The best laid plans...

I want to write about Jude's birth. It's important to me to set it to words in this space. It will be a reminder for me of what I went through and how much hard work it took to get that little bean into the world. Everyone worked hard - Jude, me, Matthew, my sister in law, my parents, our doula, our friends. To say that it didn't go as planned would be the mildest way of putting it.

I labored at home for 24 hours. Matthew and I counted contractions for a day and then called our doula. We headed to the hospital 12 hours later and had to wait for a couple of hours to be checked in because all the rooms were taken. Nothing like leaking amniotic fluid and having very painful contractions in a waiting room. Nothing like it.

Several hours later we got a labor and delivery room. My contractions got progressively more intense and I was still only dilated a couple of centimeters. It stayed that way for a few hours. My midwife talked to us about using some meds to get my cervix in better shape to get the baby out because nature was not cooperating - I was having transitional contractions but I still wasn't dilated more than a couple of centimeters. She knew we wanted a natural birth and she gave my body lots of time to see if we could overcome what obstacles stood in the way, but it wasn't working. Cervadil, then pitocin, then an epidural... all things that I was staunchly against going into the birth. My contractions were so hard and fast I was exhausted and they were afraid I would have nothing left when it finally came time to push the baby out.

After 48 hours of labor it turns out that I had a dysfunctional labor because of cervical swelling (I finally got up to 7 centimeters, but then became very swollen and got back down to 4 centimeters). At that point I was getting into a high risk category and a c-section became the only option. It was my worst nightmare before labor started. I did everything to avoid it. My midwife gave me a lot of time to see if my body could overcome, but there was no chance. She explained everything and we both cried about it. I was so upset. She was upset for me. Everyone knew it wasn't what I wanted, but we all knew that the only real goal was to get the baby out safely. If we waited much longer both of us would be in danger.

Matthew got ready to come with me to the operating room. Our midwife helped him put on the scrubs and mask. His cool checkered Vans slipped into the shoe covers and he was ready - more or less. He prepared himself to see his wife and the mother of his child get cut open on the table. He always said he thought he would have made a good doctor... but he said later that he could never detach enough from the patient to cut into them.

So I had a c-section. At 2:48 on 3/12 Jude came into the world and my surgeon passed him through a hole he cut in the drape so I could be the first one to kiss him. The surgeon said he wanted me to be able to kiss the baby first, that just because I didn't push the baby out didn't mean I wasn't the mommy. That meant so much to me. He told me we had a boy and I got to give little, slimy Jude his first smooch.

The surgery was frightening and I had a bad reaction to the anesthesia - I got the shakes very badly and couldn't control the upper half of my body. I was twitching and jerking and it was very scary. I knew I was in good hands and that Jude was in good hands, but that was the hardest experience of my life.

In the end, we got our son. That's all that counts. I came to grips with all the medical intervention and was actually grateful for it afterward when my midwife told me how close I was to something disastrous. She explained that when you hear about women in remote areas developing fistulas they most often result from the exact scenario that played out for me. Except, those women don't have medical care, so the option of a c-section doesn't exist. If I were one of them I would have likely died. Matthew just kept saying, "I know you don't want to hear this, but we can make another baby but I can't make another you. I can't go through this life without you, so this surgery is what needs to happen. Please." That was all I needed to hear.

And when Jude cried for the first time and I heard that tiny voice coming from across the OR I knew we did the right thing. I tried and Jude tried and we did our best. All that counts is that we made it through and our family is at home, happy and healthy. The poopy diapers and the sleepless nights, the spit up and the endless burpings, the coos and cries, the sore nipples and the achy belly - it's all worth it. It's all worth it and I'd do it again tomorrow if it meant my little family would be as happy as we are right now.

Life awaits. The future is here. The three of us will face it together. Hey, ho! Let's go! As Matthew says, Ramones fans are born, not made.

Quitting... and starting anew

At the beginning of the year when I started Blog 365, I was excited to challenge myself with the task of blogging every day of the year (except Leap Day) for all of 2008. It seemed like a daunting task, but one that I was eager to accept and tackle. I jumped right in and I blogged diligently. Most often the posts were traditional, sometimes they were audio clips, and others were mobile photo posts. I scribbled notes while Matthew and I were travelling through Europe on our honeymoon so I could post them as soon as I got to an internet cafe or when we got back home. I wanted to complete this 365 consecutive post challenge.

