my head told me to call. Sure enough (after 30 minutes on hold), I was told that car seats are not permitted on board and the agent was shocked when I read her the policy from their website. So I called back, hoping to get a different agent, and therefore different answer. Once again, no car seats are allowed on board. When pressed for a reason, I was told it was a “security issue.” WHAT? So, I called again. Same thing. No car seats allowed on board, and no explanation as to why the website hasn’t been updated to reflect the policy change.

Airline B: Website states car seats are allowed. Internet research for passengers’ experiences with this airline tells a very, very different story. Add in that the armrests are fixed, making car seat installation difficult, if not impossible.

Airline C: Website states that car seats are allowed, forward facing only. Kate is too young to front face. I mean yeah, it’s better than nothing , but when questioned about using a car seat on board, the agent said it was at the discretion of the flight crew.

Airline D: Website policy looks good, with one, MAJOR exception. Car seats can’t be used during take off, landing, or when the fasten seat belt sign is on. I had to read that about 10 times. Um, isn’t that the most critical time of the flight, the time I most want her strapped into her car seat? Having hit severe turbulence going over the Atlantic when she was seven weeks old, I was very grateful that she was safely nestled in her car seat. There is no way I could have held onto her during that flight anymore than I could have done it in a car. I asked the agent about the policy and she said she had no idea, other than they might be worried about the car seat “tipping over during take off.” WHAT? It’s held in by the same seatbelt that keeps all of the adult passengers in their seats.

I AM BEYOND FRUSTRATED! As of last night, I’m leaning toward Airline D, and hoping for an understanding flight crew. Plus it’s the only direct flight from Dulles to our next home, so only once will I have to show my angry face, I mean, sweetly explain that I need to use the car seat for Kate’s safety, and for the comfort of other passengers.

What’s under the kitchen sink, you ask?

water, water, water

If I had to count the number of times a plumber has been to this house, or our previous house in Dublin, it would likely be over 20. Most of the plumbing issues seem to occur, not surprisingly, in the kitchen. Upon finding a rather large leak at the previous house, the plumber repaired it with a paper towel and a rubber band. Much to my surprise, it worked fairly well. Not perfect, but good enough.

We’ve had some electrical and plumbing problems at this house, but nothing compared to the first place. Last month, the dishwasher stopped dissolving the soap pellet in the little drawer. Meh, I didn’t want to be a pest, so I just left the drawer slightly ajar, which, usually, worked. Two weeks ago I found a large amount of water on the lower shelf under the kitchen sink. Since it was affecting the wood, I did go through the proper channels and arrange for the plumber to have a look.

I gave him the history of the dishwasher and the leak (the soap, and the fact that water only appears after the dishwasher has been run), and left him to work. I later found out that he repaired “a loose connection” with tape.

Well, wouldn’t you know, this afternoon we discovered a rather large leak on both the top and bottom shelf, under the sink. Someone will be here to have a look tomorrow. We’re placing bets on how this will be fixed. Glue? Staples, perhaps?

This Memorial Day, remember the diplomats, too

From the Dallas Morning News:

WASHINGTON — They are the proud, the few and the unarmed. They dodge bullets in the mountains of Afghanistan and brave the deserts of Iraq. They serve as America’s face to the world, from violence-ridden Mexico to the financial hubs of Asia to the capitals of Europe. They promote American business and protect American citizens abroad. They are the men and women of the U.S. Foreign Service.

On Memorial Day, we rightly pause to remember those who serve our nation in military uniform. But we should also recognize the more than 12,000 members of the American diplomatic corps who serve in Washington and in 271 missions across the globe.

“They are the ones out there on the front lines trying to advocate and explain [American] policies, regardless of which administration they are serving,” said Karen Hughes, former Under Secretary of State for Public Diplomacy under President George W. Bush.

She praised the Foreign Service as “a very dedicated group of public servants” who “work and make sacrifices around the world in some very difficult assignments.”

You may think of diplomats as tuxedo-wearing statesmen sipping cocktails at summits in Switzerland, but American diplomats are deployed in places like war-torn Africa and Afghanistan, where they often face the same dangers as members of the military. One diplomat I spoke to said he has been shot at five times in the line of duty.

Yet, even as America’s engagement with the world is growing more crucial, budget hawks are circling over the State Department. Speaking to the National Conference of Editorial Writers this month, Secretary of State Hillary Clinton warned, “There’s a huge gap between perception and reality … and people think that we can balance our budget on the back of our foreign operations.”

The continuing resolution passed to fund the government cut $8 billion for the State Department and USAID — while increasing the Defense Department’s budget by $5 billion. The demands on the State Department are growing, but the budget isn’t. “It is so out of whack with what we have to be doing,” Clinton lamented.

Part of the problem is that many Americans misunderstand diplomats’ role. Diplomacy isn’t about throwing money at the world. Yes, foreign aid — which accounts for only about 1 percent of the total federal budget — is a useful diplomatic tool. But too often diplomacy is dismissed as wasteful global charity or useless hemmin’ and hawin’ at the United Nations. Whether working to secure access to natural resources (like oil), leading reconstruction in Afghanistan or screening hundreds of thousands of visa applicants, diplomats are producing concrete results. They are the facilitators of globalization.

In an interconnected world, diplomacy is becoming ever more relevant to the daily lives of Americans, especially when it comes to the economy. Diplomats pave the way for American businesses to make profits at home by expanding overseas.

“If companies want to grow, if we want to grow our GDP, if we want to be competitive on a global basis in the 21st century, people really have to step up to export and export more, because that’s where the growth opportunities are,” said Lorraine Hariton, U.S. Special Representative for Commercial and Business Affairs.

Texas definitely enjoys the dividends of diplomacy. According to the latest figures from the International Trade Administration and Bureau of the Census, in 2009 the Dallas-Fort Worth area exported $19.9 billion worth of merchandise. And because of the Open Skies agreements liberalizing international air travel,Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport will see “billions of dollars in new business,” Clinton said this month.

Members of the Foreign Service play a crucial role in making that kind of lucrative international agreement possible, part of a government-wide campaign to help American businesses increase exports.

“We need to set up partnerships and relationships all around the world so we can understand the market needs in Kenya as well as the market needs in Fort Worth,” Hariton said.

Indeed, to maintain America’s global competitiveness and to capitalize on the opportunities globalization creates, we need a well-funded diplomatic corps.

“Diplomacy used to be thought of as the quiet, behind-the-scenes, government-to-government communications,” Hughes told me.

It’s now so much more than that. “In order for America to enact the kinds of policies we want to enact around the world,” Hughes explained, “we have got to build a public case for those policies, for our values and for our interests.”

Our diplomats are out in the trenches doing just that, often at great personal danger — remember the Iranian hostage crisis? Foreign Service officers have also been the targets of drug violence, insurgent attacks and kidnappings. Yet they man their posts, safeguarding American interests and protecting U.S. citizens overseas.

This weekend, as we salute our military, we also owe a tribute to America’s diplomats, many of whom are in conflict zones riding in the same Humvees as the troops. The only difference is that they can’t shoot back.

*Clayton M. McCleskey is a contributing writer for The Dallas Morning News based in Washington. His email address is letters@claytonmccleskey.com.*

*I found this post at Life After Jerusalem

May 27, 2011

Yesterday was the 1 year anniversary of my medical evacuation.

Fortunately it wasn’t nearly as dramatic as it sounds. This had been in the works for months, as 'the Powers That Be' insisted that I deliver in the U.S. So, after months of planning, and moving to a new house the previous week, it was time to say goodbye. A temporary goodbye to the new house, my husband, and the cats.

It’s strange to think that just a year later, I’m lying on the couch, hoping and praying that we’ll be able to give our daughter a sibling (not feeling hopeful right now).

Kate's first POTUS "Meet & Greet"

As most of my friends and family already know, we took Kate to her first POTUS (President of the United States) “Meet & Greet” yesterday. The Obamas were in town, and without saying too much, we were invited to the event.

Unfortunately it took place during Kate’s afternoon naptime, so she was less than thrilled to be there. I’d decided to stay toward the back of the room in case I needed to make a quick exit, however, during his speech, President Obama stated that he particularly enjoys meeting the children of the U.S. Foreign Service, so I made my way to the front, with an increasingly unhappy Kate.

The Obamas were only able to “greet” the people in the front row, and by the time I was up front, they were making their way toward the other side of the room. I handed Kate a bottle and made my way past some people who were more than happy to push and shove a woman carrying a small child.