And then... Saturday, July 12 happened. The day I peed on a stick and our lives changed.

Finding out you're pregnant is not any kind of news you're prepared for. Even if you've been hoping and planning, you still can't be prepared for the rush of emotion that floods through you when you look down and you see that plus sign. Everything changes. One minute it's you, just you. The next minute there are 3 of you where only 2 of you had been.

In the 8 days we've known we're expecting a baby we've bought 4 books (one of which has freaked me out so badly that I threw it across the room last night), surfed countless message boards, researched diaper services and midwives, talked about the need for a doula, the list goes on. We've talked about our dreams and fears, what elates us and what scares the daylights out of us. We've hugged, kissed, cried, fumbled through some naked adult time while trying not to be preoccupied with the teensy weensy embryo growing in my belly. It's been the most amazing 8 days.

And in those 8 days I've blogged only a handful of times. I can see what the future holds for me. It holds sleepless nights filled with awe and worry, exhausting days of work, celebratory dinners with friends and family, and little time for blogging.

So, Blog 365 is done for me. I'm quitting. I'm starting something far bigger that will need a lot of energy in the coming months. I'm not going away, not by a long shot. I just won't be here every day. I've got a baby to build.

5 days

This week is going to either fly by or drag like an old, blind snail with a limp.

It is my last week of work with the Awful Company. These are the last 5 days I'll be working for the organization which has done nothing but screw up my job for the past 8 months.

Remember when they announced they were closing the office and gave us all an end date for our employment? Psych! How about a month later when they asked some of us to stay and work remotely? Then the office closed and no provisions were made to move everyone's equip home, so Matthew drove into the city and moved 4 people into their home offices in Brooklyn without so much as a "thanks" from the company. Good times. Oh yeah, what about the day that I found out the useless woman who stole my plant got a massive promotion (yes, you read that right - a grown, professional woman stole my plant)? I especially liked the day we had a stress management seminar... which was so poorly done it was hilarious. I clearly remember the day they were supposed to pay me my bonus and then didn't, which meant I had to scramble to figure out how to pay for our wedding.

I will finish this week no matter how fast or slow it goes and then I will take a well deserved week off. I know I just took a honeymoon, so it might seem silly to say the time off is "well deserved", but I need this time. I need to, paraphrasing Lynilu here, shake off the crap before I start anew. I want to start my new job fresh and ready to jump in and get my hands dirty, not exhausted and frazzled, still coming down from the frenzy of Awful Company.

Check, check... 1, 2, 1, 2

This and this and this all display varying degrees of my lack of patience. As if I needed to make it just a little more obvious...

It's only 9:28AM and I started checking my cell phone obsessively every few minutes around 7:30 just to make sure I haven't missed a phone call from HR at the company I hope will be making me an offer today.

I am pathetic.

At least I am aware of my own pathetic state. That might constitute progress on some level.

The previous sentence might constitute an utterly ridiculous attempt at justification.

Maybe.

**UPDATE**
I GOT THE OFFER. I got the call and the offer was superb, better than I'd hoped, actually. I've called my old NYC boss and told her about my resignation, but I haven't been able to get in touch with my current boss because she's been in meetings ever since she got online this morning. I'm making next Friday my last day and I'm not starting the new job until 6/2. That means I'll have a full week off between jobs. I've never done that before. I've always ended on a Friday and started the next gig on Monday. Not this time! This time I essentially gave myself a hefty raise, better benefits, and a week's vacay. I'm feeling pretty good right now.

Patience is a virtue... which I lack.

Word on the street is that I'll be getting a job offer as a result of that kickass second interview I had yesterday morning. It's not official until I have something in my inbox or a phone call, but it's coming. Lucky for me, "the street" the word is on happens to be my own since my dear friend and neighbor is the one with the insider info.

Trick is, I'm fighting with myself every second that passes not to quit my job. I don't have an offer yet, I can't quit my job without an offer. But man, oh man do I want to!