Once up front, President Obama came over, asked Kate's name, and quickly realized that she was less than happy to be there. He made a comment about her being excited to meet him. Hey, at least he has a good sense of humor. We exchanged pleasantries, he patted me on the back, shook my hand, and that was that.

I have several pictures of him right next to us, but I’m still iffy about sharing pics of Kate on a public blog, so these (pics from the side and back) are all I’m going to post here. Hope to have some additional pics to share soon.

Flying “home”

After several months in the U.S., it was finally time to return to Dublin.

4 suitcases

a stroller and full-size stroller bag

laptop bag, diaper bag, backpack, purse, breast pump bag

car seat and of course, Kate

Since my husband was only able to spend about two weeks in the States, Kate and I would be flying back to Dublin, alone. I had spoken to the airline numerous times requesting assistance between gates, only to be told repeatedly that there was nothing they could do to help. Finally (lucky phone call #8) someone took pity on me and offered to have a wheelchair waiting at the gate. YAY! At least I could stack bags, and maybe a car seat, on top of it.

We arrived at the airport and aside from checking-in, the first order of business was to get the stroller into the stroller bag so it could be checked. Now, common sense says that we should have already done this or at least known how to do it. Well, yes. Except that the stroller bag hadn’t arrived until the last minute (another fiasco) and I was busy packing and pumping. My mom came to the rescue, again, and figured out the stroller, including taking the wheels off. I love my stroller, but it is far from easy to travel with. While she was doing that, I was busy with the check-in agent. She couldn’t find Kate in the system. After the first supervisor came out to help, we were asked to step aside in line. As I turned around, who should I see behind me, my high-risk OB (the one who was supposed to deliver Kate). Sure enough, she was on our first flight. I was definitely a bit anxious about that. Would she judge my parenting? Would Kate cry on the flight?

Forty-five minutes and two supervisors later, we were ready to go to the gate. The story I was given was that the agent couldn’t find Kate in the system because she was looking her up as an “infant”, which only brought up “lap babies”; Kate was a ticketed passenger. I’m still not sure I entirely believe this, but whatever, by then we were late.

Knowing that I had to haul a laptop, diaper bag, purse, breast pump bag, chilled bin of milk, car seat, and Kate, through security, I requested assistance to the gate, and eagerly offered my mom. The check-in agent happily passed over the necessary paperwork and we were on our way.

Kate was less than thrilled to be removed from her car seat to go through security, but you have to do what you have to do. TSA was wonderful in their handling of all of our carry-ons, specifically the pump and milk.

Quick goodbyes at the gate and a friendly flight attendant helped me carry everything onto the plane. The things you can’t make up: we were seated in the row directly behind my doctor. I fastened in the car seat and Kate started to cry. EEP! My wonderful doctor turned around, smiled, and said that, “Yes, the first flight is always the hardest.” Sigh of relief.

Kate immediately settled down, until I had the bright idea to try to nurse her in the middle of the flight. We had less than an hour between flights in Chicago, so I knew I needed to feed her on our first flight. I took her out of the car seat, put on the nursing top, and she howled. I struggled for 15 minutes or so, declared defeat, and strapped her back into the car seat.

When we landed, my wonderful doctor offered to carry some of our bags up to the gate. Thank you! She gave me a hug, said she’d see me this summer (I hope), and said goodbye. A nice young man was waiting with a wheelchair, so we loaded it up and set off for the next gate. As we were walking, a passenger from the previous flight came over to us. He told me that I was doing a great job and that he hadn’t even realized there was a baby on the flight. Liar, liar, pants on… No really, thanks for the compliment. I’m positive he was just being polite and obviously, very kind, but the fact that he went out of his way to say those things made me feel so much better. Mr. middle-aged businessman, if you happen to be reading this, thank you!

At the next gate, the young man offered to leave the wheelchair for me to use, which I gladly accepted. We had a few minutes before boarding, and I needed some water, so I walked over to a little café and quickly realized that traveling with a baby, pushing a wheelchair full of stuff, did not make for an easy in/ out experience when buying water. In fact, there wasn’t enough room to get the wheelchair into the store. A woman noticed that I was alone, and offered to watch Kate while I went in to pay for the water. I must have looked at her like she had three heads, because then she offered to take my money in to pay, while I stood outside with Kate. Yes. I will trust a stranger with $20, not with my newborn. She returned with the water and change and said that she was on my flight, loved babies, and that if I needed anything, to come and find her. Very sweet.

I pushed the wheelchair back to the gate to enquire about pre-boarding and maybe getting some help with the bags. The gate agent was beyond rude. She accused me of having too many carry-ons and started to lecture me on traveling with less stuff. I pointed out that Kate was a ticketed passenger and that according to the airline baggage policy, we were actually under the limit of carry-ons (diaper bags and breast pumps don’t count).

The flight was full, completely full, and I admit that I was a bit anxious while pondering who would be seated next to us. I was praying for the president of LeLeche League. Due to all of the feeding issues (again, another post) and the length of the flight, I knew I would need to feed Kate and pump several times. Well, I didn’t get LeLeche League, but I did get a nice woman who didn’t seem overly irritated about being seated near an infant. I was also grateful for the young guy seated in front of Kate. Upon sitting down, he looked back, saw the car seat and asked if he would be able to recline. I apologized and said no, but offered to buy him a drink for the inconvenience. That was that. Another sigh of relief.

Fortunately, the flight crew was awesome; all men, and one in particular was taken with Kate. He stopped by often to make sure that I had enough water and that “little miss sunshine” as he called her, was okay.

It wasn’t an “easy” flight, but it could have been so much worse. Kate basically slept and ate, the entire way to Dublin. I didn’t even attempt to breastfeed her. Even though she had her own seat, there just wasn’t enough room. I did have to pump a few times; thank goodness for a small portable pump and a nursing cover. The woman next to me didn’t even realize what I was doing; she made a comment about me being cold when I put the nursing cover on. That was it.

We landed, and I had planned to be the last one off since I had so many bags to gather and didn’t want to be in the way. The woman next to me ended up waiting with her relatives to help me, but the flight attendant offered to do it. As we came down the stairs, there was another young man with my last name on a card. It turned out they were expecting us. Hallelujah. Dublin Airport, you are the best!! The young man loaded us into a van, drove us to the main airport, then helped me inside. Yet another group of men were waiting and found a baggage cart for me to use. I piled everything onto that while they “oohed and ahhed” over Kate. I made my way to customs and waited, and waited, and waited. By this time I was starting to feel sick, really sick (feverish, shivery, dehydrated). After I’d been in line for almost 45 minutes, a custom’s agent approached me and asked if we were traveling alone. He then opened up another line and let me through.

My husband was waiting in baggage and THRILLED to see his little girl, and perhaps his wife. I’d purchased one of those “I Love Daddy” bibs for Kate to wear when she saw her daddy for the first time, in almost two months. We found the bags, went to the car, and drove home.

That’s when I realized, I had the flu, oh and to add to the fun, clogged ducts. I fed Kate, took ashower, pumped, and promptly took the first, and only, nap I’ve had since she was born.

At least we were finally “home”.

At some point in the near future, I will do another post on helpful hints when traveling with a newborn.

The great fall of 2010, part 1

(This happened a few days after we moved to the new house. I waited to post until I had arrived in the U.S. and my mom could see that I am fine)

It all started with my grand idea of carrying just one more load of stuff up to the master bedroom before I went to bed. I knew I shouldn’t do it, could have asked for help, etc, etc. No, no, just one more pile of stuff. With both hands full, I started up the final staircase to our room when I tripped. Unfortunately I couldn’t drop anything in time, so no hands to break the fall. My full weight and force hit the edge of the stair, right on my abdomen. I was upset with myself for doing something stupid, that was 100% preventable, and quickly realized that a trip to the ER was the best thing to do. Particularly since ALL of the 20+ pregnancy books I own state that after any fall or jarring motion, a trip to the doctor/ hospital/ emergency room is in order. Unfortunately the health care providers I dealt with that night disagreed.

We arrived at the maternity hospital around 8:45pm and upon checking in, were told to go to the Fetal Assessment Unit, which is also the emergency department after normal hours. After sitting in the waiting area for several minutes, my usually, over the top, patient husband asked me if they knew why we were there and started to get up. I jumped up, walked to the desk, and politely explained the situation. I was then told that we had to wait like everyone else. The midwife on duty asked if I’d felt the baby move since the fall, I had not. Then she sat back and said “Welcome”, as if she were welcoming us to the spa. I was getting angrier by the second.