I know 2 weeks' notice is customary. I have usually given more - typically closer to a month. I like my employers to be prepared and to have ample time to get my replacement up to speed before I haul ass out of there. This time, though, I don't think I'll do even the full 2 weeks. If I get an offer tomorrow, I'll give my notice and make next Friday my last day. I can't stomach this company for longer than that. It's a courtesy and since they've shown me none to speak of I think a week & 1/2 is ample time.

Breath in, breath out

I kid you not - after the fiasco of yesterday's bonus ridiculousness I had to attend a pre-scheduled office meeting. The topic? Stress management.

I swear.

Stress freaking Management. Here's something that can help with stress management - paying people when you say you will. Telling the truth to your employees who count on you. Yep, that about does it.

Instead, they demonstrated varying techniques for mental and physical balance, which I actually respect because it's pretty new age-y and progressive for a corporate environment. Yoga, meditation, breathing techniques - all these things are methods I employ in my own life already, so to know they're being presented by office management is pretty awesome, but there's no way I can take it seriously. Sitting there at the other end of a virtual meeting with everyone else across the country, listening to the heavy breathing in the room as people practiced what was demonstrated I could do nothing but laugh. The expression "too little too late" applies perfectly.

This chick has a solid Warrior 2 and is ready to take her strong body to a new job.

The big "D"

Disappointment. It looms like a dark cloud. It likes to sneak up on you when you think things are fine. It lurks in the shadows waiting for an opportune moment to pounce on you and catch you off guard like some weak prey on the Serengeti.

Today it got me. It sprang up from the depths and grabbed me to take me down.

Remember the bonus I was counting on from work? The one based on closing the office and transitioning accounts? The one that was earmarked for the wedding? The one that was going to pay for all of the catering in one fell swoop? It was scheduled to come in today's paycheck. I've had multiple conversations with the higher-ups about this - confirming scheduling, payout amount, underscoring the importance of this money as it was going to pay for the bulk of my wedding. Oh yes, the higher-ups told me, no problem, you'll see it on 4/11, no need for worry.

I checked my bank balance this morning and only my regular paycheck is there. No bonus.

A payroll oversight? A financial mistake? An easily rectifiable issue? Nope. No human error caused this. It just wasn't approved. There were, of course, stipulations on the bonus - things like financial clean up for outstanding projects, documenting the process for each client, etc. Well, my client's financials couldn't be totally cleaned up because they are amazingly slow at issuing purchase orders and the rest of the documentation I need to be able to invoice them. They've admitted this. A VP of the company wrote an email to the larger group letting them know that as much as I have done for cleanup there is little that is in my control since the delays are on the client side.

The VP wrote this email. My bonus still didn't get approved. Did anyone bother to let me know that it was in jeopardy? Nope. The answer given to me this morning was that as soon as they're satisfied that I've done everything I can on my end to get the documentation we need the bonus will get approved. Excuse me, but I thought the email from the VP pretty clearly stated that was the case.

So now, I scramble. I scramble to come up with money I don't have for a wedding that is happening 2 weeks from tomorrow. I have no guarantees that the bonus will even be paid in the next paycheck. I'm angry and upset, but more than anything I'm insulted because they lied to my face. They told me everything was in order when it wasn't. These are the same people who penalized me on my recent performance review because my "reaction to the news of the office closure was negative". Was I supposed to be jumping for joy? Then they said that since other people looked to me to set the mood in the office it contributed to a negative environment. So, it was held against me that people were upset about the office closing... as if they would have been thrilled if I were positive about it. As if my negative reaction caused everyone to think, "Wait a second, this is a shitty thing that's happening to us after all! Melissa is so right. We never would have realized this without her!"

I'm getting my bonus, I'm taking my honeymoon, and then I'm out. It's new job time. Even my mom, who is always one to tow the party line, said to me this morning that it's time to leave because "they don't treat you very well at all."

Duh.

(image courtesy of Natalie Dee)

Ready? Let's jump!

2008, here I come. You better get ready for me. I'm doing things this year. Learning things. Making things happen. Changing things for the better. Shaking things up. Prepare yourself, 2008. You haven't seen anything yet.