After several more minutes in the waiting area, the midwife appeared and took us back to the smallest exam room I’ve ever seen. She didn’t have my chart (which I had handed over upon arriving in the unit) and again asked if I had felt the baby move. No. She then had the nerve to ask what I wanted her to do. I calmly told her that I understood that the baby is well-protected, but I would appreciate it if she would check for a heartbeat, then an ultrasound to look at the fluid level and placenta. You would have thought I’d asked her to solve all of the world’s problems. I also requested that she call my doctor, which completely stumped her. I explained that he might want to know that one of his high-risk, “private” patients is in the hospital. The midwife said that the doctor on call would decide if she would call my doctor or not, when she “finally” saw me. She then left in a huff to find a Doppler. Now, I’m not one to panic and don’t get easily excited, but while she was gone, I all but insisted my husband find me a flight out of the country that night (as if that were possible). I was done dealing with the substandard health care and laid back attitudes in that department. As he was on the phone, the midwife returned and snapped at him to get off, as the phone would interfere with the Doppler; I didn’t have the energy to correct her. She was able to find the heartbeat, then asked me to give a urine sample, and off she went. I’m not an invalid, but at 31 weeks pregnant, she could have at least offered to help me off the exam table, especially since I had been lying down for 30+ minutes by that point.

When I returned from the restroom, a nurse stopped by with a fetal monitor to do a non-stress test. Progress, I thought. She strapped on the sensors, explained the machine and different colored lights to my husband, and disappeared. For the next 45 minutes we were left alone. The baby’s heartbeat would often disappear from the monitor, leading my husband to rearrange the sensors; not a peep from the staff.

Eventually the nurse returned and asked about Anti-D (Rhogam). Again, progress; at least they’d finally looked at my chart, saw that I am O-neg, and would need another dose of Anti-D. The nurse said that they would take blood, but I would need to return the following day for the shot. WHAT??? She asked if I was “happy with that?” Err, NO. Why would I be happy about making a second trip for the sole purpose of receiving an injection that EVERYONE knew I needed. Wouldn’t it be easier to just give me the shot while I was already there. Well of course not, because “that’s not how we do it”. She asked several more times if I was happy. I finally explained that we had just moved and that the next day was completely booked with appointments and workers (close to impossible to reschedule). She then had the nerve to ask me what was more important. Clearly my health and the baby’s health are paramount, but that certainly wasn’t the attitude we had received for the past several hours, so no, I was not happy that I had to cancel my day to return for a shot that they could have just as easily given to me that night.

Finally (2 ½ hours after we arrived) the doctor appeared, chart in hand. She was pleased with the non-stress test and offered to do an ultrasound. The midwife had also returned and took blood. Just what I wanted, Ms. Bad Attitude drawing my blood. For whatever reason though, she’d had a complete change of attitude. Perhaps she had read my chart, perhaps it was a divine intervention, who knows. She was cordial and professional, minus not cleaning the draw site with anything. As we left the room, my husband pointed out that my urine sample was sitting on the lid to the garbage bin. Huh, glad it was so important to get a urine sample. Yes, there was a lot of eye-rolling that night, and interesting discussions on what we have to look forward to in the U.S. due to the new health care bill (Another post, another time).

Bloods taken, we then moved to another room for the ultrasound. The doctor began by cooing over what a cute baby we have and pointing out her nose, chin, etc. While I appreciate the attempt, what I was most interested in was the fluid level and state of the placenta. Fortunately, everything was fine. The doctor left for several minutes, then returned to tell me that she had just spoken to my doctor. Yeah, I’m sure he was thrilled to be called at 11:45pm for an update on a patient that had arrived almost three hours before. She said that he was pleased with what had been done, that I didn’t need to be admitted overnight (thank goodness), that I should follow up the next day for the Anti-D injection, and that he would see me at my already scheduled appointment in a few days.

Around midnight it was finally time to go. I was told that my chart would be waiting for me the following day in the outpatient unit and that I should return around 1pm. As if it would be that easy....

The great fall of 2010, part 2

I spent the next morning on the phone canceling afternoon appointments, then made my way back to the hospital, arriving 15 minutes early for my injection. I attempted to check in at the front desk in the outpatient department and was told that they didn’t have my chart and that I should have it. Back and forth for 10 minutes, explaining that I had been in Fetal Assessment the previous night, still no chart. I was told to go down the hall and find a midwife. Fabulous, here we go again.