2008 isn't the year I let things slide, put things off, forget about things that matter to me. Nope. 2008 is the time to shine, people. Jump right in. Get down to it.

I'm looking at you, 2008. Right in the eye.

Job, schmob

This is why I am upset about my office closing. It's not because I'm worried about my professional life. I'll be fine. It's that I'll miss the people I work with so badly I can't even explain it. We're all goofy, crazy, funny, caring, talented people who genuinely love and respect each other. None of us has ever worked in a place where we have such close relationships with coworkers before. Our office is truly an anomaly and I'm afraid I'll never have this kind of experience again.

This photo is the last in a series. The first one is just me & the blonde. Then our buddy on the right got in on it, then those 2 lovelies in the back joined us. It's hilarious. We're so weird. I love it.

We take wacky pictures every day. And we still manage to fully service all our accounts plus the heaps of transition work piled on us because of the closure.

And the hits just keep on comin'...

I got the pink slip. About 50 of us did. My office is being shut down (thanks, Corporate!) and we've been given the choice to relocate to another office or to take a severance package. The office will physically shut down mid-December and then I've been asked to stay on with a small group until the end of March to transition the accounts and close up shop, basically. At least I've got until Spring. Ideally I'll have a job until 3 weeks before the wedding, take 3 weeks to have my own personal freak-out, get married, go on a honeymoon, come back and start a new position. *sigh* This is just peachy.

Complete

It's done. It's over. It's been over for a long, long time. But the final nail has been ever so brutally hammered into the coffin and now it's really finished for good. I have cut off contact with someone who once meant everything to me - and who still means more than he should. He will always mean more than I want him to. We haven't been lovers in what seems like forever and we cannot ever be friends. We tried. Sometimes things get broken beyond repair. As much as it hurts right now it's comforting to know that "we" were the thing that was broken all along - not me.

I get up in the morning for me now. I breathe for me. I grieve for me. I hurt for me. I laugh for me. I cry for me. I feel everything I feel for me. The grief is mine and I have to deal with it the best way I can.

He's moving here. He's coming to my city. This place was supposed to be ours - but it's mine now and he's finally coming here like he promised he would a year ago. The difference is that I won't see him. I won't know where he is. I'll wonder. I'll wonder more than I want to. But I won't see him. I won't talk to him. This place is mine.

Every day I wake up, I see MT and Duke, I breathe in the Brooklyn air and I am thankful.

Shock

There is no easy way to say this, so here it is - the man called this morning to tell me Duke had died at the vet overnight. Said that the vet tech came in this morning and he looked like he was sleeping. Said it looked like he didn't suffer, that he had just stopped breathing in his sleep. I was a wreck. I stood outside my office building and was overcome with despair. I've been basically mourning for a week, I've been so distraught that I've made myself physically ill, I've been so upset at work (bad enough that the new proof reader gave me a card for Duke - so sweet), I've cried me eyes out every day and the people in my life who love me have been taking care of me. I've not been in good shape.

Now, here's the part that's really not easy to say - all is not as it seems. I started putting 2 and 2 together after that phone call this morning and I had some questions. Why did the man avoid my question last week about whether Duke could come live with me? Why did he then tell me Duke was very sick and he didn't tell me earlier because he didn't know how? Why didn't he have an answer when I asked what kind of cancer it was? Why did he make a point of telling me that he took Duke's crate to the vet? Why did he tell me that he cleaned the house this morning and got rid of Duke's things so I wouldn't be upset everytime I turned around? It all started to sound like he was covering his bases. Like he was answering in advance the question I'd have about why nothing remained of my dog at his apartment.

I asked him for the vet's phone # so I could call and talk about what would happen to Duke's body. I didn't want my beloved dog to be disposed of in some bio-medical bin. He wouldn't give me the phone #. I called him and said that I didn't know how to say it, but my bullshit detector was going off loud and clear and I needed to know where my dog is. What I got in response was hurt and anger and denial that anything was amiss. I was the bad guy. I insisted that if he were in my shoes that he'd be asking the same questions. He said he never would doubt me like that. He would never accuse me of something this awful. Everything got shoved back at me and I was the asshole. He said he'd email me the vet's #. I apologized and let him know that I had to run the risk of being wrong and making him angry because if I didn't confront him about my doubts it would eat me up inside. I asked if it was still OK that I come down this weekend (I was to leave for the airport in an hour) and he said he needed a couple minutes to process things and he'd let me know.

I then got an email half an hour later saying that he still wanted me to come, but that he didn't think it was a good idea, that he'd send me my things and he'd pay me back for the money I spent on the flight. I asked again for the vet's #. I got nothing. I left work and just started walking. I didn't know where I was going, I just needed to walk and clear my head. I was walking around lower Manhattan crying and talking into my cell phone like a crazy person. I must have looked like a total mess. I was a total mess. I didn't know what to do. I called Kristie. I called MT. I called my mom. I called the man again and left a msg saying that I wanted to make sure I wasn't coming to Miami because that was my last chance to make my flight. He didn't call back.

I called MT again. He was so calm and so smart. He looked up the # of the vet who supposedly did Duke's 1st biopsy a couple weeks ago and said he'd call them and find out what was going on. I walked around in utter confusion waiting for him to call back. I called Kristie and she kept me from freaking out. MT called back and said that the vet hadn't seen Duke since February. The receptionist didn't want to give out any information, but he pleaded with her and said if she knew how upset I was because I thought my dog was dead she'd give him something. She said, "DEAD?? Hold on a moment..." and when she came back she told him they hadn't seen him since February.

I called the man again, no answer. My msg said that I needed him to call me back and explain to me why Dr. Fernandez hasn't seen Duke since Feb. if he's the one who did a biopsy 3 weeks ago. I said that I needed him to make it all make sense for me, that I wanted more than anything to be wrong - to be the asshole for real and be accusing him of something falsely. What I got was a text msg telling me that I was right, that he had given Duke away and that he didn't know why he lied to me, that he couldn't control it, that it had gotten out of hand, that he was so sorry and he was sick about doing this to me.

It was all a lie. It was all an elaborate series of complicated deceptions. I've spoken to him almost every day since last week. I cried to him, he comforted me. I thanked him for doing everything he could for Duke, he said he did it gladly. He heard the devastation in my voice for a week and he kept adding to it every time we spoke. Each phone call was another layer of lies. First it was cancer and a second opinion was needed. Then it was one night in the animal hospital. That became 3 nights. Then it was trouble breathing. Then the respiratory condition might be treatable and separate from the cancer - he actually fed me information to give me hope about a totally fake illness! Then the respiratory condition wasn't separate, it was probably cancer in his lungs. And then the biggest lie of all - Duke died in his sleep. He tortured me. He broke my heart and he knew he was doing it.

I'm lost right now. I'm destroyed. I've never been so betrayed, so lied to, so taken advantage of, so devastated, so underestimated. He even said he'd send me Duke's ashes. What was he going to do - put some dirt in a jar from the dollar store and tell me that it was my dog's body? I told him he should get help because there's obviously something in him that's broken and needs repair. Something in there is rotten. Something in there made him do this to me. I don't understand it. He says he doesn't understand it.

The only solace that remains for me is that my Dukester is safe with a family in Ft. Lauderdale. My mom asked me how I know that's the truth and not just another deception. I told her that I have to believe something, and this needs to be it.

Thank you for the support and the caring, everyone. Even if the whole situation was a tangle of lies, the support was real and I can't tell you how much that means to me.

I've been cheated. I've been cheated out of my dog and I've been cheated out of my trust. I'm a skeptic now.

I love you, pupster.

The man sent me this video over the weekend. I'm so thankful he did. He recorded it about a year ago.

I'm going to see him & Duke this weekend. The news so far is not good about my pupster's health and I have a feeling this weekend will be a memorial. I feel like my heart is breaking into tiny pieces and there's nothing to fix it. I have to put on a brave face this Friday, look into Duke's big, droopy face and tell him I love him. Thank him for being such a good dog. Thank him for being my boy. Tell him he's been nothing but joy for me. Let him know he's made a difference in my life. All I can manage to do right now is keep the tears from shorting out my laptop. I'm not even doing a good job at that.