A very nice midwife approached me and after a few minutes of searching, found my chart. I was then handed over to a nurse who I found to be not only professional, but very pleasant. Good thing, because she had to break the news to me that the bloods taken the previous night were LOST. Lost as in never made it to the lab. Lost as in they couldn’t give me the injection until more blood was taken and then processed in the lab, which would take at least three hours. I asked if the blood work could be rushed. Blank stare at the word “rushed”, but at least an apology and promise that the blood would be taken to the lab and handed over directly.

After making a few phone calls to vent about the latest, I walked around the hospital, wondering if my plane ticket for the U.S. had been purchased; I was D.O.N.E. I arrived back in the outpatient unit and the wonderful nurse said that the blood work was back. She administered the injection then mentioned that I was welcome to go to Fetal Assessment for another ultrasound. I told her that after my experience the previous night, I would have to decline. She apologized, then offered to have the doctor in the outpatient unit do an ultrasound. I told her that I would really appreciate that and would find it very reassuring, particularly since we were heading into the weekend. A fabulous doctor soon appeared, READ the chart, asked questions, did an ultrasound, asked more questions, and made notes in the chart. ::blink, blink:: We had a nice conversation, she handed me my chart, and said that I should come back in if anything changes. What a difference! An attitude like that would have gone a million miles with me the night before.

To top off my annoyance and disappointment with the Fetal Assessment Unit, please notice the comments the midwife made in my chart.



Yes, that says, “parents anxious.” I’m also rolling my eyes about being seen “right away.” Clearly our definition of “right away” is very different.

Again, fortunately everything is fine. When I saw my doctor a few days later, we discussed the situation in Fetal Assessment and he wrote in my chart that if I'm admitted anywhere for anything, he's to be called immediately. I also learned that had I been brought in by ambulance, he would have been called right away because I'm a private patient. I certainly didn't think the fall was ambulance worthy, but at least I understand the system now. Things are just done differently overseas, very, very differently.

Greetings from the USA

Yes, I’m stateside. I have very mixed feelings about it, but I’m here. I really, really struggled with the decision of staying in Ireland versus delivering in the U.S., but then the “powers that be” got involved, and the decision was essentially made for me. It would have been FAR easier to stay in Ireland, but the “powers that be” were not comfortable with me delivering outside of the U.S., so here I am. I pushed and pushed to stay in Dublin as long as possible, but eventually it was time to go. In fact, I’m fairly sure the RMO was ready to personally escort me to the airport if I asked to extend my stay in Dublin one more time.

Overall, travel was easy. Well, as easy as can be with 14+ hours of airport and flight time and an injection, at 32 weeks.

I miss my husband and cats terribly, but I have to trust that we’ve done the right thing.

Many, many updates to come.

a different kind of move, it’s out of control, at least out of my control

I’ll be honest, today is a lot harder than I thought it would be. I’ve had four major moves in the last five years, five if you count Scottsdale to Washington state, prior to moving to Germany. Six, seven, or eight moves if you count Belarus to Lithuania, then Lithuania to the States, then the U.S. to Ireland, after we were PNGd. Needless to say, I’m something of a moving aficionado at this point.

For moving, I have a system. The system involves packing my own linens and clothes, the use of spreadsheets and lists, and lots and lots of organizing and cleaning. Unfortunately since the actual “we found you a new residence” and “you can move next week” came rather suddenly, my system was a bit shot. Add in that we have no household help and I’m 30 weeks pregnant, my system is REALLY shot.

This is a HUGE problem for someone that survives and thrives on organization and control. Yes, I know, then why in the world did I marry into the FS, another topic, another post. Anyway, for this move, I’ve had to put down my tape gun, shout a farewell to my colored Sharpies, and I’m fairly certain that my husband has hidden my spreadsheets. NOT fun.

Just in the past week, I’ve had no fewer than 10 people tell me that I’m not allowed to pack, help, or chase around the movers with my lists (for which I’m sure they’re thankful). The “powers that be” have called several times and told me that in my “condition” I need to sit on the couch and relax. Of course I agreed, only to put the phone down and start another list. What I hadn’t planned on was a husband who would actually take the day off and stay home to supervise the move, and me. This is a first; he’s usually stuck at work during pack-outs. So here we are, me typing away on my laptop, him perched at the other end of the couch (between me and the doorway no less), watching me out of the corner of his eye. I’m trapped, really trapped. The loss of control is hard.

moving- hour two

Three months ago, a nice man from the moving company came to do a preliminary inventory and give an estimate, “just in case” we decided to move. Two weeks ago he came back to do another inventory, and to drop off some boxes and tape, you know, because I was going to pack. Hey, good intentions.

Five minutes before his second visit, I had been told that instead of just taking our personal items, we were now supposed to take the furniture we wanted, too. I called the “powers that be” to confirm, and told yep, take the furniture. Unfortunately nobody had bothered to inform the moving company, so when the nice man arrived, he had to re-do the bid. He said that with the added furniture he would either need an additional day or more men. “MORE MEN”, I just about shouted. He said that he would speak with the “powers that be” and that the movers would be here on the arranged date.

This morning four men arrived. “Ummmm,” I said as I nervously peeked outside hoping to see at least three or four more. Nope. As soon as they walked through they told us that this would be a two-day move. NO!!!!! Unfortunately yes. I don’t know who dropped the ball. It was either the “powers that be” or the moving company. Either way, we were prepared for boxing, loading, moving, unloading, un-boxing, done. Now it’s going to be boxing, loading, boxes spend the night in the truck, truck comes back tomorrow, unloading, un-boxing.

I ran upstairs, err, I walked up carefully, grabbed a toothbrush and other toiletries, change of clothes, then went to the kitchen to rescue cat dishes and food before they were packed.

So much for an easy, one-day, in-town move.

new submission for the FAM perhaps

For you non FS readers, that’s the Foreign Affairs Manual, aka, the bible of the Foreign Service. Yes, I have a new rule that should be included, a rule that many would actually find useful.

If you haven’t used it, read it, listened to it, watched it, or worn it in the past five years, you don’t need it and shouldn’t be hauling it all over the world. Especially true if you’ve told your spouse that she can’t have certain things because your HHE (household effects) is already over the weight limit.

This brought to you by the pre-move boxing up that it currently taking place in my house.

nesting to the extreme

Some women sew curtains, some women scrub the floors, some women re-organize the kitchen cabinets, I, move to a new house. Yes, one of the situations mentioned in some of my rather cryptic posts has finally been resolved. I didn’t want to say anything until it was signed, sealed, and delivered, but now that everything is official, I’m THRILLED to announce that we are moving, on Friday. This, is the ultimate in nesting.

The good and the bad.

First the bad….
I’ve been busy, busy, busy lately, too many appointments and commitments. That means that the normal cleaning, organizing, and packing I do before a “typical move”, (I’ll wait while you FS readers laugh at ‘typical move’) hasn’t been done. The movers will be here bright and early on Friday morning and nothing is ready. EEP!

We are also losing the biggest garage/ basement/ ultimate storage area I’ve ever seen in a FS residence. So of course I’m now scrambling to find things to throw away, donate, or send back to the States. Fortunately the embassy is taking donations for a local charity and my husband has already taken one full SUV load over. I haven’t yet broken the news to him that there is another load, or two, to take.

There is also a teeny-tiny time crunch. I have approximately three weeks to pack, move, unpack, organize, set up the new house, etc, before heading back to the U.S. (more on that later).

Now, the good news...
The new residence is about ½ a mile from the current house, so it’s not like we won’t see our stuff for 3+ months. This will be the easiest FS move ever. I’m hoping that the movers will gently box up our things, transport everything the short distance, and voila, done.

Aside from a major lack of storage, the new house seems perfecto! My husband’s commute to work is still a mere hop, skip, and jump, the neighborhood is lovely, and the house has been very well maintained (from what we’ve seen).


So goodbye electricity issues, goodbye plumbing problems, and goodbye mold. New house, we’ll be there on Friday!

the anniversary of greatness and misery

First, the good.

Today is our fifth wedding anniversary. We are still very much in love, wonderful friends, and enjoying our marriage. I couldn’t ask for more. I’m truly blessed and looking forward to the rest of our lives together.

It is also an anniversary of great sadness. Two years ago today we were PNGd from Belarus. You can read this previous post for the full story. I keep hoping that as time passes, I will begin to forget and forgive, but I’m just not there yet. For those of you in the FS, may you never, ever have to live through such a horrible experience.

There isn’t much else to say. Have a safe and happy weekend.